Corner of Baptist, Crown and Cleveland Streets, Surry Hills
“There’s a distinct whif of Mondayitis in the air”, I said to a colleague as we waited together in the coffee queue.
At this stage, I hadn’t actually arrived at work. We were standing in the queue of a nearby coffee shop which has become an unofficial “staff canteen” in some ways.
It was about eight o’clock and even by then I’d picked up on the World’s Largest Case of Mondayitis.
After the greater weather this weekend, tonight it’s gloomy and grey. And they’re forecasting blizzard-like conditions for some parts of NSW.
It was unseasonably warm last night and I hardly slept a wink, as I tossed and turned with the window open and with just a sheet and light blanket covering me.
Maybe that’s why I had a case of Mondayitis? Maybe that’s why everyone seemed to have a case of Mondayitis today?
As I caught the bus and walked to work this morning, there was a feeling in the air.
You didn’t have to look at the upside down smiles on people’s faces. You could just feel it in the air that a significant number of people in Sydney would have preferred staying in bed today.
It’s funny, isn’t it, that we’re so governed by the weather (nature) is Australia’s most urbanised city?
Maybe it’s because we’re surrounded by water, and because we’re made of water, we go through ups and downs, just like the cycles of the moon?
When it’s warm and sunny, there’s a genuine sense of joy in everyone. And then when it’s rainy and grey, we all become the same.
Sydney-siders don’t cope well with extended periods of rainy weather. We all get a little stir-crazy after a while, I’ve noticed.
I don’t ever remember feeling this way when I’ve lived in the country, or even in Brisbane or Perth where I’ve also lived for extended periods of time. I do, however, remember vividly the first time it rained in Perth after two months of living there. It was a Sunday afternoon when the rain first hit the bitumen, and in celebration I just went outside and stood in the rain and got wet.
Work today was quite good. A meeting I was apprehensive about turned out well. I achieved a fair bit, actually. But still I had a feeling of listlessness about me, which I put down to the weather.
Maybe it’s because Sydney is such an urbanised place, that our bodies need to react against it, to full embrace and be influenced the weather and nature? Or maybe I’m just talking rubbish?
As I made my way home on the bus tonight I checked Twitter to see if anyone else had been to see Lily Tomlin and what they thought. I tend to follow a wide ranging group of people – I see as many people tweeting about rugby union matches as I do about Mardi Gras – and so wasn’t expecting to be inundated, but I was expecting to see something. The only comment I saw was from one of the lame-arsed young gay comedians I follow who tweeted something about how her comedy was stuck in the 70s.
Instantly, I had to respond with a comment about how she was both several times the age, and several times as funny as a lot of today’s so-called comedians. I mean, Lily Tomlin is a %^%&*(ing comic legend! And her characters are multi-dimensional, have something to say, and have made a real difference. And they’re funny!
Her best known character, the telephone operator who doesn’t help (yes, long before Little Britain) remained contemporary in tonight’s show as she took on the American health system with a biting commentary. In between these character spots, Lily can be a little eratic. Some things she says – like her comments on gay marriage – seemed to come from nowhere. They were still relevant and funny, but seemingly with little context.
A favourite spot was her Q&A session at the end where she answers written down audience member questions. Her response to the question “have you had sex with Oprah?” was “are you kidding? Gayle would break my back” which got a huge laugh. On stage, aged seventy-one, she remains a power-house: the show goes close to two hours with only a couple of “video breaks”.
I was given a lovely reminder tonight of my time in the Riverland area of South Australia.
Having caught up recently – after a long time – with a friend from my time there, Jacqui, she showed me a photograph from my deep, dark past as an actor.
When I was based in the area between 1989 and 1991, I joined the Renmark Theatre Group. I seem to remember being encouraged to come along by my friend Claire, as it was something to do to pass the time, and to meet people. And of course, we were both interested in the theatre, though I had never been on stage before in a dramatic role.
Well, if you’d call playing the role of Jack’s mother in “Jack And The Beanstalk” a “dramatic role” that’s how I made my stage debut.
Drawing upon all of my camp reserves – and believe me, they exist in reserve – I played the mother over three or four nights and a couple of afternoon performances. As I remember, it was far too long, and it wouldn’t have suprised me if half the audience had left at half-time. Though of course they didn’t. It was a fun experience.
Several months later I played another role in a play about discrimination. I don’t remember the play, except that it was on at the Renmark Hotel, and I had to dress up as a gorilla for one scene. It was a more adult play, as I recall. As I recall, it wasn’t as well attended as “Jack And The Beanstalk”, though.
It was lovely to receive from Jacqui tonight a copy of the photograph she found in Adelaide. It’s brought back some lovely memories.
It’s interesting, though, as I’ve searched high and low on the internet for any memories of photographs or anything related to the Renmark Theatre Group, but have come up with virtually nothing, except a mention on this blog, and a reference to receiving some funding.
James O’Brien and Jacqui Conroy/Yelland on stage at the Chaffey Theatre, Renmark
I’m sure there are more photographs around the place, and would love to see any from that time if anyone stumbles across this page in search of the Renmark Theatre Group.
I woke early this morning with a determination to do some sightseeing. I’d done my research, the weather was looking good, and I was looking forward to seeing more of Riga and a little of neighbouring Jurmala. My research had told me that when Latvia was part of the Soviet Union, the town Jumarla was a favourite holiday-resort and tourist destination for high-level Communist Party officials, particularly Brezhnev and Khrushchev. I’d also read that you could take a 2.5 hour river cruise from Riga to Jurmala at a very low cost. Unfortunately, for whatever reason the vessell wasn’t running today. And so I settled, initially, for the vessel called “Jurmala”, which of course doesn’t actually go there. Instead, the “Jurmala” takes you on what is possibly the lamest one-hour river cruise I’ve ever done.
There wasn’t a lot to see, aside from a distant view of the town, the television tower, a building that looked like a penis and the nude beach. Well, maybe not a nude beach per se, but as we toured along the riverside I noticed a couple of guys having a skinny dip. “Should I take a photo?”, I thought to myself, responding with “why not?”. I’ve blurred the faces of the two blokes, though, for their anonymity. And especially since they had a bit of cuddle seconds later. And besides, if they were to be recognised you’d hope it was for their faces and not their genitals, as I think D.H. Lawrence once said.
Arriving back in town I headed towards Central Station, walking through the Central Markets. The fresh produce on display looked very good. The people here seem to really love their food, though I’ve found a disturbingly low number of restaurants in the area in which I’m staying. There were a couple of things about the area around Central, though, which disturbed me. First of all, there was a lot of begging. Lots of people with missing limbs and other disabilities. A lot of people who look like they might have been from the countryside. And there were a couple of quite old women. It was enough to make me feel very, very teary. But there was also a lot of dodginess about the area too. As I walked through the Central Markets there were two separate blokes who said something to me in hushed tones. I suspect it was something along the lines of “you wanna buy something”. I don’t know exactly what the “something” was, but it was enough to make me feel pretty uncomfortable with the area.
Later this evening at Jurmala, I had a similar problem with a bloke trying to sell me a “classic Russian camera”. He looked pretty out of it, but was also really quite insistent and followed me around the station for a while. He even followed me in to buy a ticket. Although I don’t speak Latvian or Russian, I found the phrase “fuck off” delivered a fairly universal message. As it was, I caught a mini-bus to Jurmala. It was my second trip on a bus today. The first one I didn’t pay for, as I had an older driver with whom I couldn’t communicate at all. As it was, he just told me to sit down and not to worry about the ticket. The bloke in the mini-bus was similar. By mini-bus Jurmala is about thirty minutes from Riga, by train it’s about forty. And it’s obviously the beachside resort that most locals would go to, even now.
As you walk along the beach, however, you can still see remains of 1940s/ 1950s hotels and the grand era of the Soviet Union. One of those old resorts was burnt out, while another remains in a state of disrepair. In their place are modern resort hotels. Russians still seems to be the most common kind of tourist you find though. When I went for a swim at one of the indoor pools, for example, the only language I heard spoken was Russian. And obviously there’s something quite fascinating about what’s on offer at these spa resorts. There’s a salt room to clear your sinuses, mud baths, honey baths, all kinds of things. As it was, I just had a swim.
Though there was an odd kind of massaging waterfall associated with the pool which I gave try. Imagine if you would standing underneath a waterfall with the water gently massaging your shoulders. After watching two blokes use the contraption, I thought I’d give it a go as well. The water pressure was so strong I actually fell over, much to the amusement of onlookers. Even when I recovered my footing, I found the pressure so incredibly strong that I just couldn’t stand it any longer and left before the “shower” ran out.
“Changing of the guard” at Riga, Latvia
River cruise at Riga, Latvia
Phallic building, Riga
Skinny dipping on the river, Riga. This image, by the way is always amongst the most visited pages on my website, thanks to search engines. Seriously
View from the river, Riga
Central Markets, Riga
Central Markets, Riga
Beach housing at Jurmala, Latvia
Old resort at Jurmala, Latvia
Australia in the Olympic Games in a bar in Jurmala, Latvia
Train between Riga and Jurmala
Borat graffiti in Riga
After my swim I decided to check out one of the bars in the resort hotel, the Baltic. Oddly enough, as I drank my glass of white wine there was a basketball match on television between Australia and Argentina. It’s the third time in as many days when I’ve seen a television with the Olympic Games, and every time there’s been an Australian on screen. Is it like that back home too? Or is it, as I suspect, only Australians on the television coverage?
I’ve arrived home tonight and my feet are aching. But my mind is also spinning. English isn’t widely spoken at all, except by the very young. A local “expats guide” says you’re best relying upon younger women for advice, as they both speak English and are willing to help. I think I’d agree with that assessment.
Heading back to my hostel tonight, I discovered Latvians have a great sense of humour. The graffiti of Borat was too funny for words.
I’m heading out for a drink tonight at the local venue for gentlemen such as myself, and then tomorrow I want to see some more of the history associated with Russian occupation.
Oh, by the way I found this blog which is pretty funny…
If you are a homosexual, this is probably not the best place unless you like rough people who look like they have just got out of prison.
“You know it’s been a year since our last holiday? You’ve been getting those Facebook reminders? I said to my friend on the phone tonight. A year ago we embarked on a COVID-friendly visit to Western NSW, going to places we had never been before or had never been for many years. “Yeah, we were in Condobolin a year ago, and I’m getting reminders about those utes in the paddock”, she said.
At the start of this year I had hoped to visit her in Wagga a few times throughout the year, but circumstances have prevented that. Oddly enough, and sadly enough I’ve seen her mother more this year than she has, since I’ve spent almost four months back on the Northern Rivers.
But with the end of the lockdown, the idea that we might actually catch up again dominated our conversation tonight. We discussed travel plans we weren’t able to achieve last year, as well as a possible visit to Victoria. She had previously lived there for many years, and I haven’t been to Melbourne for almost two years. As we spoke, we talked about these domestic travel options as well as potential overseas options.
And yet there’s still a part of me that worries, especially as I have read reports and arguments we may be getting out of lockdown too early.
Nonetheless, I’m excited about the idea of restaurants, bars, theatres and cinemas reopening in the next few days. Though I’m not an overly “social person”, I like having my options, especially around the arts.
In my neighbourhood, there’s a sense of optimism in the air, as restaurants unstack their chairs and prepare for opening.
A couple of years ago I was in the area of “excess leave” at work, which meant I had too much leave saved up, and there was a requirement for me, under the Enterprise Agreement at the ABC to take some time off. I did that at the time by taking Wednesdays off, which was a wonderful way of breaking up the week, and reducing my leave balances. I still can’t believe how wonderful it was to take that day off just for “myself”, even if I did end up working longer hours on the other days to make up time! I’m about to start doing that again, as I’ve now re-entered that phase.
I’m also starting to think about an overseas holiday. At the top of my mind is a return trip to Japan. I went to Japan a few years ago, though only visiting Tokyo at the time. It sounds like Japan might open up reasonably soon as a travel destination for Australia. There is so much more to see in Japan, and so it’s at the top of my list right now.
As I walked home this afternoon I noticed a bit of renovation work underway in my back laneway. As I wrote a few weeks ago,
For as long as I’ve lived in Surry Hills, I’ve been quite intrigued by a warehouse located on Wiltshire Street. It’s remained a bit of a mystery for me. I’ve never known how many people live in there or what they do. But they’ve always held some fascination for me, as I’ve imagined a “Barbery Lane”-like living arrangement you might associate with “Tales Of The City” They’ve held legendary laneway parties. They’ve experimented with some artwork, including a concrete television. And they’ve maintained a gorgeous “garden in tubs” which has helped decorate an otherwise unimpressive laneway.
But obviously something’s happened, or something’s gone wrong, or something’s just changed, because the building is not under renovation. There’s a large piece of mechanical equipment, a large empty space, and a dirt floor where there used to be a rather interesting living arrangement. I’ll await with interest the next chapter in the Story of Wilshire Lane.
Otherwise, for me it’s been a day at the library doing family history research.
After a bit of a break from research over the last few months I’ve been throwing myself back into research lately. Last weekend, I traveled to Wollongong to meet so me distant relatives with an interest in our common ancestry. And tomorrow I’m planning to head off to Waverly Cemetery to locate the grave of another ancestor (apparently she has great views).
But today I went to the State Library and the State Records office in research of further details about my ancestor, John Love. From what I’ve learned so far, he was a bit of a wild man who often got into fights, and, although he came to Australia as a free settler in 1791, ended up in a bit of a life of crime.
I found a terrific document about him today, a court record from his time in the NSW Corps where he was found guilty, and later pardoned on a charge of Insolence. Also in my family history I have two convict ancestors who were court martialed. Obviously I come from an ancestry of people that don’t like being told what to do.
John Love who had treated the Summoning Officer with Insolance when he served a summons upon him from this Court, and had refused to obey such summons, alledging that he was soldier appeared to answer to the matter in question, and n consequence of his continuancy and his general bad character (as imparted by Major Foveaux and others) was sentenced to receive 50 lashes, to be imprisoned one month, to find functions for his future good behaviour and to pay Baker the balance of his wheat
It’s also been a day for making catch-up arrangements in the lead-up for Christmas, and in catching up with news that a good friend is in hospital right now. He’s in intensive care, but doing well, so if you’re so inclined please say a prayer for him.
