Sleep Deprived

Distant hum

of  constant traffic

sleepless night

I'm amazed anyone ever sleeps around here. Waking at 2am, which is nothing unusual for me, I then proceeded to inadvertently listen in to a one-sided telephone conversation for the next hour or so. Not from inside here though; someone from one of the other units was on her mobile, outside, at 2am mind you, talking quite animatedly, so there was no way of avoiding it. The language was unfamiliar, of Pacific Island origin I think, so at least on one level I didn't feel like I was eavesdropping.

I can only surmise she was outside in order not to wake the rest of her household, but little did she realise the volume and length of this most fervent discussion was keeping the rest of the neighbourhood awake. Well, it was keeping me awake anyway, no stirring from the bedroom next door, no complaints from nearby neighbours, so maybe this is normal for the locals and it all just blends in with the rest of the constant ambient noise.

After that, there was no hope but to stare at the ceiling, roll from side to side, curl myself up every which way, but no matter what, sleep was banished for the night. Then blow me down, as if that wasn't bad enough, the next door neighbour shoved his garage door up at 4am, they're not the quiet push-button sort I can tell you, and moved his car either in or out, not sure which.

The proliferation of townhouses and apartment blocks on what was once a suburban plot with a single house, means people are living on top of each other in increasing numbers, quite literally in many cases. Rubbing up against each other with less and less personal space and lack of privacy can take its toll, so unless you take steps to create a positive personal environment as well as have meaningful contact with those in your immediate surroundings, you can end up being at the mercy of your neighbours for your quality of life.

They call New York the city that never sleeps, and I guess most big cities are the same. Sydney is no exception, for the drone in the distance of constantly flowing traffic never lets up. Who the heck is driving around at two, three, four and five in the morning that there's that much noise? Go to bed people! Stay there!

The hours tick by, all favourite sleeping positions tried, still no sleep. Dawn arrives as light creeps around the edge of the blind, the sun makes its appearance, and those dratted pigeons are at it again. Coo-coo, coo-coo, and another answers coo-cooooo, coo-cooweeoo. Enough already. And don't even think about getting me started on the dogs. The two over the fence, yip-yip, yap-yap-yap, sound like they have one of the local feral cats cornered and are dismembering it.

Oh what a beautiful morning.......... 

Imposing Icon

Harbour Bridge

built with hardened steel

and men's toil

Of the two icons that grace Sydney Harbour which adorn travel brochures worldwide, the Bridge for locals, as much as it might be loved, is simply a means of getting from one side of the city to the other, and often a pain at that. 

Even on a pleasant Sunday afternoon when you would've thought traffic would be reasonable, take into account the huge sign indicating 'Incident on Bridge' and the cars start peeling off in all directions into alternative lanes to find the quickest route possible with the least disruption. Nonetheless, we proceeded to our destination as planned in order for me to have the obligatory Bridge experience most visitors to this teeming city want, though I would baulk at the idea of attempting it as a daily commute in peak-hour traffic. 

From The Rocks to the North Shore, the Bridge is not the prettiest in the world, but its design has stood the test of time. Even nearing its own century, its sheer bulk and strength show no signs of developing wrinkles and wilting, and as the years have passed it has been put to good use to further advertise the attractions of this particular city of the Great South Land, adorned as it is in a million fireworks for all the world to see.

Imposing, yes, but quite something to behold, and you can't help but regard it with awe and admiration, along with the men who risked their lives and those who died in order for that inconvenient stretch of water to be breached. 

The Hazards Beneath

Serpentine roots
rise up, reaching out to grab
and pull me under

Lunch with Harry Trotter

I  woke at 6.30 to the sound of coo-coo, coo-coo, slight pause, coo-coo, coo-coo. Along with the hum of traffic and motorbikes interrupting the morning quiet, that coo-coo, coo-coo went on and on, an annoying sort of background white noise, unlike the morning song and twittering of the other birds. I think it was a pigeon, I remember Bert making that sound on Sesame Street when extolling the virtues of such bird. It wasn't so virtuous this morning, hope he finds somewhere else to wake up tomorrow.

Headed out for lunch, making our way through nightmare traffic to arrive at The Grounds in Alexandria, sounding like somewhere Hercule Poirot would go on one of his treks to the Middle East, and what I found was an amazing space placed bang in the middle of an industrial estate, a microcosm amidst the concrete jungle. Greenery abounded, cafes and markets draped with hanging gardens as good as anything you'd see on the Continent I reckon, plus chooks and Harry Trotter the pig thrown into the mix in their enclosures to amuse the patrons.







Enter another world
feast in the gardens of
Alexandria

Grand Greeting

I'm in Sydney, city of endless suburbia. It took me longer to travel the 40 km from the airport to my destination out west, than to fly the 900 km from Launceston to Sydney. It's been four years since I landed here, but it seemed like nothing had changed, just a different section of the airport in disarray. Miles of intertwining multi-coloured electrical cabling exposed above us, along with volumes of dust covered bare infrastructure usually neatly hidden behind walls and ceilings.

Despite all this, the welcome from Pilot the wonder Grand-Dog was well worth being crammed into the flying sardine tin for an hour and a half. I carried no contraband with me, so needed no cute quarantine Beagle to sniff me out, though Pilot obviously thought otherwise and that her kin were falling down on their job, for she gave my bag a thorough going over just to make sure.


There's nothing like a whine
tail wag and slobbery kiss
to feel welcomed

Centre of Attention

I find it interesting that the male of the species in the natural world is often the most brightly coloured, the most showy, the most vocal. I guess without all that attention seeking behaviour, their species might grind to a halt, for the females at times show very little interest as they go about their daily business. The guys have to really impress to find themselves first pick when it comes to pairing off, and when you come to think of it, human behaviour patterns aren’t really that much different.

Peacock struts his stuff

showing off his finery

she’s playing it cool

What’s a guy to do

to get some attention here

what do women want?

Nature's Carnage #4

Actually, this should really be classified Man’s Carnage, for these poor creatures did not meet their end by means of others of their own or any other species, apart from the human kind that is. 

Go back to Feb 3 and you’ll find the story of this tiny native frog, who decided to check out the ice cream freezer in the local store one stinking hot day, unwittingly cutting off his means of escape when someone slid the lid shut. I wondered whether he might thaw out and hop away as some species of frogs are known to do, but alas, no such luck. He sat on a shelf in the kitchen alongside my equally small brass frog, until one day several months later I noticed he was gone. I know he hadn’t decomposed, one day he was there, the next he wasn’t, and the brass frog wasn’t giving out any information. A thorough search turned up absolutely nothing. Mystery never solved.

You never quite know what’s going to roll into our little village, and this sight as I walked home one day was both fascinating and saddening. Standing tall, with a commanding look, a beautiful zebra, along with several other stuffed animals, was journeying to some unknown destination in the back of a truck. I’ve never quite understood the hunting mindset, this necessity to kill what you’ve managed to track down, and then display what was a living breathing creature as a trophy as proof of your prowess.

Without thought

what could be alive

is now dead