Music history.

We're listening to Beach House while making lattes.

Ravi: "Is this Kate Bush?"

Two day later. We're still making lattes. Postal Service is playing.

Ravi: "Is this Rod Stewart?"

Annabel: "No Ravi. This is another band."

In Ravi's universe, music consists of only two bands, in the same way that in Ravi's concept of history Hitler and the Jews were good mates who would play ping-pong while eating big fat slices of lemon tart.

Drunk Old Man.

This morning an old man who was already slightly inebriated, came in, sat on Table 5 and requested 'morning tea', which by his definition was a glass of wine, a sandwich, another glass of wine, and a coffee.

I've never really known what morning tea is, but I don't think it's supposed to be that.

Anyway, it made me think about what I'll be like when I get old. And I decided that all I want to be is an alcoholic who ploughs through a pouch of dirty old Drum tobacco in 24 hours and who spits on the pavement and swears at passers by. Such big aspirations for such a little waitress.

At my work...

At my work, my boss is crazy and spends hours decorating cakes with chocolate swirls and glitter and toy boats.

At my work we write down orders on a whiteboard. We also use the board to draw pictures of our goals and ambitions.

This is a picture of Dad teaching guitar Eric Clapton style.

Sometimes we just aim too high.

"I don't know why, but I really feel like mushrooms today."

Some people are so profound. I hope that I can do them justice in this blog.

The Wheezer.

A regular customer of ours wheezes so hard that you would think she's just run a marathon. But no - she's just walked the whole 5 metres from her car to our cafe where she sits on Table 2 and drinks and eats whatever she can manage to order between deep emphysema-inspired inhalations. Today I couldn't help but think that the real motto for our cafe should be

Babka - Promoting diabetes nationally.

affectionate vacuous packing ... tender or superfluous?

One of my best friends just finished up working at the cafe and has moved to Cambodia. My boss clearly misses her because she's planning on posting her a vacuum-packed chocolate cake. Of course that's the only natural way of displaying affection - by sending vacuum-sealed baked goods across the ocean.

When the lemon tart meets the Holocaust

We were in the midst of discussing all things German - Berlin, krautrock, the divide of the nation into East and West, those khaki-coloured military jackets with the German flag on the arm, and of course, the Holocaust. Ravi, the maker of cakes and tarts and the bearer of all stupid comments, was listening in on our conversation. We only realised this when we heard his whiny voice pitch in, "So, what do you mean by the Holocaust?"

We reiterated. He still didn't understand. We looked at him, and then at each other, and then at him again.

Yes my friends, there are people who are completely ignorant of such quintessential historical world events and who are happy to go about living their lives making lemon tarts by the dozen without passing a thought for the genocide of six million people.

I don't know how I feel about this.

Mystified. Stupefied. Intrigued. Embarrassed.

Where to from here? I am currently browsing Ebay for a suitable educational DVD.