Sydney is a rare treat, and now it’s my home, I’m excited. It’s only 50 years older than Adelaide and Melbourne and yet it feels much more venerable. An ancient street design in its oldest part, think Benares and Babylon, a comparison underlined by the towering ziggurat like structures at either end of the bridge. […]Read More A Stroll Through Sunny Sydney.
People are very approachable, generally speaking. We shy away from talking to other people for all sorts of bizarre reasons. Other people won’t like it, we can’t whack up the ginger, whatever. Personally, I’ve found that people love being approached and talked to, and many of them have the most extraordinary stories. Here is one […]Read More Talk to Strangers
Just next to Bronte on the cobalt blue Pacific coast lies the famous Waverley Cemetery, in which bone orchard lie many famous Strayans, among whom Victor Trumper and Henry Lawson. A cricketer who played like a poet and a poet who drank like a Cossack. Rolling green hills and the broiling sea hold them close […]Read More Waverley Cemetery
We crossed deep seas and traversed mighty rivers, were washed up like brave Ulysses and found ourselves on Sydney’s oh so sacred soil, safe in the heaving bosom of our fellow arbourbridginis we allowed ourselves a little interpretative dance of Joy. Seen below our humble representation of the history of the development of Australian industry, […]Read More Bondi to Bronte
A particularly magical part of the world this country Victoria. A whole generation of cashed up hippie musicians and artists from Melbourne and flotillas of gorgeous and immaculate gay guys from the hospitality sector in Sydney have met half way (so to speak) and created a joyous outburst of fine dining and sweet living. God […]Read More Benders to Beeches
Our beloved sister Colleen and her lovely husband Graeme live in a little oasis, Pompoota, out Mannum way. “Where” ? We hear you cry. “ Mannum,” we reply, and when you continue to stare blankly we helpfully add, “You know, out Murray Bridge way.” “Ahhh”, you respond, and settle back comfortably in your chair, confident […]Read More Pompoota
Incredibly…somehow…you’ll be shocked gentle reader but it’s true…we left Adelaide…the crucible of democracy, birthplace of the Arts, rivers of fine wine and bubbling beer brooks. Crumbling cliffs of Golden North Honey Ice Cream, Menz Yo-Yo biscuits standing stiffly in a row, Woodroofe’s lemonade flowing from the fountains, King George Whiting the size of blue-fin tuna […]Read More North by North East
In Don Dunstan’s Day (past Callington way) ‘Twas promised a shining new Polis would rise. But…it’s still just pioneers with long dried up tears and six feet of clay to try on for size.Read More Monarto Cemetery
On the Silos in the Mulga the children of Coonalpyn soarRead More Coonalpyn Silos
Adelaide, dear readers, the Queen of the South, the Athens of the Antipodes, the Paradise of Dissent. It was here that my ancestors toiled, span and weaved, punched and ducked, danced and drank, plowed and plunked, they squeezed accordions and strummed guitars, broke horses and ran bars, sat in Parliament and stood at sit-ins. Adelaide […]Read More Adelaide…The “Rad”.