Constable Basmati's old desk - a rather lovely 1960's relic that was purchased at a government asset sale in the 1980's by a very well regarded husband and wife Surgeon and GP team had been handed down to him as a housewarming gift in the early 2010's - fortunately it had seen worse days.
It had originally been relegated to an enclosed horse stable on their farm. As if a horse needed a desk. The Doctor duo had known Martin since birth and were very close family friends forever. Martin and his mother collected it one afternoon from their proprety prior to his move from Surry Hills to The Mountains in 2011, about 1800 metres from the Three Sisters in Katoomba or more specifically Meehni, Wimlah and Gunnedoo, all more than 900 metres tall.
After Katoomba, Martin moved to Neutral Bay, then The Mid-North Coast, then Balmain, then Orange, Then to what he liked to call the Hamlet (it was technically a village as it had a place of worship), for nearly two years.
In 2022, After the recent sale of the property a No Grounds Eviction order thoughtfully emailed to Martin the day after his 52nd birthday was served. At the time his mother was staying with him and had started to turn into a massive chore.
Martin's Father had died 6 months earlier, his mother's long standing short term memory problems were deteriorating rapidly and a number of other grievous family matters were surfacing. Nothing that unusual really, but combined with Martin having moved approximately ten times in fifteen years, the moves were taking their toll.
Martin said to his mother at one point. "You are so priveledged in a way to have not needed to move in nearly 50 years", she had little idea of what he was talking about. Anyway, part of Martin was welcoming the change and being a bit of an eternal optimist would try and make the most out of it.
So a decion to move to Bathurst was made. "Here we go again". Martin had met a taxi driver who had offered to do off the books trips for him from Bathurst on the odd occasion. On one drive home, Martin was explaining the difficulty in securing a removalist even with a few months notice, so Rob kindly offered to assist, for what was initially a reasonable fee, but like most of these types of cost saving measures ended up costing a lot more than it should.
Martin had lived in Bathurst when he went to university for three years after leaving school in the late eighties. A lot had changed but it still retained a familar friendliness. Also, while living at the Hamlet he would often get the train to do a shop or get supplies. He had generational connections with Bathurst too and fond memories of the time at University.
He decided that smack bang in the middle of town would be the ideal location, preferably above a shop. There was a perfect place above a Podiatrist, but he missed out on that as an application was already pending so the next best option was above a Charcoal Bird joint. Within very intimate proximity to his potential future Agent.
On his way to inspect the property for a second time something that tickled him to the core was a little fundraiser being held outside a chemist just down the road. About 10 guide dogs and their handlers were having a sausage sizzle awareness drive to highlight a great community initiative and raise some funds.
"I hope this is not some sort of test" Martin thought as he approached. He had a few minutes to spare so decided to stop and have a chat. The fellas seemed like a great bunch of guys. They were all looking spick and span in their matching black and green outfits (including shoes). The pooches all had lovely coats and of course were on their best behavior. All the guys were prisoners from the local gaol who had been selected to take part in the initiative. They would train and care for the dogs as a precursor to their more intensive training further down the track. Martin wondered if they shared a cell, but didn't ask.
Not all the dogs were distracted by the sausage that someone had carelessly (or carefully) dropped on the footpath, just... out... of... reach. One black lab was completely fixated and no doubt would have been given a fail on return to the gaol for that days exercise.
It was lovely. Martin had always loved the idea of training guide dogs but was put off by the bureaucracy and a profoundly disturbing dream as a young adult set on a radiologists X-ray bench involving a golden lab that fortunately no longer haunts him today. "What a great idea" he thought.
So the second inspection was a success and the agent was told. The place was a complete contrast to the Hamlet. It was as urban as Bathurst gets, had many pitfalls, but the location was ideal and - it was above a shop.
Martin often didn't need much convincing with certain things. He was easily convinced to change schools at around 7 because he was informed by his parents the tuck shop had banana sandwiches on the menu. Martin let them think that at least anyway. It was the frozen triangular Sunny Boys that were 15 cents that sealed the deal.
"The desk, Oh, the Desk". Martin blurted. Rob had decided to not hire a truck that Martin insisted that he should and instead preferred to do three 40 minute trips each way with his caged trailer. Desperate not to put anyone offside and make the transition as smooth as possible, he reluctantly agreed. It did provide him time to finalise the cleaning while they made the first two runs but he was understandably wary.
On the big day, Rob and Jed arrived to pick Martin up from his new place. This was clearly a little side hustle they were looking at branching into. Rob was a kind quiet Christian type and Jed was a boisterous young copper with a fondness for TOOBS - the party pack size - for breakfast. Martin had always been a fan of TOOBS and was excited when they were brought back by popular demand a year or so earlier. He was also very isolated at the time, so really was not terribly discerning about - anything really. If TOOBS are the glue. Then TOOBS will be the glue.
They managed to do the job pretty painlessly, unfortunately the desk wouldn't fit through the front door so it was left on the deck. The only things 'lost' in the move and not clocked for about 6 months were a bucket full of about $100 worth of niche cleaning products and a Dutch NATO Military Jacket Martin had purchased about 15 years earlier in Port Macquarie at an Op-Shop during one of their "Everything for $1" days. It was a particularly unusual and fine garment and likely one that people with an appreciation of uniforms would admire.
After about a year the desk started to loose its lovely patina, then the wood started turning silver, then the top started to buckle and warp. Protective material was put over it at this stage, primarily for aesthetic purposes. The drawers no longer opened due to the buckling and the few things that were in them would mean pulling them apart and rendering the desk useless. So the decision for its end of serviceable life was made. Nothing was done about it though until last week.
Martin had a real estate inspection coming up and decided to finally complete the proper tidying of the deck area, this meant getting rid of a lot of crap and boxes left out to be sorted that had gone mouldy too. He had been avoiding this area for those reasons for months. Under the desk had become the spot for things that were to be turfed and was literally a minefield of mouldy books, obsolete electrical detritus and a few precious things that had to go due to mould proximity colonisation. Sad.
So, full mould protection gear was donned, prophylactic medication taken, a deep breath and it began. Once everything had been Otto-ed safely. Martin went to replace the now faded black material. He withdrew the tacks - not an easy task - and gently lifted the fabric to reveal the silvery desktop which once consisted of 4 adjoined boards that were once one and buckled had separated and righted themselves and were now 4 separate flat boards, completely flush and sitting as they once did!
Martin would call it "Not quite a magic trick. It had done what most things of substance eventually do when left to their own devices — recovered its compussure entirely without assistance". The scientist Brian Cox would call it entropy doing what entropy does. The desk had finally re-calibrated the high-tension struggle of its 'Age of Starlight', where energy is concentrated into things (stars, planets, desks) for the quiet relief of maximum equilibrium. No longer fighting the joins and warping, the bonds broke and the boards, in time simply relaxed back into their default state — separate, flat, and perfectly, honestly aligned. The chaos of being exposed to the elements didn't destroy the desk - it emancipated it.
"How good is that!' Martin exclaimed to himself.
Constable Basmati likely wouldn't care. The Surgeon and the GP would be secretly pleased.
