Looking around for a stoop to sit and study on, a sandwich board caught my eye. Take tea, Take time I read. I looked in the door and found a comfortable looking couch, a dining room table, with my grandmother's chairs set around it, and few smaller tables and chairs, fitting for one or two. Subduing my temptation to sit on my grandmother's chairs, I sat enjoying the varied tea pot and cup and saucer collection covering the back wall A menu was brought to me by a friendly host, who admiring my map welcomed me to Melbourne.
It didn't take me long to share with her that I had come to write, continuing to claim, tentatively it's true, my writer self. The menu invited it. I sat with delight reading a menu item tea and post, with an invitation to have the ingredients for " the fine art of letter writing complete with, in country post" with your tea. What a brilliant, creative entrepreneur had come up with this Porcelain tea room, I wondered.
What I did not have to wonder any longer was what to do with my evening, a pot of oolong tea brewed to perfection, some cheese and crackers, a clip board with embossed stationary, a fine black tipped pen, another piece of magic on this highly probable journey of mine. As I prepared to leave, this another sanctuary, I was given a list of all the best cafes for writing in Melbourne.
Do I dare dream it probable to find porcelain tea rooms as easily as McDonald's? I do believe I'll continue joining Alice in believing six impossible things before breakfast, and this shall be one of them.