Carbon Cops

On Sunday, 1st July, an economy wide scheme for the pricing of carbon emitted into the atmosphere will commence in Australia. Up to about 500 of the largest emitters will be charged $23 dollars per tonne for carbon so emitted. This will mainly impact power stations, coal mines, aluminium smelters, and some councils which have large rubbish dumps. The impost will encourage them to find ways to reduce the carbon emitted into the atmosphere. The monies collected by government is already being paid out to consumers to compensate for the consequent increase in consumer prices, which is modeled to be about 0.7c in the dollar.

My appreciation to Bill & Diane Bohlen, who pointed out this mural to me in Roscoe Street, Bondi yesterday after our lunch.

Pub iconography

Pubs from the 'olden days' in Sydney were lined with tiles, both wall and floor, to enable the staff to use a hose after closing, to wash the stink of hops down the drains. This is one such pub. Built in 1901/1902, the Royal Hotel Bondi stands upon the steep rise from Bondi Beach, where Bondi Road intersects with Denham Street. The rise that the Bondi trams (the ones that used to 'shoot through') had to wind across and around because the gradient was beyond them. The three friezes here, are on the external walls of the Royal Hotel Bondi. They are typical of the period between the wars, and indicate the pursuits and interest of the working-class males who frequented the pub. When the Royal Hotel Bondi was first built, it was surrounded by MacKenzie's Waverley Dairy which milked 200 cows daily by hand. The stud bulls were kept in a paddock immediately across the road from the pub on what is now Hunter's Corner. The herd was released to graze in Marks Park on the south Bondi headland where 'Sculptures by the Sea' is held, and then each evening herded up the rise to be locked up prior to the morning milking. MacKenzie's Dairy was overwhelmed and gobbled up by the still-existing Dairy Farmers' and the land sold for housing in 1919-1921.

Sugar Cafe, early

Tour de Bondi

Up the park end of Bondi, across from the bus depot on the north-south axis, and the Hotel Nelson on the east-west axis, stands the shop of many guises. This time last year, it housed antiques. Maybe less antique, than simply old. And battered. But, now its hour has come round again; its Warholian slice of limelight, in this month of 21 stages of the most onerous of world sports.

I admired, and then plodded on, across the highway overpass, pulling my cadee filled with cat food.

Polonius was wrong!

I used to swarm over North Bondi when staying with my grandmother during the long summer holidays as I grew up. But I had not been in some of the backstreets for yonks. But I found it by using our family method: 'Turn right at Pluto'.

A nondescript little building so typical of the 1950s manifestation of 'nanny state'. But, oh so different inside. Kirsten had read on a website somewhere that there was a toy library. And what a treasure it will prove to be. For an annual fee of $100 she can borrow 4 items every two weeks.

A Sydney Christmas - Familytime

Gathering in the apartment of my daughter, we will trade outrageous conservative and liberal political bonmots, devouring the prawns and lobster for which Kirsten and Darren melled in the interminable squash that is the Pyrmont Fish Markets all-night Christmas Eve trade. Washed down by the indupitably first-rate sauvignon-blanc and reisling contributed by Tony, Kirsten's father, and smothered by the fruit flans slaved over by yours truly, the rush to strike the most outrageous social policy stance will invariably be headed by the laterality of son Alastair's brain.

Sated, and ready to declare a social-policy truce until the next gathering, K&D will journey south for an evening meal with the in-laws whereas the rest will repair to my place to install the Wii that the neurologist "prescribed" for my ataxia. Travelling companion, Christine, will join the melee, and the day will draw to a close with a refreshing walk along the sands of Bondi.

May you have a day of laughter, love and friendship in the company of those for whom you care most.

CHRISTMAS DAY The North Wind is tossing the leaves, The red dust is over the town, The sparrows are under the eaves, And the grass in the paddock is brown; As we lift up our voices and sing To the Christ-Child the Heavenly King. The tree-ferns in green gullies sway; The cool stream flows silently by; The joy bells are greeting the day, And the chimes are adrift in the sky, As we lift up our voices and sing To the Christ-Child the Heavenly King.

Bondi Beach looking eastwards from Campbell Parade about 7am

Australian Christmas stamps - 2004, 2005 & 2009

Stood up

Furious woman in the mall, Bondi (November 2009)

Chance has a way of parting the waters. It is subtle: there are no flashing red neons, or shrill wolf whistles. Reflected light at an odd angle, or a portion of a sign glimpsed while idly waiting, will suffice.

Enticed to the Art Gallery by the sharp wit of Annabel Crabb, I chanced upon a small softly-lit alcove housing "6 Photographers" and there, in a corner, was this gem shot by Hal Missingham, instantly recognisable as a precursor to my furious woman in the mall.

Stood up in Swanston Street - Missingham (1947)

Then let's keep dancing

The daily challenge of anagrams and homophones Of reversals and hidden double entendres Define the morning ritual of a single person Worrying her knob of a pencil through the cryptic clues within the daily crossword as rain spatters on the perspex roof of a busy railway concourse - Still alone amidst the bustle.

Head nod to Jerry Leiber & Mike Stoller for the title.

Pleasures of late Winter (6 and final)

The promenade is a great, safe place to try out those new moves.

Pleasures of late Winter 3

Seemingly oblivious to the pulsating world around him, Narcissus here had no need of a mill-pond. The peacock image he was projecting was carefully calculated and crafted to maximise attention, from the mobile hooked onto his budgie-smugglers to the elaborate paen on his rippling shoulder-blade. The vibes emanating from within reeked of self-absorption.