Sans artifice

Life is too fragile for artifice. Margaret spent her life as the wife of a farmer.

The Irish diaspora

The St Patrick's Day parade and party was held on Sunday 18th because the mercantilists did not want the streets blocked off during Saturday trading. Probably no bad thing, seeing we had one of our regular down-pours (or is it downs-pour) yesterday morning. This, of course, affects bricks'n'mortar retailers, but not online retailers. Nothing dampens the spirit behind a St Pat's day parade.

Sundee Tele - To sit on or to read

Delving back into the darkest recesses of my mind, this image reminded me of attending a rugby league match at the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG), probably that infamous ANZAC Day massacre game of 1978 where the St George Dragons slaughtered the Eastern Suburbs Roosers. It had rained a lot, the ground was a quagmire, as were the rough-hewn bleachers. An enterprising paper boy, desperate for sales, was threading his way through the crowd hollerin': "Sundee Tele, Sundee Tele. To sit on, or to read'.

This woman is kickin' back on the sands of Camp Cove, reading The Sun Herald. Although it rained a bit later, and she probably had to nip down to the kiosk to buy The Sunday Telegraph.

St Kilda, in transit

She waited at a stop on Fitzroy Street, patiently, for a tram. Not an early morning tram heading for a dingy desk job, in the city. But a tram heading in the opposite direction, down and around the bay. Who knows what lurks down there in the wilds of Melburnian suburbia.

St Kilda, arty

Meandering along the foreshore, the diversity of life in this area is most appealing. This lass was not the only one reproducing the colours and shapes of this stretch of Port Philip Bay. This is the new section of boardwalk near Brooks' Jetty.

A few days in Melbourne with a friend who is celebrating 40 years in Australia - from Canada. Onya Di!!

Work it Baby!

There was no obvious coxswain for this group of young women working up a sweat in Centennial Park. The lone man within coo-ee was caring for the three children, who showed not a skerrick of interest in the endeavours of the women.

You go girls!!

Together in the autumn sunshine

Look at me ... look at me

In front of the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA), I was lining up the park benches and the gnarled trunks of the peppercorn trees, when this chicky-babe strode across my stage. She knew I was setting it up; she knew she would be in the frame. So, I adjusted my expectations ... with this result.


As I wandered between the benches, shooting along and across, alternating directions up then down, she acknowledged me and hoped she had not gotten in my way.

Slippers and hot cocoa - not!

Whether tramping the mist-shrouded hills of Borneo, or assisting in the mosquito-infested camps of central Africa, Helen goes at a pace few people half her age could sustain. Not for her the afternoon serials on 'the box', or the blather of the 24-hour news cycle. Not for her rocking on the back porch in her pearl-buttoned cardigan, cat in lap and hot cocoa to hand. Helen's desire is to go out with her boots on.

Waiting for the 389

Corner of Elizabeth & Park Streets, City

A member of The Weekend in Black & White community.

IronFest 2010 - The Shelias

Whilst the link with IronFest may be tenuous, there is nothing remotely tenuous about the punch that these women packed! They were elegant, they were mesmerising, and, above all, they were fun!


Searching for a collective noun, I decide upon 'sway' - a sway of bellydancers. There were seven sways at IronFest ranging from duos to sways of 7 or 8 dancers. Some focussed on the story-telling and rhythms of Middle-Eastern cultures. Others were more into funky, modern choreography.


Whatever way, they were having fun! They loved their full and fruity bodies, and they had learnt well how to move that body with grace and elegance.


They were accompanied by African drums, by various manifestations of the didgeridoo, and by, of all things, the exhaust system of a hot-rod.

As with the mainly male activities of yesterday, there were plenty of children participating at the belly-dance and plenty who were eager to learn with no shortage of instruction!

This was a celebration of life and sheer 'joi de vivre'.

Sunday in my City - The autumn of our years

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

W.B. Yeats

Now the days grow short,
I'm in the autumn of my years.

I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs.

And it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year.

Ervin Drake

A member of the Sunday in my City community.

A labyrinth of line

Forecourt, Overseas Passenger Terminal, Circular Quay

Cum onnnnnn de train ...

The Premier of NSW is considering putting last year's "big" transport announcement, the $4.8 billion Metro Rail, on the back-burner in favour of investigating an upgrade to the existing "heavy" rail system.


These commuters were hanging about Central Station (aka Sydney Terminus), the hub of the State rail network which is housed in a quaint building at the southern end of the CBD that is reminiscent of an old air-craft hanger. Nothing as grand as Central Station in New York or St Pancras in London or Gare Nord in Paris.

I wonder which proposal our erstwhile commuters would prefer? One that delivers more on-time services, perhaps?

Through the years

Where did those years go? That carefree young man confronted by a headstrong gal with a twinkle in her eye in the summer of '60. Pig Iron Bob ruling in a benign dictatorship at home. Camelot in its infancy across the waters. Sputniks whizzing overhead. Information coming in telegrams, not electrical impulses. My, how time passes.

Where did those years go? They were svelte of figure, horizons stretching into the mists. Emboldened by dreams and aspirations. Planning the great European coming-of-age holiday before taking up a job offer with that solid establishment firm in Bridge Street. Negotiating a favourable price for a dilapidated Californian bungalow set back from the Rose Bay waterfront, with the help of the folks. Time passes.

Grandchildren and weary children bluster through a house littered with e-gadgets bringing love and decibels. All is now quiet and calm. So, here they go blundering into another year. Together.

I wish you health and happiness during 2010

Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race - Sailors

Barrows hustled, managers bustled. Tension and anticipation oozed. Weathered profiles contemplated the conditions, the course, the tactics, the contenders.


Gnarled hands of experienced salts gesticulated expansively, as younger members nonchalantly osmosised the ambience. Tactics were determined beyond the maddening crowd. Would the million-dollar mast do the trick? Did they stow sufficient King Island Ash Blue? Would the winds in Storm Bay sweep them up the Derwent or strand them in no-mans-land?


The 2009 Sydney - Hobart Yacht Race line honours winner, Alfa Romeo fom NZ, crossed the finish line into Constitution Dock in Hobart at 10:02pm Monday after being the first out the Sydney Heads on Saturday and leading all the way.

Tomorrow: the starter's canon ...