These were taken from one of the wonderful old ferries that chug along the Brisbane River, whilst returning from a visit to Miss Wendy.
22 May 2005
Slide Night -- Part 1
I'm going to be inflicting a few pictures on you over the next couple of weeks. I'm particularly keen today, since I'm supposed to be hard at work on a rather crucial job application.
These were taken from one of the wonderful old ferries that chug along the Brisbane River, whilst returning from a visit to Miss Wendy.
These were taken from one of the wonderful old ferries that chug along the Brisbane River, whilst returning from a visit to Miss Wendy.
21 May 2005
All hail!
We sat in the lounge room holding the children, soothing the fear that flared with every clap of thunder. It wasn't even approaching the worst storm I've seen in my thirty-five years, but in their short lives it was as malevolent as any. I guess when you're three, any tempest seems life-threatening. It had been rumbling on for a while when a tink... tink-tink.... tink-tink-tink-TINK! was added to the soundscape. Hail. A borrowed car sat in our driveway, so Sally dashed out to bring it into shelter while both the kids burrowed under my arms. After just a light peppering the hail passed, and the evening settled into a steady rain.
It wasn't until the ABC News came on that we realised our luck. The presenter announced that we would have to make do with the Sydney broadcast tonight, and showed images of the ceiling of the Brisbane studios collapsing under the weight of water the ice-choked drains had washed in there.
Still thick on the ground the next morning
It wasn't until the ABC News came on that we realised our luck. The presenter announced that we would have to make do with the Sydney broadcast tonight, and showed images of the ceiling of the Brisbane studios collapsing under the weight of water the ice-choked drains had washed in there.
7 000 properties lost power across the city, and the SES were kept busy running makeshift repairs to damaged buildings until the small hours. The hail storm came with no official warning, since the Weather Bureau lost all radar signals leading up to the worst of it.
Following the climatic mayhem came another squall, but this time of cheap cliche. Wild gusts of "unleashed its fury", "trail of destruction" and "night of terror" lashed the unwitting residents, with ensuing damage beyond estimation. At least the kids were spared that particular trauma -- they're too young to know the horrors of The Curious Snail.
Following the climatic mayhem came another squall, but this time of cheap cliche. Wild gusts of "unleashed its fury", "trail of destruction" and "night of terror" lashed the unwitting residents, with ensuing damage beyond estimation. At least the kids were spared that particular trauma -- they're too young to know the horrors of The Curious Snail.
20 May 2005
AND ANOTHER THING...!
[stamps onto soapbox]
It's Paniyiri* this weekend. I've been known to trot along to this annual shindig for a souvlaki and galaktoboureko in years gone by, so thought I might stroll through for a brief look and a bite of lunch tomorrow. But my breath will remain sweet and garlic-free this year, because.... they're now charging an entry fee!! It's a damned outrage! I have to pay for the privilege of spending money?!? Because that's the thing: people go to these events with the aim of emptying their wallets with abandon, so why not just let them do so unhindered? Why the fiscal disincentive? What happened to the all-inclusive West End eth(n)ic? Hey? Hey?!
[steps off awkwardly off soapbox]
Paniyiri 2004 -- Hellenic puppet drag comes but once a year.**
For my part, I think I'll just be making do with visiting Coffee Guy on Monday for a kataifi, an espresso and an amusingly animated description of the weekend's events -- assuming he goes along, of course -- and save myself the distress of being trampled under the frenzied feet of the world's longest Zorba dance... to say nothing of the distress of witnessing it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
In other Brisbane Greek news, during my absence the zaxaroplasteion on Gladstone Road has pulled in its shingle. Any advice on procuring Hellenic sweets in this town will be most welcome.
~~~~~~~~~~~
*Paniyiri has become known as the "Paniyiri Fesitval", literally "Festival Festival".
** This kind of looks like the result of that kids' game where you draw a head on a strip of paper then fold it down, and then the next person draws a torso, and so on. "Ha ha, Brian drew Dr Robert Winston's head, Carmel did a biker's chest and on the bottom half Mike put his little sister going to ballet!"
It's Paniyiri* this weekend. I've been known to trot along to this annual shindig for a souvlaki and galaktoboureko in years gone by, so thought I might stroll through for a brief look and a bite of lunch tomorrow. But my breath will remain sweet and garlic-free this year, because.... they're now charging an entry fee!! It's a damned outrage! I have to pay for the privilege of spending money?!? Because that's the thing: people go to these events with the aim of emptying their wallets with abandon, so why not just let them do so unhindered? Why the fiscal disincentive? What happened to the all-inclusive West End eth(n)ic? Hey? Hey?!
[steps off awkwardly off soapbox]
For my part, I think I'll just be making do with visiting Coffee Guy on Monday for a kataifi, an espresso and an amusingly animated description of the weekend's events -- assuming he goes along, of course -- and save myself the distress of being trampled under the frenzied feet of the world's longest Zorba dance... to say nothing of the distress of witnessing it.
In other Brisbane Greek news, during my absence the zaxaroplasteion on Gladstone Road has pulled in its shingle. Any advice on procuring Hellenic sweets in this town will be most welcome.
*Paniyiri has become known as the "Paniyiri Fesitval", literally "Festival Festival".
** This kind of looks like the result of that kids' game where you draw a head on a strip of paper then fold it down, and then the next person draws a torso, and so on. "Ha ha, Brian drew Dr Robert Winston's head, Carmel did a biker's chest and on the bottom half Mike put his little sister going to ballet!"
19 May 2005
Don't waste your time here -- go and enjoy PostSecret instead.
Yet another good idea I didn't have. :/
Yet another good idea I didn't have. :/
7 May 2005
Pinko Plush
I'd heard of it happening, of course; it's one of those things you might see in a movie, or a story you'd hear at the pub. I'd always held a faint hope that one day I might be so blessed, but, as with winning the lottery, never really believed I would.
Until today.
Today it happened to me. And all thanks for a fondness for the image of Vladimir Illych Lenin.
~~~~~~~~~
I had decided, almost on the spur of the moment, to pay a flying visit to Melbourne. Running late to board my flight at Brisbane airport, an announcement requested that I move past the restless and snaking queue to hasten my last-minute check-in. A brisk trot from the train had raised the climate inside my vinyl jacket to tropical, but in the frantic juggle of bags and slips of paper and luggage tags and identification and pens simply didn't have enough hands to remove it as I fronted up to the counter. I left it on.
As a pair of baggage handlers shuffled a trolley through the adjoining gate one of them stopped, his eye fixed on the red Lenin badge glinting cheaply on my jacket lapel. "Wow!" he said, pointing. "Where did you get that? They're really hard to come by, aren't they?" I described the market stalls of Soviet paraphernalia I'd seen in icy Berlin: great mounds of sinister flotsam, watched over by hard-faced Russians under the dour, snow-heavy skies. The conversation bobbed buoyantly on as the clerk listened, smiling, to my new friend and I share our enthusiasm for communist trinkets, and chirpy gossip about the coin-and-medal traders in the city. We both departed lively, but not before the clerk handed over my boarding pass with, "Well, since you're so nice, I've upgraded you to Business Class."
The badge had actually come from a box of dozens like it in an Elizabeth Street Army disposal, and cost $2. Two hours flying in unexpected luxury? Priceless.
Until today.
Today it happened to me. And all thanks for a fondness for the image of Vladimir Illych Lenin.
I had decided, almost on the spur of the moment, to pay a flying visit to Melbourne. Running late to board my flight at Brisbane airport, an announcement requested that I move past the restless and snaking queue to hasten my last-minute check-in. A brisk trot from the train had raised the climate inside my vinyl jacket to tropical, but in the frantic juggle of bags and slips of paper and luggage tags and identification and pens simply didn't have enough hands to remove it as I fronted up to the counter. I left it on.
As a pair of baggage handlers shuffled a trolley through the adjoining gate one of them stopped, his eye fixed on the red Lenin badge glinting cheaply on my jacket lapel. "Wow!" he said, pointing. "Where did you get that? They're really hard to come by, aren't they?" I described the market stalls of Soviet paraphernalia I'd seen in icy Berlin: great mounds of sinister flotsam, watched over by hard-faced Russians under the dour, snow-heavy skies. The conversation bobbed buoyantly on as the clerk listened, smiling, to my new friend and I share our enthusiasm for communist trinkets, and chirpy gossip about the coin-and-medal traders in the city. We both departed lively, but not before the clerk handed over my boarding pass with, "Well, since you're so nice, I've upgraded you to Business Class."
The badge had actually come from a box of dozens like it in an Elizabeth Street Army disposal, and cost $2. Two hours flying in unexpected luxury? Priceless.
3 May 2005
Ahhhh...
The flat white...
...has been consumed....
...and all is well. Hi Brisbane!
...has been consumed....
...and all is well. Hi Brisbane!
(Now I can get back to some coherant posting.)
1 May 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
