Elizabeth Bay is like an ageing matron who wastes before one’s eyes. With hay-stalk hair, and sagging bosom, she slashes the lipstick where once fulsome lips puckered. Desperate for that one last fling at the ball, she throws herself at everyone, but only the rapacious are remotely interested.
The footings of each apartment building cling to the rocky outcrops of the ridge that runs down to the Bay. The footings cling, the buildings huddle – and, together, they slowly subside. The suburb is peopled with the ageing bodies of European mid-century devastation. They are the character and the soul of the suburb, but they are rapidly diminishing. It is a suburb of those without dependants – families need space. The pleasures of Elizabeth Bay reside in this very jumbledness. It is a melange of buildings, of styles, of socioeconomics, and of culture. Most emphatically of all, it is NOT boring.