Ruminations and recipes from a small kitchen in a big city.


The teapot and the drought.

I bought it at a Myer annual sale many years ago. The maker is Duchess, the style is Genevieve and it is numbered 426 and marked Bone China and Made in England.

As you can see (although you would see better if I could learn to post a picture the right way up) my teapot still looks brand new, because I look after it very well. I rinse it after every use and sit it on the mantlepiece above the stove to air dry, next to the grey and yellow canisters containing, respectively, flour, sugar, coffee and tea.

This sturdy, trusty vessel has poured approximately 87 billion cups of tea, of which I personally have drunk about 86.9 billion. That's a lot of tea. In fact, that amount of tea would fill the Thomson Dam, which is almost empty, raising the question: am I responsible for the drought? I think am! I've drunk all the water! In cups of tea!

Anyway, let's not worry about the drought just now, because there is a more pressing issue at hand: the teapot broke!

Quite some time ago, a very fine hairline fracture developed across the top of the handle near the body of the pot. Then, recently, the handle simply fell off. Not while the pot was in use, as you would think. The pot was just sitting there minding its own business and the handle fell off beside it, like a eucalypt dropping a branch in perfectly fine weather after surviving a storm.

I am looking for exactly the right glue, suitable for ceramics and crockery and fine china, to repair the handle. It will need to be very good glue because I want to get another 87 billion cups of tea out of my teapot. It's only fifteen years old. I figure it should last for seventy, at least.

Plus, I'm working on the Upper Yarra Dam. There's still plenty of water in that. I hope.



We joke about the drought in the city, but some farmers are being told to leave their land. And do what? A sixty-something farmer whose wife has died and whose children have left the farm is going to uproot and forge a new career in the city? As what? A stockbroker? A fireman? An IT professional? A strategy-implementing public servant developing powerpoint presentations? No wonder they are committing suicide in record numbers.

Meanwhile, Victorian Premier Bracks, having stolen water from farmers and announcing a plan to divert a rural community's water to the Labor strongholds of Geelong and Bendigo, today came up with a new idea - let's sing to the farmers! I don't know what you think, but the words patronising, insulting, laughable, duplicitous and hypocritical come to mind. Not to mention insane. What's more, this idiocy was the front page lead story in the Herald Sun, backed by an editorial supporting the idea.

Now I'm not sure who is the stupidest: Premier Bracks for coming up with such a dumb idea, the Herald Sun editor for boosting it, or me for reading the Herald Sun. Probably me, I suppose.


din said...

I've a pair of beautiful cups that a friend, a talented ceramist, made a long time ago. About a year ago the handle was knocked off one. After a lot of hunting around I found that it is possible to repair it almost invisibily (some product from a good hardware store) but it would never be safe to drink hot liquids from. Sigh. It now sits, fixed, on the desk, as a recepticle for pens.

neil said...

I've got a little song for you...

'I'm a little teapot, short & stout, here is my...oops.'

kitchen hand said...

Yes, Din, the teapot will go into retirement once repaired. Maybe as a receptacle for old movie tickets (which is one of my odd collecting habits).

Neil, that ditty is on high rotation around here - it's one of William's favourites, complete with actions.