On a recent sunny Sunday, I walk through the park on my way to get Nan’s lamp fixed. Families are having picnics on the grass. ‘Can we fix it? Can we fix it? Can we fix it?’ drums in my head as I crunch across the gravel towards the Repair Cafe, a little hub where volunteers work their magic on broken stuff.
In my bag, I’ve got a lamp that’s dodgy and a globe that works. My fear in bringing the lamp for repair is that when they plug it in, it will blow the powerboard up. My nerves sizzle. The world seems to be short-circuiting.
Repair Cafe volunteers help repair things, from toasters, to cushion zips to stereos. They keep rubbish out of landfill; save consumers from buying new products; and cross-pollinate a community of people who tinker, rebuild, deconstruct and recreate objects. Around the world, there are over 1500 Repair Cafe centres, working towards reducing waste, sharing knowledge, repairing items and fostering communities. The first cafe started in 2009, and The Repair Cafe Foundation now offers help to those wishing to start their own hub.
At the front desk sit the triage team, three women at a trestle table.
‘You just made it!’ they say. It’s 4pm.
‘Oh I thought it went til 5?’
‘Yeah, well, we have to fit you in! We wanna be out of here by 5! What is it? Oh, a lamp. Weight? 200 grams? Nah...350? We’ll say 300 grams.’
So far, this little Repair Cafe in St Kilda has saved over a tonne of items from landfill.
I soon find myself opposite a repairer who sets to work on the little Blackwood lamp. The table is set up with all sorts of tools, special bits and pieces, screwdrivers, nuts and bolts and a twisty metal clamp hand. Someone offers a cake around.
He checks the cord, pulls the clicker, tests it out–it doesn’t work. Gets out the tools, pulls the socket apart and behold, we are within the Bakelite! A number of springs shoot forth and disconnect themselves from their bearings. He goes into his own world; he doesn’t speak as he tinkers. He’s poking around with his fingers and I’m not sure he can put it back together again. What’s at stake if the light doesn’t shine?
Nan gave her grandson (my partner) this lamp, as she knew he liked to read. It feels like she is hovering nearby, wanting to connect beyond this room; to see the light turn back on, instead of hearing the fizz and crackle of the wires burning out.
A repair colleague comes across. ‘What we got here?’ He offers to help, and uses a tiny screwdriver to hold the spring in place; they manage to clamp the Bakelite back together. Then we put the globe in and turn it on–it still doesn't work, but at least it hasn’t blown up!
The repairer opens up the plug and finds a disconnected piece of copper wire. He asks me to hold his special testing tool to see if there’s electricity going from one part to the other. I’m holding it gingerly, unsure, trying not to electrocute myself.
‘Do you find it stressful to do repair work?’ I ask, though the low hum of uncertainty seems to be coming from me. He says he works in such a different field during the week that he finds it really nice to work with his hands. I’m holding the little clamp fast on the metal with mild fear. ‘It’s like a dentist with all their tools; like intricate dental work,’ I say, trying to calm my nerves.
He uses a tool to twist the burnished copper, and the testing machine registers. He forces the old rubber back over the plug head. The globe flares. Nan’s lamp now works. ‘If you don’t want to hang onto it, I’ll take it. It’s a beautiful piece of Blackwood,’ he says.
‘It’s from Nan,’ I remind him. ‘We can’t let it go.’
I thank my volunteer repairer, and go to shake his hand. But we can’t do that any more; we do the elbow bump to recognise the fact that we are in pandemic land and that it’s fast going to be upon us. One sizzling wire frying another; one bundle of elements colliding with another; one life bumping into another, not quite knowing the meaning of our connections.
I walk back home through the gardens. The family groups have cleared off now. The currawongs sweep and call above the highest part of the trees, ducks parade near the pond and the pigeons cross the gravel paths. The little lamp got fixed. Now seems like a good time to be reading books. Nan’s light shines on.
(c) Anna Sublet, 2020
My piece on my first visit to the Repair Cafe, published in The Guardian, 7 January, 2018.
In my bag, I’ve got a lamp that’s dodgy and a globe that works. My fear in bringing the lamp for repair is that when they plug it in, it will blow the powerboard up. My nerves sizzle. The world seems to be short-circuiting.
Repair Cafe volunteers help repair things, from toasters, to cushion zips to stereos. They keep rubbish out of landfill; save consumers from buying new products; and cross-pollinate a community of people who tinker, rebuild, deconstruct and recreate objects. Around the world, there are over 1500 Repair Cafe centres, working towards reducing waste, sharing knowledge, repairing items and fostering communities. The first cafe started in 2009, and The Repair Cafe Foundation now offers help to those wishing to start their own hub.
At the front desk sit the triage team, three women at a trestle table.
‘You just made it!’ they say. It’s 4pm.
‘Oh I thought it went til 5?’
‘Yeah, well, we have to fit you in! We wanna be out of here by 5! What is it? Oh, a lamp. Weight? 200 grams? Nah...350? We’ll say 300 grams.’
So far, this little Repair Cafe in St Kilda has saved over a tonne of items from landfill.
I soon find myself opposite a repairer who sets to work on the little Blackwood lamp. The table is set up with all sorts of tools, special bits and pieces, screwdrivers, nuts and bolts and a twisty metal clamp hand. Someone offers a cake around.
He checks the cord, pulls the clicker, tests it out–it doesn’t work. Gets out the tools, pulls the socket apart and behold, we are within the Bakelite! A number of springs shoot forth and disconnect themselves from their bearings. He goes into his own world; he doesn’t speak as he tinkers. He’s poking around with his fingers and I’m not sure he can put it back together again. What’s at stake if the light doesn’t shine?
Nan gave her grandson (my partner) this lamp, as she knew he liked to read. It feels like she is hovering nearby, wanting to connect beyond this room; to see the light turn back on, instead of hearing the fizz and crackle of the wires burning out.
A repair colleague comes across. ‘What we got here?’ He offers to help, and uses a tiny screwdriver to hold the spring in place; they manage to clamp the Bakelite back together. Then we put the globe in and turn it on–it still doesn't work, but at least it hasn’t blown up!
The repairer opens up the plug and finds a disconnected piece of copper wire. He asks me to hold his special testing tool to see if there’s electricity going from one part to the other. I’m holding it gingerly, unsure, trying not to electrocute myself.
‘Do you find it stressful to do repair work?’ I ask, though the low hum of uncertainty seems to be coming from me. He says he works in such a different field during the week that he finds it really nice to work with his hands. I’m holding the little clamp fast on the metal with mild fear. ‘It’s like a dentist with all their tools; like intricate dental work,’ I say, trying to calm my nerves.
He uses a tool to twist the burnished copper, and the testing machine registers. He forces the old rubber back over the plug head. The globe flares. Nan’s lamp now works. ‘If you don’t want to hang onto it, I’ll take it. It’s a beautiful piece of Blackwood,’ he says.
‘It’s from Nan,’ I remind him. ‘We can’t let it go.’
I thank my volunteer repairer, and go to shake his hand. But we can’t do that any more; we do the elbow bump to recognise the fact that we are in pandemic land and that it’s fast going to be upon us. One sizzling wire frying another; one bundle of elements colliding with another; one life bumping into another, not quite knowing the meaning of our connections.
I walk back home through the gardens. The family groups have cleared off now. The currawongs sweep and call above the highest part of the trees, ducks parade near the pond and the pigeons cross the gravel paths. The little lamp got fixed. Now seems like a good time to be reading books. Nan’s light shines on.
First published in The Big Issue, Edition #165, June/July, 2020.
Editions of the magazine are available for online purchase via Issuu.
Read more about the aims and purpose of The Big Issue here: "We are an independent, not-for-profit organisation dedicated to supporting and creating work opportunities for people experiencing homelessness, marginalisation and disadvantage. Simply put, we help people help themselves."
(c) Anna Sublet, 2020
My piece on my first visit to the Repair Cafe, published in The Guardian, 7 January, 2018.
To see more photos of items fixed at St Kilda Repair Cafe, see Fixed!
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