I knew that I wasn’t moving into the Hamptons, yet I didn’t quite expect the level of danger and excitement that my neighbourhood brought upon me. From helicopters landing on the basketball field nearby, to policemen ramming a door open at the block next door, drunk women on the pavement and a man who decided to chop wood in the middle of the night. Not to forget the neverending miasma of weed.
The house warming party had come and gone. The cakes had been baked and eaten. The pantry, now overflowing with ingredients and remnants of cakes in their plastic sarcophagus, is one more quiet. Like a tea party in Wonderland, the madness retreated under the duvet to recover from too much alcohol. What is this post for? For people to linger on what the tea party was all about.