I get occasional e-mail from Australian expatriates telling me how much they like my Melbourne photos. If I was somewhere else, signs like this would be my enduring memory of the place I call home. (meanwhile, it seems like my Coober Pedy sign photo is still pretty popular, according to my web stats.) »
Somewhere in Niddrie, mid-walk, I stop for a drink from a gelati shop. An old guy and a younger guy (maybe father and son, or uncle and nephew) are listening to the Bathurst car race as they wait for customers. As I leave, they stand in the doorway, looking at the red Ferrari parked nearby. The younger one starts to say “so, if you can lend me a thousand dollars…”, »
I’m in a rectangular grey room, all echoy-like. I’ve got music to drown out the sound of rain, a warm dinner, and some co-workers on the other side of the world who’re waiting for me. Telecommuting, telecomputing, or whatever you call it these days. It’s the same as it ever was, only more lonely. Afterwards, there’s food smells drifting up the alleyway from a nearby restaurant, and a kitchen hand breaking up rubbish to throw in the bin. »
The cafe’s street tables are full of signs saying “please don’t eat food brought from other shops at our tables”, hinting at the level of frustration the owner must be feeling. It does seem a bit out of place here, amongst the grotty mall and cheap fried food outlets. The yuppification of Footscray, some might consider it. But they serve eggs benedict, and that’s all I wanted. After all, I’ve got a big walk ahead of me. »
Earlier today I pondered the nature of the first few sunny days after winter, when even old cars seem to shine just that little bit more. But this evening it seems like winter again, squeezed into a corner of a cosy little Richmond pub with a beer in my hand and the company of two good friends. One’s going away soon, but she’ll be back. The other, well, he’s going later, »