Suburban dreams of young lasses

The rutted track meandered along the rear of expensive suburban villas and opened onto a cleared plateau in the midst of Sydney bush. The north shore of Sydney is riddled with landscape like this. Along the track snuck gas-guzzling 4WDs like visions from a consumerist past, each towing a horse-float fit for two!


A Sunday post-election gymkhana for the 'haves'. Walking the course, obtaining the judging rules, sipping over-roasted coffee, wisps of steam gleaming in the early morning sun. Mummies and daddies and teenage girls busy themselves with grooming and braiding, tufts of hay and huddled tactics.

Familiarity breeds contempt of the natural beauty around them - the bush turkeys scratching their way out of the gullies, the magnolia unfolding in the pre-spring warmth.


A member of the My World Tuesday community.

Paying our respects

Although this building in King Street was built to honour J. Palmer, Esq. in 1886, by the time of the Newtown jubilee in 1912, the main tennant was one P. Gleeson, Esq. a "Grocer & Provision Merchant" who was shamelessly pushing "Green Coupons". Burnished by late afternoon light, the facade has been lovingly restored through the years.


Meandering eastward along King Street, with the sun streaming over my shoulder, my breathing became sharper with each fine example that I came across and my shoulders sagged with every 100 yard patch where the past had been obliterated by some modern abomination.


Although incomplete, the final restoration may just be an example of biting off more than one can chew. However, it was one of the few "antique" facades dedicated to a woman.

Wrought iron lace work

Terrace houses came to these shores in the middle of the 1800s: single storey, double storey, single fronted, double fronted. Simple. Elaborate. They were mainly built during the reign of Queen Victoria and in the inner suburbs of Sydney and Melbourne. Some were to house working class families. Others were to house the families of the burgeoning mercantile classes. The majority of existing examples hug the harbour shore, for example in the easter suburb of Paddington, in the inner city at Millers Point and Surry Hills and in the inner west suburb of Glebe. This is where my photographs were made.


As many of the inner-city terraces have been extensivly renovated since the 1950s (gentrified), there is no guarantee that the wrought-iron lacework on the balcony and verandah is original or replica. Either way, they are ornate, individual and beautiful.


A terrace house is usually a group of houses all joined together: sometimes just in pairs but rarely more than 6 or 8 together. This, of course, reduces the amount of light coming into the building. This would not have been a problem in England but the translation to a sunnier climate was difficult. During the gentrification process, skylights have been introduced and back walls have been removed to welcome the garden into the house. Extensive use is made of timber decking.


Images 1, 5, 8 and 9 were made in Paddington.
Image 2 was photographed in the Toxteth part of Glebe.
Image 4 was shot in Surry Hills.
Images 3 and 7 were photographed in the original Glebe Estate.
Image 6 was taken on a wander through Millers Point.

A slumbering collosus

Atop Bald Rock, looking so'east across White Bay and Glebe Island, over Johnson's Bay and beyond Pyrmont: skyscraper canyons are warmed by the first rays of a new day. Spliced between Bradfield's iconic arch - off stage left - and the swaying humm of the ode to the ANZACs - off stage right - the bitter draughts of an exiting winter swirl around the footings of this slumbering collosus.

Hands

May I please direct your attention to the band-aids ...

Pyrmont Growers' Market: Simon sizzling

Could this boy cook up a storm? Yes siree: he surely could! And he had an attractiveness that was all character. What I believe we refer to as charisma!


It was the way he flipped the beef-patties from the wrist. It was the way he caressed the jet of sauce over the underbelly of the bun. It was the constant stream of slightly-blue patter ... and the grin. And judging by the queues, his hamburgers were crash hot, too!

And may I draw your attention to his logo: he purposefully stripped so that my camera caught his pecs proudly displaying the family farm logo!

Pyrmont Growers' Market: the produce

Cultural cringe: maybe! But, this market stacked up pretty good against Rue Moufftard and Uzes. Yeah, yeah I know: how dare I compare something brash and Australian with something 'spisticated and elegantly French. So here's a go: there are four images from the Pyrmont Market in this post and four images from either Moufftard or Uzes. Pick 'em!


Well ... maybe the signs are a bit of a give-a-way ... Hell, I'm gonna get me an old lady's shopping trolley: a red 'un ... and a beret ... a thin cigar ... young fella ...

Pyrmont Growers' Market: David smokin'

There is a technique known as "schmoozing" which David here has by the bucket-load. I would have punched this little Chinese lady on the schnozz: she was delicate, she was well-spoken, she was elegant. She asked for honey cured slabs in preference to shavings: she wanted ribs in lots of 4 rather than 8. When he had fetched and wrapped she then told him that she did not want them today; just wanted to see if he could supply what she MIGHT want down the track. Arrrgggghhhhh!!!!! But not our Kaz (David) he just sweetly asked if she was leading him on ...

Eumundi Smokehouse was wall-to-wall customers: one set being my daughter and her husband who breakfasted on an egg'n'bacon roll and bought a bunch of ribs for 'ron. Kaz settled in the big smoke after a sojourn through Queensland which gave him his trading name. He was a delight and is on my list for next month.

Pyrmont Growers' Market : 10 years strong

Pyrmont bustles under the very shadow of the city itself: settled early in the history of the colony,described by wharves and piers and deep anchorages. On the first Saturday of each month, a motley crew of wharves hosts one of the many incarnations of Grower's Markets that are spreading across the greater city. Compared with the previous day when a bitter wind tugged at the collar and whistled down the ear canal, on Saturday we were blessed with a glorious winter's day.


Arriving early and introducing myself to stall-holders, I felt like a long lost cousin. Strangers approached me to tell me of their favourite market "character" and how I really should meet them! Over the next few days I will introduce you to Uncle Andrew, Simon the BBQ whiz, Raewin who can't help it if she is a Kiwi and the indefatibible David who is smmmokin'.

What did I buy? A raspberry pie for $10. Two chunks of oozing cheese for a total of just under $20. A spinach and ricotta quiche for $6. A walnut, fig and raisin loaf for $7.50. Now that I know the extent and quality of the produce, next month I will ensure my crisper is bare and prepare me a list.


Prompted by Frances' comment, here are the location details. Parking is a bit of a hassle. There are some 2 hour meters but mostly 1 hour. I refuse to park in the Casino carpark for $18. Instead, I parked way over near the Fish Markets for free - and trudged up the ridge and over for about 15 minutes.

Joys of Childhood 3

Mumma was never far away. There were times when she had to clench her fists; times when she had to shove her hands in her pockets. She was the most concerned, but probably also the one who realised that letting go was the only way.


Her son had a ball: constantly challenging himself and squealing out with pleasure when his sneakers slipped and he flipped base-over-apex. Even Dad could see that not only was their physical ability being challenged, but their openness to the challenge was changing the way their brain approached the world in which they lived.

Sydney Park, the old Bee-hive kilns, St Peters