Riddled with my favourite type of people, Millers Point holds much attraction, with its languid approach to keeping up with the joneses, that alone its proximity to the bridge, the harbour and the Quay. An area constructed around a windmill and containing the two oldest pubs in Sydney town, an area that was razed by the bubonic plague of 1913, has that most prized criteria of all in mine eyes: history.
As I wander with my camera, the creep of gentrification is apparent: it can be seen in the very wharves themselves where 6/7 and 8/9 are encased in harbour-bobbing marinas encrusted with chrome'n'white floating tax deductions. So-called celebrities lock ordinary folk out of their hallowed air-spaces.
Yet the dingy lanes and alleys, the higgeldy-piggeldy clatter of terraces down the chiselled sandstone escarpment, has an attraction all its own. Come early September - at the community festival - I will introduce you to some of the cherished local eccentrics. A taste of this tomorrow, in the last of these Millers Point stories.