Though I can’t be sure it’s his work, I’m pretty confident this is the work of a guy called Matt. (I saw him earlier in the night, ahead of this being created, and knowing the way he works, I’m sure it’s him).
Made from soil, you can’t help but love the sentiment in this piece of “organic public art” in my back laneway.
Matt is a homeless guy who has lived on-and-off in my neighbourhood over the last few years.
He’s a divisive figure in my neighbourhood. Some people hate him sleeping rough, and his erratic behaviour. Others, like me, have developed a friendly relationship with him, though noting his behaviour is sometimes a little bit challenging. From my conversations with him, he seems like a genuinely thoughtful interesting man, albeit with a troubled life.
I wrote about him previously, both here and on the Surry Hills & Valleys story-telling site.
There’s a homeless guy who has been living near my apartment on and off for a couple of years. He has a bunch of “issues”, and though he’s sometimes a little “scary”, other times he’s quite okay, and we’ve chatted together about all kinds of things. A few months ago I noticed a nearby neighbour had left an envelope of cash for him, so I’m obviously not the only one who knows and cares for Matt. A few months ago it really struck home to me about the changes in Surry when I was coming out of my apartment block and was confronted by a man who almost shouted at me “Have you seen the homeless guy? Have you reported him to the police?”. “Yes, I have seen him”, I told him, “but he’s never caused me any concern, so I haven’t. Why would I?” The guy looked dumbfounded at my response. A few days later, I saw Matt being addressed by the police, and being told he shouldn’t hang around in our neighbourhood anymore. “What exactly have I done wrong? What law have I broken”, he asked the police. They didn’t have much of an answer. In the same way there’s “room” for public housing at Northcott, and there’s room for so much cultural, gender, sexual etc, diversity, I hope we don’t end up with a neighbourhood that doesn’t recognise the “other”.
As I begin to reflect back on 2017, one of the most fantastic things I’ve been involved in this year has been a story-telling project called Surry Hills & Valleys. As I wrote previously…
A few months ago a friend and I got together over dinner at a restaurant in Surry Hills. Compared with many, I’m a long-term local, whereas she is a reasonably new arrival, but with a passion for the suburb in which we live. And a common concern, that as Surry Hills goes through the latest transformation, some sense of “community” may be lost along the way.
As we spoke, we became consciously aware that many of the “stories” of Surry Hills go back to the days of Ruth Park novels, and 1930s gangsters. What about life now??
We discussed the idea of story-telling as a way to unite the community in a modern way. There are so many interesting people living here today, and we thought it would be great to capture their stories. Along the way, we’ve enlisted some others with a similar passion.
We “launched” at the end of August, and largely due to the very hard work of Karina and Tim, we now have close to thirty profiles of people who live locally. (I have contributed a couple of ideas, but mostly I’m the web guy). I love reading the stories, and hope you might also check them out also.
Since launching, a few of our profiles have also appeared in Urban Village, our local newspaper. We’ve also discussed ways in which these stories might also be more widely shared. Stay tuned!
“I woke up and thought for half a second of taking a sickie”, a bloke at work said to me as we took the lift together this morning. I knew exactly what he meant because I had the same feelings an hour or so earlier. However, I have a reasonably strong work ethic, and far too much on at the moment to even think about having a day at home.
“It took me an hour to get to work” he told me, complaining about the sluggishness of the road system. “We don’t cope well with the rain in Sydney”, I suggested.
And we don’t. I had to go looking for an umbrella this morning and all I could find was a busted one which I had to hold open myself. It’s my “big gay umbrella” as I like to call it, a reference to the rainbow flag design. All of my other umbrellas were in my office at work, as that’s generally what happens in Sydney. Generally, it’s raining in the morning, so you take your umbrella to work, and then you leave it there, because it’s generally dry by the afternoon. But there are times of the year – like now – where it just keeps raining and raining.
I like the rain at night. In fact, I love the rain at night. I’ll often sleep with the window slightly open so I can take in the smells and slight chill of the rain at night, as well as the sounds. I almost feel like I’m back in the country again. But when it comes to daytime, ugh.
And you can see it around town in the ways in which people cope with the rain. You see a lot of broken down umbrellas when it rains in Sydney. Others will jump from cover to cover, as the idea of owning an umbrella almost seems foreign. There was one bloke on the bus this morning whose “rain strategy” was a baseball cap.
There was a bright moment in the otherwise glum day, however, as I caught up with Cellobella who has been in Sydney for the blogger’s conference. “There were so many amazing stories” she told me, of the people who had bared their souls after years of domestic abuse or had recovered from a serious illness. We both agreed our stories about weather and pop music pale into comparison. Still, we love doing it.
It’s been a take-away pizza night for me and a bit of television watching. I’m a little congested at the moment – I think it’s a bit of hayfever – so I’m feeling a little sluggish myself. Or maybe it’s the combination of the rain and a rather amazing full moon?
Do you know how I’m a bit of a hippie when it comes to medicine?
Strictly speaking, I’m of the view that if you’re feeling a bit sick, the best thing you can do is go to bed until you get better.
If you have a headache (and I only very seldomly get headaches), my philosophy is to find yourself in a dark room and rest. If your body is craving a portion of food, I generally believe, it’s because there’s something in that particular food your body is craving.
Voltaren for Acute Muscle and Back Pain Relief
All those years growing up in Northern NSW has left me with an underlying belief your body can usually heal itself.
Today I’ve found myself challenging that view a little with my first ever case of middle-aged back pain.
It all started late last night with intense pain around my shoulders. It kinda felt like a stress-related pain more than anything. Except I’m not stressed at the moment. And generally, those pains have responded well to a quick warm shower or bath. Throughout last night I had two or three such showers or baths with no response.
And then when I woke this morning, still in pain, I decided a day in bed was going to be the best way to deal with it.
By mid-afternoon, it wasn’t getting any better. And so with an evening planned with Damo, I figured some drug relief would help. My philosophy at this time was to see if the pain relief would help, and if I woke up tomorrow morning I would take another day off and go straight to the doctor.
A colleague recommended Voltaren, which my local chemist warned me twice, “it’s very strong”. After a bit of quick reading around the internet, I was relieved to see there were no apparent side-effects associated with drinking white wine and eating canapes, and so I took a couple of tablets, as directed. The pain disappeared within about 45 minutes.
Since arriving home, I’ve taken the third tablet and the pain has disappeared completely.
Deep down, there’s still a bit of the hippie inside me telling me I obviously need to do a bit of fitness work on my back now that I’ve reached a certain age, so I don’t feel like I’ve compromised my principles too much.
I went to the awards last year and was very excited and pleased to be invited back. With a focus on the people who produce the great quality food, it’s a really nice event to see the producers, the chefs and the consumers mix together.
Attending last year was quite an emotional experience for me. Chatting to a bunch of people who live and work in the bush was a bit of a reminder about one of the things I miss about my current job: not having enough contact with people from regional areas. For most of my life, and for most of my adult working life, I’ve worked in regional media, and have had enduring contact with people from regional areas, aside from my families. “They’re my people”, I sometimes think to myself.
The other amusing thing about last year was spending a bit of time chatting to a nice, jovial, borderline-eccentric bloke who obviously knew a lot about food, and who I engaged in quite an interesting discussion about Scandinavian food. That bloke has since turned out to be one of the people on Master Chef, Matt Preston.
Vogue Produce Awards 2009
He was the host for tonight’s awards which, I’m pleased to say were, once again, short and to the point.
When the first award winner was announced and made their way to the stage, someone close-by yelled out “speech”. You could feel the collective mood in the room which wanted to punch that person in the face, as we were heavily crowded in a small space.
Obviously the best thing, though, was the food. Most memorable for both Damo and I was the Holy Goat Cheese. Beautiful. Smooth. To die for!
Almost as memorable were the wagyu mini-burgers.
A lovely moment from the night was a special lifetime achievement (or something) award for Stephanie Alexander, recognising all the work she has been doing in setting up gardens and kitchens in schools around the country.
What a great night. And special thank goodness for the Voltaren which made it all possible.
In the middle of last night I woke up and heard Loretta Lynn on the radio. It wasn’t one of her better songs. The sacharine sweetness of “Paper Roses” (even with its bitter-sweet tale of love gone wrong) lacks a lot of the feistiness I love about her work. Songs like “You Ain’t Woman Enough To Take My Man”, “Don’t Come Home A Drinkin’ With Loving On Your Mind” and “One’s On The Way” reflect a “real world feminism” that really appeals to me. Or at least that’s the impression I’m left with having just watched “Coal Miner’s Daughter” on Foxtel, a film I’d seen several times before.
But until watching it again tonight, I’d forgotten just how much the early part of the film so clearly places Loretta as the “Coal Miner’s Daughter” with very few options. Very early in the film, a friend of Loretta’s future husband declares, “Living in the mountains you got three choices. Coal miner. Moonshine. Or moving on down the line.” For women in the mountains, however, there were fewer choices, mostly limited to getting married and having babies (lots of babies), which Loretta of course does. The limited choices she has is summed up early in the movie when, on the verge of leaving the small mountain town in which she’s grown up, Loretta’s husband declares, “You have to make up your mind if you’re his daughter or my wife”. It’s no surprise then, that as Loretta becomes a successful country music singer, her husband doesn’t cope well with his wife’s success, providing both a dramatic device for character development and in the exploration of the “real world feminism” of a very personal kind. By the way, I use the phrase “real world feminism” not to put down feminist theory – quite the opposite – but in an effort to describe the personal manifestation of the political.
I think “Coal Miner’s Daughter” is also a very important landmark film, recognising with intelligence the legitimacy of country music and its associated stories. In many respects, it’s the film that allowed the recent Johnny Cash biopic “Walk The Line” to be made. The main difference, however, is that while I thought Joaquin Phoenix did a fine job acting as Johnny Cash, Sissy Spacek IS Loretta Lynn, with a totally honest and convincing performance. I also found the music, especially the hillbilly music of the early parts of the film, to be totally authentic. Who could not be moved by the performance of “Amazing Grace” at Loretta’s father’s funeral? Shying away from a cliched and half-expected solitary performance by Loretta, the song is led simply and mournfully by the preacher.
As Loretta’s life progresses – and she takes on the country music cliches of big hair – she maintains a wonderful authenticity. And I think it’s one of the reasons why the film works so well, as you can almost imagine your in her situation. It’s a wonderful, joyous film, and watching it was a really great way to spend a Monday night.
Swedish Cafe, Goulburn Street, SydneyI was really nervous about going to Swedish class tonight. Aside from singing along with Swedish pop, and browsing a few pages of the novel I bought in Sweden, I haven’t spoken any Swedish since the beginning of August.
Before going to class tonight I did some revision which, to be honest, I found a little hard. And so when I turned up at class tonight, I was pretty anxious about how much I would remember.
But once we got started tonight a lot of it came flashing back. I think my pronunciation is still pretty good. And I wasn’t bad at putting sentences together either. Although I understood everything I had to read, I struggled a little with some of the comprehension exercises where you have to “fill in the space” or “say something back” based on the text you’ve read. But I never was very good at comprehension. I’ve always been much better “bigger picture” than on detail. But still I did okay.
Unlike last time I have no specific goal in mind, aside from a very vague goal of returning to Sweden in a couple of years, probably at around the same time.
It was also nice to see Marianne, and to relate some of my travel stories, and to hear about her travels for her son’s wedding.
And I “came out” at class. With a whole new bunch of faces I had absolutely no qualms in saying my interest in learning Swedish is because I like Swedish music and Swedish cinema. “And do you have a favourite pop group?”, Marianne asked. Everyone laughed, in a nice way, when I said “I love ABBA”. That was fun.
Amusingly I noticed a sign on the window of the cafe, noting the establishment of a new Swedish cinema group and two new Swedish community liaison people. Guess what their names are? Anna and Frida. I swear, it’s true…
“How old do you think Tony Sheldon is…?”, we asked each other during half-time yesterday in the latest production of “Priscilla, Queen Of The Dessert”, currently playing at Sydney’s Capitol Theatre, which I attended with my friend Sue, and her mum, visiting down from the country. It turns out he’s 62, and in remarkably good shape as a performer, playing the role of Bernadette. The other performers in the show were also very good, and in fact the whole show was excellent, being highly entertaining and engaging. It was a lovely way to spend a Saturday afternoon, followed by a drink, before my friends went off to dinner in Chinatown.
And me? I came home for an early night, and a bit of Royal Wedding watching.
On my way home, I was blown away by the number of empty shops in a row, as I was walking along Crown Street, Surry Hills. In particular, there were five empty shops next to each other in the area between Devonshire and Cleveland Streets, in what used to be long-term spaces for a restaurant, bar and hair-dressing salon. A couple of years ago, a local real estate agent posted here the area was always changing, and shops were always opening and closing. And yes, to an extent, I agree. But I think there’s also a bigger trend going on. As we move to more online shopping (including the home food delivery phenomenon), I wonder if our retail areas are keeping pace with that change. Maybe we don’t need as many “shop spaces” anymore? I don’t know. It’s just a theory that’s been going around my head lately.
Meanwhile, here’s a few lovely photographs I’ve snapped lately.
Empty shops on Crown StreetLovely colour combination at Railway SquarePriscilla1 Bligh Street, SydneySandstone Sydney
