For the last two or three years in the run up to Christmas one of my colleagues has been in the habit of bringing in some “lollies” as a gift to the workplace.
Snakes. Bananas. Teeth. Bullets. You know the stuff I mean? The stuff we all grew up with and love. Even butter-scotch which is a particular favourite of mine.
He places them on the partition above his workplace in some “party bowls”.
Workplace Sweets
It’s a lovely thought on his part, and we all think it’s terrific that he does it. But oh my, it’s such a temptation for those of us with a sweet tooth!
There must have been eight or nine occasions today when I needed to go to his desk to ask about something. “How are you going? Is everything okay? Shall I check back in half an hour?”, I found myself asking, while sneakily grabbing another sweet (or two).
Just yesterday, another colleague who I haven’t seen for a while commented on how much weight I’ve lost this year. “I can’t believe it’s as simple as regular exercise and eating properly. It’s crazy! I always thought it was glandular!”, I told him, adding that I’m sure there’s room on the market for another weight-loss book based on my experience this year.
But with the sweets on my colleague’s desk, I fear I’m on the verge of a return to being overweight. Nooooo!
Tomorrow, I’m going to have a lollie-free day, I swear.
And next year, he’s moving to an earlier shift, so hopefully that might help as well.
“When you live with what I’ve lived with, you listen to people differently. You listen for words of kindness.”, I was told today by the husband of a woman I’ve known for maybe 10 or 15 years, and who I first met about 6 years ago when she first visited Australia. This is her third trip. He’s been living with a form of cancer for the last three years. It was a wonderfully honest moment of personal insight into the life of someone else, offered so simply.
“Too often you spend conversations thinking about what you’ll say next, rather than listening to what people have to actually say”, I told him. “Working in radio, I’ve spent most of my career doing that. I don’t really like to talk much anymore. I much prefer to listen, these days”, I added.
George Street, viewed from Adina Apartments
It was a day where a large-ish group of us, who’ve all known each other for decades, got together for lunch at the wonderful rooftop bar at The Glenmore, a walk around Barrangaroo, and then finally, enjoyed a few beers and some chat at the renovated Palisades Hotel.
Palisade Hotel, Sydney
The weather was perfect. The company was excellent. And there was lots to LISTEN to. And with visiting tourists, there was a wonderful opportunity to see Sydney in ways I haven’t really noticed before, also.
“Oh my goodness, that looks just like something I made in wordwork class thirty-something years ago” was my first reaction when I saw the shell-covered jewellery box in the second hand shop on Oxford Street late yesterday. On closer inspection, I noticed this one displayed a greater level of professionalism (you might say) than might have been evident in the craftsmanship of a 12 year old. Besides, I know THAT particular piece of child-craft (hipsters would love it) remains safely back home in Lismore. I haven’t looked closely at it in over twenty years, though I might do so when I head back home in a couple of weeks.
This particular second hand store on Oxford Street is quite an oddity. Located in the midst of a stretch of bars, restaurants and sex shops, it really stands out. As you enter the doorway, you never really knowing if you’re entering a legitimate shop or maybe the overcrowded house of someone with hoarding instincts. Like the famous overcrowded bookstore in Newtown, you’re never really able to walk very far in the shop without the need to excuse yourself as you pass by someone else. When I popped in there late yesterday for a look around there was just one other. As I left, two others were coming in.
The shop is a wonderful collection of items. Some of it is plain junk, of course. But as I looked around I saw some things I found genuinely very interesting. There’s a painting on the wall, for example, which I asked about, and told the bloke I would come back in over the weekend to purchase. There’s also some lovely old radios in good condition. If you’re ever on Oxford Street, it’s definitely worth a look.
“Oh my goodness, that looks just like something I made in wordwork class thirty-something years ago” was my first rection when I saw the shell-covered jewellery box in the second hand shop on Oxford Street late yesterday. On closer inspection, I noticed this one displayed greater level of professionalism (you might say) than might have been evident in the craftsmanship of a 12 year old. Besides, I know THAT particular piece of child-craft (hipsters would love it) remains safely back home in Lismore. I haven’t looked closely at it in over twenty years, though I might do so when I head back home in a couple of weeks.
On this day two years ago I had just arrived in Tallinn, Estonia.
The Swedish summer had ended, or so it seemed. I’d spent the day/night before experiencing what I thought was the worst the weather in Sweden could provide. How wrong I was!
It had been a memorable holiday in Sweden for a few reasons.
One of the highlights was meeting a lovely bloke who I shared a room with in a hostel. Upon entering the room, I remember vividly seeing him – an Asian man – and made no connection to Australia. Upon chatting, however, we soon realised the common connection – we both lived in Sydney, and we were both on trips around the world in order to “find ourselves” again.
We were both a little directionless, both wondering about our futures, and were both on “sabaticals”.
We’ve caught up a few times since, and we caught up again tonight for dinner and drinks.
Aside from lunch at The Beresford, it was another reasonably quiet day. Colin and I met for lunch at the newly renovated and formerly iconic venue on Bourke Street.
“I remember all the dance parties”, our waitress told us when I asked about how long the bar had been closed. “And so do I”, I told her, laughing in recognition.
There was a time, of course, when The Beresford was one of the coolest bars in town. It was the mid-90s, or thereabouts when I was invited along for a Friday afternoon drink with a friend from Wagga who was then living in Sydney. We met for a drink, and then a game of pool. I think it was about the time of Mardi Gras or Sleaze.
It was the “golden era” of dance parties in Sydney when the whole “thing” on Oxford Street was quite visible. The Albury. The Beauchamp. The Flinders. The Beresford. Every dance party event seemed to end with drinks in the nearby laneway.
Makeover 2008
And then on a Tuesday night, it was Melrose Place night. Back in the days when Kimberley was crazy and declaring “no more victim”, a couple of hundred people would go to The Beresford on a Tuesday night for an hour or so for a great evening of entertainment. It was the days when Alison had a drinking problem, and every time she had a drink, you had a drink!
I don’t exactly recall when it closed, though it must have coincided with the end of the “dance party era” in Sydney. A time when Mardi Gras was no longer interesting or fashionable. The days when Oxford Street no longer was genuinely gay.
As I’ve walked up and down Oxford Street lately I’ve seen a few rainbow flags appearing on various shop fronts. It must be a decade since The Exchange proudly declared itself gay – aside from Phoenix – but I noticed a rainbow flag there recently. A thousand years ago you had to walk through the men’s toilet to get to the dance floor, of course.
And now of course The Beresford has re-opened too. It’s a little more upmarket these days. The Sunday lunch menu is a little more expensive than the bar food used to be. But it was really nice when the waitress gave a friendly reminder of days gone by.
As I looked around the restaurant and bar at lunchtime, there was a bunch of similarly aged gay men also checking it out. I’m guessing I’m not the only one who remembers with a certain fondness the days of old. And I guess that’s why I’m planning birthday drinks there in a few week’s time!
On the weekend, my friend Andrew mentioned he wasn’t really very happy at work, and hadn’t been for quite some time. Still I was surprised to read in his blog that today he quit his job, without another one to go to. It’s a brave move in many ways, but Andrew is very employable and I’m sure he’ll be fine. Fellow blogger, Tom did something similar a few months ago, determined to forge a career in a new more interesting industry than the one in which he worked.
Twenty years ago I did something similar. After university I got a full-time job working at a supermarket chain. It was never really my “dream job” but it paid the bills. And for a while I thought it may have been the basis of my future career. Although I never really got the hang of the electronic ordering system, I really understood shoppers. I knew, for example, that when you’re selling hot crossed buns over the PA system, you don’t just say they’re on sale and leave it at that. Instead, you describe how they taste covered in butter and how happy your family or neighbours would feel if you invited them over for morning tea with a fine cuppa and some Easter Buns. Our store at Sunnybank recorded the highest sales of hot crossed buns in Queensland that year.
But after about eight months I quit Coles and joined the ranks of the unemployed. I’d reached the point where going to work was unbearable. Although I really liked the people I worked with and I liked some aspects of the job, I felt absolutely no satisfaction or sense of fulfillment in what I was doing on a daily basis. And I didn’t really like my boss, usually the most common reason why people leave their jobs. He was one of those bosses with “something to prove” which, eventually brought him undone. One too many resignations from his store, and after state management intervention, he too was gone. I think it was my resignation that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I told my colleagues a white lie, that I had something to go to, when in fact I had nothing. It was better, I thought, to take some time out to follow that dream, as Elvis once sang, than remain in a job where I was really unhappy. Such is the luxury of not having dependants.
During my period of unemployment, trying to find something that would give me some sense of meaning, I became quite dissilusioned and quite depressed. The CES (Commonwealth Employment Service), in those days, didn’t offer a lot in the way of creative, interesting occupations. One day, however, I saw a job advertised at a radio station in Western NSW. I applied for the job, travelled to Bourke, was interviewed and was offered the job.
They had received Federal Government funding for an Outback Drug Awareness Project. With no experience in community education programs, I hit the road running, talking to locals about the many ways in which we could use radio to reduce the incidence of drug and alcohol abuse in remote communities. A year later, the project won a national award from the Community Broadcasting Association of Association.
Twenty years ago, this week. I was heading off to Hungerford on the NSW/Queensland border to report on the annual “Hungerford Field Day”.
Although a lot of my friends from Brisbane thought I’d gone mad, relocating to a small town on the edge of the outback, to me it was pure bliss. I got to meet a broad range of interesting and colourful characters, to experience the great outdoors, and to get paid for it. Sometimes you gotta listen to your heart and not your head.
I’ve maintained a lolly jar on my desk for about 8 years now and it continues to be popular – people will come around to my desk just to have a lolly and a chat! I love it! :-)
Those lollies are deadly to me. I simply can’t resist ploughing through them.
I’ve maintained a lolly jar on my desk for about 8 years now and it continues to be popular – people will come around to my desk just to have a lolly and a chat! I love it! :-)
I resisted until 4pm.