“What are you doing on the weekend?”, a number of people asked me at work yesterday. “Nothing, absolutely nothing”, I told them, adding I might have a sleep in, but not much beyond that. I’ve had a really busy week, both with work and social activity. This was my week,
So by the time the weekend came around, my plan was pretty clear: to sleep in, and relax.
Sometimes when I’m feeling a little stressed I like to play the poker machines. It’s usually only two or three times a year, and I get bored pretty quickly with it. But I still think it’s fun.
Today after I work I did just that. I popped into a nearby pub, got myself a beer and sat down in the front of the King Of The Nile.
As I get bored easily, and as I think you’re never really going to win on poker machines, I go for the high-speed, high-risk approach to gambling. That is, I decide how much I can afford to lose – today I chose $20 – and I take the maximum bet approach. Today, that meant 20 x $1 bets. Short enough to avoid the boredom, but large enough so there’s an element of risk. Either I’ll lose it all – which I’ve mentally prepared myself for – or I’ll at least get my money back, or hopefully win. Today I won $120 which was a welcome surprise.
On top of my Melbourne Cup office sweep win on Tuesday, and discovering $50 left behind in an ATM, it’s fast becoming a week of financial windfalls.
You know how some people go about their morning walk at break-net speed with a pair of headphones presumably blasting loud dance music into their ears?
Or maybe it’s a podcast of one of their favourite radio shows?
Or maybe it’s classical music or jazz?
Well, when I go for a morning walk I prefer silence. As I spend most of my life listening to the sound of people talk, I quite like the bird sounds, as well as the underlying rumble of traffic (I live in Surry Hills after all).
And for me, the morning walk is more of a stroll. My heart-beat hardly ever rises. So for me, it’s not about the exercise, it’s about the moments of silence, I guess.
I also love looking around the neighbourhood, as Surry Hills is a remarkable place.
There’s Beryl, the woman who lives mostly on the streets who I recently discovered was Stolen Generation. She was sitting on a bench on the park.
There was a group of men standing outside the methadone clinic on South Downling Street, waiting for it to open.
There was a group of men and women standing outside the Bourke Street Bakery, waiting for it to open. We all have our addictions, eh?
Over in Moore Park, the spring light was reflecting the overnight mist on the clover.
Happy first day of Spring to you!
Once again I’ve decided my Swedish is better when I’ve had a drink or two, or three or four.
I first discovered this a few years ago at a bar in Stockholm. I was chatting in English with a couple of Swedish guys, and when the topic got around to learning the Swedish language, I discovered my Swedish was far better after a few drinks. We enjoyed a reasonably fluent discussion after the third or fourth beer, as I recall.
The notion was further re-inforced when, after a boozy night in Stockholm, I happened upon a taxi driver who was taking me “the long way home”. I knew exactly where I wanted to go and how to get there, but I guess he assumed I was some dumb tourist from Australia, and so took a left turn when he should have taken a right, which would have resulted in a significantly higher fare. I was able to challenge him, negotiate the “right way home” and ensure he stopped the meter early to compensate.
Deep down, I think the “speaks better when I’ve been drinking” scenario is because when you’re feeling less inhibited due to alcohol, you’re also feeling less self-conscious about your failings, in terms of vocabulary, fluency and that “weird accent”. In short, it becomes more instinctive, and less “thought out”.
The “speaks better when he’s been drinking” scenario happened again the other night. I was walking home (and I’d had a drink or two) and surprisingly crossed paths with a couple of young women speaking Swedish. Our conversation, though brief, was almost fluent, even though I haven’t been to Swedish classes for most of the year, and I’m feeling a bit rusty.
This year has been quite busy work-wise, and I haven’t had much in the way of motivation to go to Swedish class at 8.00pm on a Wednesday night. Put simply, I’m far too tired by the time Wednesday night comes around. I’ll possibly return to Swedish class next year. Or maybe I’ll just keep drinking? :)
“So this is what people do when they retire?”, I though to myself as I looked around the clientele at La Capannina, Milson’s Point. In the outdoor area, there was a table of six older men (mid to late 60s) who looked like they all probably worked together at some point. In the inside area, everyone was similarly aged, though in much smaller groups. Along with the waiters, I was the youngest person in the restaurant. It was interesting to sit quietly and reflect and have a beer, as I watched the blokes play footy on the former bowling green lawns, and waited for my lunchtime partner.
Every so often, a former colleague and I go out for longish lunch. While mostly I scoff down some food in front of my computer (not actually taking a lunch break), it’s an occasional indulgence which I have mixed feelings about. I have a reasonably healthy work ethic, and so the idea of skiving off for a few hours hits at the very core of my existence. But then I rationalise it by remembering I hardly ever actually go out for lunch, and after a couple of hours of good food, good wine and good conversation, it’s all okay.
Having lived in Sydney all his life, being pretty well connected, and now retired, my friend usually has better ideas about where to go than I do. Today, he excelled himself with his suggestion of La Capannina. I’d never heard of it. I had no idea there was a restaurant located at an old bowling club at Milson’s Point, right next to the Sydney Harbour Bridge and with great views.
For the entree, we shared a healthy serving of antipasto. For the main, I had rolled veal which was excellent. In contrast to the restaurant’s bowling club days, the meals were mid-priced (higher than I’d normally pay for lunch, but not too high). The wait staff (who all spoke with Italian accents) were friendly and efficient. The owner popped out for a chat to check on how things were going.
On a fine winter’s day in Sydney, you could do worse than have lunch there.
Colin and I were due to meet at 1230 today at Taylor Square, with the plan of heading down to Stanley Street for something yummy.
As I sat and waited for him to arrive, I thought for a moment about “Gilligan’s Island”.
Twenty years ago, when Sydney was “dance party city”, you would often see “beautiful people” sunning themselves in the afterglow of Sleaze Ball or Mardi Gras.
Back then, the nearby 191 and JBF were thriving establishments. I’m pretty sure the space where 191 was has re-opened in some form, but JBF, The Taylor Square Hotel, remains in an almost-abandoned state.
These days, Taylor Square is a little lifeless, with the only activity being “that stupid fountain” (as Colin called it), spurting water up and down.
The one piece of “life” I noticed was the old abandoned public toilet, which has been the subject of some guerilla knitting.
It’s an interesting use of the space, I noted, which has previously housed a couple of art exhibitions, years after it was abandoned as a public convenience.
But as lifeless as Taylor Square is, it wasn’t much better at Stanley Street, where our desire for something nice for lunch came to nought.
The restaurants there were either closed for lunch or simply closed. It’s a shame, because it was always such a great place, especially around the time of the annual Italian Festival.
So we ended up in the cross, and had lunch at Sopra at Fratelli Fresh. While Colin at the Osso Bucco, I had the Mahi Mahi. Mine came with my three favourite things in the world: mussels, cucumber and tomato. It was excellent. And with a 500ml carafe of red shared between two, the total cost was less than fifty dollars.
Thank goodness, there’s some life in the cross, because Darlinghurst and East Sydney are looking a little drab.
Overall it was a lovely day out and about chatting, and finally having a terrific gelato from a place on Victoria Street, near the hospital. Berries…. mmm
Other than that it’s been a reasonably quiet Saturday best summed up by the contrast between last Saturday and this. Last Saturday night I went to the opening night of Wicked. Tonight I watched The Wizard of Oz on Fox Classics.
“This is what I love about living in Surry Hills”, I told my friend Graeme as we walked down one of the many undiscovered back lane-ways of “my hood”.
We were on our way from drinks with his work-mates to having a couple of bevvies of Oxford Street.
Looking for the most direct route, we walked through a couple of lane-ways with a real sense of adventure. Well, actually, we were looking for the route with the most gentle incline, one that didn’t involve walking up steep hills.
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