Marrickville Princess

Marrickville Greek Style

2008-05-08T20:43:00.001-07:00

Greeks have been a big part of Marrickville history. While Vietnamese noodle places now dominate Marrickville Road, some Greek remanets remain. As does Alexander the Great Macedonian Club.

I decided to visit the place with my buddies on Saturday.

Our Greek Goddess buddy Maria took control of the food order. We ordered dips, bread and a mixed seafood and meat platter. Red wine was also the order of the day.

Five minutes into the conversation, the musicians began. It wasn’t exactly background music. Rather it pierced into every word we said. We thought of finishing up our feed and buggerig off to the REM,

Then Leo Sayer came out and serenaded us. There was no escape. Instead we smiled duly and watched him duet with Dolly Parton. In order to sustain any conversation between us, we resorted to note writing. At that stage it was time for a jug of ale.

Leo serenades Maria

While Dolly Parton works the crowd

Note taking was the only way to converse

For Penny it was time for a smoke. We needed to get out.

“As a Greek chick I am really embarrassed about the place.” Maria said. Sam reassured her by saying that Aussies have their RSL clubs.

We waved goodbye to Leo and that was that. Outside Penny and I had a conversation with one of the security guards.

“It used to be happening, this place. Now everyone goes to places like the Ivy.”

I asked him if he was Greek.

“I am part Macedonian and part Jewish. I am thinking of becoming fully Jewish. That way I can start making some money”.

Night of the dirty dirty martini

2008-04-30T23:13:00.001-07:00

Time: Friday night
Venue: Hemisphere Bar
Snogging: Nil

It was one of those night’s – I’ll just stay for one and then one ends up lasting till 11:30pm.
The bar staff got a bit excited with my dirty martini, allowing the olive to flow a little too freely and so ended up with a dirty dirty martini. My mate darin called it the Filthy Martini. Enjoy the pics.

Pip bites into Renovation Pete

DTC and Jeff

Vish hangs back with a beer

Satisfied staffers

Camera by Juli

On the house

2008-04-16T20:56:00.001-07:00

The morning after. Julia and THAT Kevin Rudd wish

Last night Julia Newbould met Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. She asked him to sign a birthday card for her mum. He did.

Last night I met the Mayor of Marrickville Dimitrios Thanos. I asked him if I could take a pic of him with my friend Peter. He did.

“Please just call me Dimitri” he said to me after I addressed him as Mayor Thanos.

After some light conversation, he gave me his business card and said “call me anytime”.

I was at Petersham Town Hall to honour my mate Peter’s entry in the Marrickville Medal awards ceremony.

“The prestigious Marrickville Medal for Conservation has been awarded annually since 1995. It awards and celebrates conservation and restoration works that contribute to the understanding and preservation of Marrickville’s rich cultural and architectural heritage,” according to the council website.

Peter’s beautiful home was one of the finalists. On the back of the award presentations, the night included speeches from heritage experts – clearly they don’t get to speak much.

One chap spoke for 40 minutes, a presentation that included PowerPoint slides of heritage sites around Australia and pictures of his daughter, her pet dog and a hen with five chickens.

The other chap who won a special heritage promotions award spent a bit of time thanking his sub-editor. God Bless.

Finally it was time for the presentations. The homes were fabulous; clearly Marrickville is home to some fine architecture and residents with taste. Even the Maronite Sisters were up for a nomination. Their Novena must not have worked as they didn’t take home a medal, but at least they had their pic taken with the Mayor.

The winner was a home in Newtown, which is in fact leased out as holiday accommodation. “It was the worst house on the street” we were told.

The sandstone cottage was built in 1858 by a family of funeral directors. The architects (also the homeowners) subsequently renovated it into a modern gem, no doubt with a 4-star wells cistern label dunny.

Check it out!

http://www.australiastreetcottage.com/

The audience views Peter's home as part of a PowerPoint presentation

Peter, his certificate and Mayor just call me Dimitrios Thanos

Peter and his home

The Martonite Sisters with their certificate

The booze was free and it flowed all night

Night out at Maccas

2008-03-27T21:01:00.000-07:00

We all know the feeling – after a few beers the hunger creeps in. That’s when my craving for a cheeseburger begins. After Stev(o)’s farewell drinks at Customs House, Sam, Sallyanne and myself headed to the conveniently located McDonalds. We met a trans-gender bus driver and as they say, the rest is history!

Let the night begin - Sallyanne claims a stake at the counter

People line-up

A long chip

Simon was not allowed into The Establishment because of his Birkenstocks....so he joined us at Macca's

Sallyanne takes the Mercedes Benz home with our bus driver buddy

Brisvegas - take two

2008-03-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

Another year, another conference and I found myself back again in Brisvegas. Last year I spent a Brisvegas weekend in a windowless hotel room with my dear friend Maria. This year, I splurged and stayed at the new Emporium Hotel with my dear buddy Penny. This hotel had a room and a massive T.V. We shopped, saw a circus at the Judith Wright Centre and of course enjoyed a few glasses of wine. Enjoy the pics!

Barnsey sings out on the massive T.V

Penny enjoys a glass of bubbles in her bargain-priced Little Joe dress

Enjoying a ciggie

A slice of Paris in Brisvegas

An indigenous Australian celebrates the impending St Pat's day

Beer and chips and a sunday Brissie afternoon

OH MY God I am a SPUD

2008-03-11T22:41:00.000-07:00

If I want kids maybe I should opt for a salary miner. What are you?

From the SMH and AAP today....

SPUDS and freemales on the rise
March 12, 2008 - 12:32PM

First there were DINKs (dual income, no kids) and SINKs (single income, no kids) - now Australia is experiencing the rise of the SPUD (single person urban dwelling), not to mention the "freemale".
In a wide-ranging new geo-demographic survey of the country, researchers have found that unmarried women now outnumber married women for the first time since World War I.
The Mosaic 2008 analysis reveals 51.4 per cent of women are opting for the singles lifestyle in a new phenomenon billed as "Bridget Jones meets Sex and the City".
The survey also estimates that up to a quarter of women will never have children, while SPUDs account for more than 25 per cent of all dwellings in Australia - a figure that's expected to soar over the next 30 years.
"Mosaic 2008 offers us new levels of insight into where Australians live and work, how much they earn and spend, what their family situation is and what they do with their spare time," Graham Plant, of research firm Pacific Micromarketing, said.
"It draws on richer data sources and drills down further to the household level than any other similar analysis.
"Many of the new trends identified, ask serious questions of businesses and government: for example, what does the rise of the SPUD mean for transport and utility service providers and grocery retailers, not to mention the energy-efficiency of our cities?"
Other findings in Mosaic 2008 include:
50 per cent of all Australians have one parent born overseas, of whom only 14 per cent were born in the UK;
Africa, India, Indonesia, Singapore and China are the fastest-growing sources of immigrants;
So-called salary miners - high-income earners in younger households in remote mining communities, with high disposable incomes and low housing costs - account for 0.6 per cent of the population;
The proportion of baby boomers aged 65+ is expected to double to 25 per cent of the total Australian population by 2038.
Mr Plant said the Mosaic findings provided governments, private and other sectors with invaluable data to better plan for the future.
"In a shifting and fragmenting consumer landscape, all enterprises need to work harder to understand their customers better," he said.
"Companies should be planning products and services that their customers will want over the next decade, not what they wanted five years ago."
Mosaic 2008 was compiled from data in the last Australian census and other sources, Pacific Micromarketing said.

The Dentist

2008-03-11T22:30:00.000-07:00

“You are a lovely lady. Let’s fill you up” That’s what my dentist said to me as I had yet another filling.

A trip to the dentist has always been problematic for me. My last visit cost me more than $3,000. And when I had my wisdom teeth pulled out I had to re-finance my home loan. I was working at Chatswood at the time and my nearest dentist was a fancy bloke with fancy equipment.

Instead of being anaesthetised during the extraction of my wisdom teeth, he got in a bloke that practiced ‘sleep dentistry’ He placed a needle in my arm. In no time I was asleep. During the operation this sleep dentistry fella would just monitor my heartbeat on his own portable machine. When I awoke, I didn’t have that drugged out feel.

And while I had two wisdom teeth pulled out, the next day I was mighty fine. I even received a call from my fancy dentist. This fella was good.

Years later (I am pretty bad I don’t practice the six monthly visits) I thought I’d go back to the dentist of my youth – Dr Andrew Frame. Dr Frame has been in Burwood for years and he’s tops. We first met Dr Frame when my sister was in a car accident in Dee Why and had her front teeth smashed in. Dr Frame put them back together again. And we have never looked back. He’ll take ages to put a needle in your gums, which means you only feel a very dull pressure. He used to say to me, “If my prick hurts just kick me”.

It was lovely seeing him again. And the best thing is I only walked out with a $179 bill. Having said that I will have to go again to get more fillings and a plastic guard. Apparently I grind a lot in my sleep and so need them protected. That will cost me another $600 bucks. Looks like I may have to hold back on getting the Caroma Walvit Invisi toilet suite with the invisiable cistern.

Dr Andrew Frame: 02 9744 7201

Three cheers for the GPS

2008-03-09T23:53:00.000-07:00

Has anyone been in a taxi lately? A taxi that uses that fancy Global Positioning System (GPS). I was on my way home from Melbourne last week. Normally when I catch a taxi from the airport I am met with a growl. A trip from the airport to Marrickville is only a $20 cab fare. Honestly why would I travel on train when it costs $12 and takes twice the time?

This time, I was not met with a growl but with confusion. The poor taxi driver did not know where Marrickville was.

“Don’t worry I will use the GPS,” he said to me with a smile.

After punching in some details on a hand held gizmo we were off.

A voice from the gizmo said:

“At two hundred metres prepare to turn left. At one hundred metres turn left”

“At two hundred metres turn right. At one hundred metres turn right”

And so it went on. In no time, I saw the familiar Sydenham station. And I knew we were home. Once the Taxi drove down Marrickville Rd, the voice became a bit crazy.

My instructions were contrary to what was dialled into the GPS handset and so for the last few minutes of the journey we received a barrage of instructions “prepare to turn back. In one hundred metres prepare to turn back” And so it went on.

Still I arrived safe and sound and this time didn’t have to suffer the cab pulling over, while looking at the map or the grumpy silence.

The last time a taxi driver couldn’t take me home, I just jumped out and ran. But you can read all about that in http://marrickvilleprincess.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-life-of-crime.html

Three cheers for the GPS.

A long time coming

2008-02-12T21:50:00.001-08:00

The Prime Minister of Australia apologises to the Stolen Generation

Today I joined many Australians to hear Prime Minister Kevin Rudd apologise to the stolen generations. With heavy rain above us and my brolly sheltering some of my fellow attendees we witnessed what was truly a historic occassion. It was brilliant. Truly magnificent.

Night of the old farts

2008-02-10T17:21:00.000-08:00

Old people watch Died Pretty - Taras pumps the air

The last time I saw Ed Kuepper team up with Died Pretty was at The Metro. The sheer brilliance of their music had us on our feet all night. I was looking forward to revisiting my twenties as I booked the duo for a night out at The Enmore Theatre

As we held our cans of VB we didn’t have to wait long for Ed to come on stage. He was wearing spectacles. Nevertheless he still had the sexpot in him as he sang from his various masterpieces including Today Wonder and Honey Steel’s Gold.
Sam had never heard his music but by the end of his set, Ed had scored a new fan. I loved every minute of Ed on stage although I wished I could have stood and swayed to his music, instead of sitting down on the theatre chairs.

At least these Hunter Valley chaps were up and dancing

When Died Pretty came on, I immediately leapt from my chair. It was the right thing to do. Then a lady my age tapped on my shoulder. “Can you please dance in the aisle”?

As Ron Peno blasted Godbless, the vast majority of people remained in their seats. But I didn’t care; I was now in the aisle with Taras, Sam and two nice gentlemen from the Hunter Valley. I wonder if Peno and the boys felt my frustration.

Although most of my fellow punters seem to have had a sober experience, I had a fabulous night.

I may be heading into my forties but at least I don’t need a seat to go to a Died Pretty concert.

Post-conference Sam and I met this nice chap.

Taras took the Hunter Valley Boys to the Sly Fox. "We've never seen anything like this on the main street of Cessnock," they told him

When the cops come a calling...

2008-01-20T22:44:00.000-08:00

Incident! Last night my friend Jade sat down to a cuppa and one hour’s viewing of the very good and tantalising three part series on the ABC, The Line of Beauty. Being a fan of the book, I enjoyed Alan Hollinghurst’s take on the life of English toffs during the time of Thatcher. The story also centres around a gay chap by the name of Nick Guest. The book was especially explicit in its gay sex scenes, The TV series no different.

Clad in her Peter Alexander pyjamas, Jade was enjoying the movie over a cuppa of chilli hot chocolate (from Byron Bay).

A knock on the door interrupted her telly viewing.

It was the Marrickville cops.

A woman had her handbag snatched outside her block of units and they wanted to know if she heard anything.

Just as Jade was about to answer, the grunts of men could be heard from her telly. As she fumbled for words the grunts continued. The cops remained poker faced as she told them she had not heard anything. Finally the sounds of deep male sigh silenced the grunts.

There is a saying that a girl should always wear nice undies in case she is ever run over by a bus.

Well in our crime ridden suburb, there is always the opportunity for the cops to come a calling. Just make sure you have your Peter Alexanders (I actually have a nice pair of Leona Edmiston) on and the TV sound hushed.

Living with Panache

2008-01-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

“Oh so you bought some wallpaper to frame,” mybrother-in-law said to me as I told him about my fabulous new ‘wall art’.

This printed fabric wallpaper art was designed by thelegendary (and some say notorious) wallpaper designer Florence Broadhurst.

The poor woman was found murdered, with her head stuffeddown a toilet. But her extraordinary prints live on.

The Lotus restaurant in Potts Point has this very design wallpapered in its swish bar. Even Australian frock designer Leona Edmiston has Broadurst wallpaper featured in some of her boutiques. Next stop Marrickville.

I picked up my little gem through an online store on ebay– Living with Panache

I may not have my walls covered in her magnificent designsbut my little piece of Florence sits well with my Danish and Murano glass– indeed it’s living with panache!

www.livingwithpanache.com.au

Beauty on Wardell

2008-01-08T13:54:00.000-08:00

Forgive me, but I have been admiring my new pedicure for aweek. I have never had one and now that I have, I doubt I can ever paint thetips of my toes again. They look fabulous in my Gisele Bundchen flip flops.

I had them done on Saturday at the newly established Unisex hair studio salon that has opened up just near Dulwich Hill station. While it wasthe first time I had my pedicure done, I have visited the salon on numerousoccasions.

The thing about Asian beauticians is that they understandthat brown people like myself want to look like Jessica Simpson. So instead ofadvising me to remain with my “nice thick straight black hair” they immediatelyget to work with hot tongs and a blow dryer as I show them a picture ofSimpson’s tumbling, curly mane.

And when I need by eyebrows shaped they never blink when Ishow them a picture of Kylie Minogue’s amazingly fine arched brow.

The pedicure cost me $28 so next time I will go for the maxi– deal, manicure and pedicure for $40.

The last time I had a manicure was with nail artist supremo Christina Fitzgerald at a Myer store promotion. Fitzgerald was manicurist tothe stars including Kylie Minogue. She became so famous that she now has herown nail polish range.

It was an honour to have my nails done by Christina. But her salon is in Paddington and Unisex is in Dulwich Hill. Her manicures alone cost$50 and a pedicure sets you back $80.

I’ll stick with the hair studio at least I can imagine I’m Kylie andJessica rolled into one.

Unisex Hair Studio - 4 Dudley St, West Marrickville, 9558 3569

Indian cricket players

2008-01-06T21:07:00.001-08:00

"The Indian players had earlier pushed their way through a scrum of reporters and autograph hunters onto the bus following the fall-out from yesterday's SCG Test,"

That was the report from the Sydney Morning Herald. I still managed to have a peek as my managind editor, Julia Newbould snapped happily away.

Photographers stake their positions

Tendulkar meanders through the groupies

My favourite - The Turbinator

Ganguly graps a coffee

Hot shot Investorinfo publisher couldn't care less

Cats of Marrickville

2008-01-03T17:03:00.000-08:00

This is Sid. He likes to beat up on the other felines

While this sweetie is looked after by the copper dogs

This is my girl Majella

Majella's next door neighbour

This is Mila, ok she's from Camperdown but that's close enough

This is Milsha. She leads a somewhat charmed life

This chap likes to crap in front of my neighbour's door

Typical Day at the Cricket

2008-01-02T17:10:00.001-08:00

From a feeling of jubilance

To...disappointment....

Ok. I love my country but how I wish there was some competition in cricket. Yesterday, at the first day of the second test, I thought,there just might be a bit of competition. As Australia's top nob batsmen all fell after only 134 runs, Symonds and Hogg went on to more than double the the score, with the partnership achiveing 174 runs. Oh well, at least they are both nice people cricketers. Nob face Clarke managed to score only one misely run. That in itself made it a good day at the cricket. Oh and the fact that Indian spinner Harbhajan Singh was giving me the eye when he was fielding. But Stev(o) reckons he just wanted a passport.

Victory short lived - Indians celebrate after the first wicket falls

At least I could enjoy beer with my mates

And Charlie's knees turned red

My New Year Summer

2008-01-02T16:52:00.000-08:00

New Year's eve in George St

New Year's Day at the beach

Beer with Stev(o) at the cricket

Frolicking in Double Pay

2007-12-30T15:52:00.001-08:00

Give me a beach that has its sea without waves. That has its sand and its grass and a no frills café. Secluded from the crowds but not public transport with views of the harbour am I asking too much?

No, not if you come to Redleaf Pool. My mate Laura has a gorgeous Art Deco home in Double Pay. Right near Andrew Peacock and Julie Bishop in fact.

But we weren’t there to see Andrew or Julie, we were there to spend the summer afternoon with Laura at a public pool, “that was just next door”.

And indeedy it was. Redleaf Pool can be found by walking down a driveway that is just off New South Head Road. As I travelled down the stairs behind Laura, I spotted the pool - a bay, sectioned of with ropes. People were sunning themselves along the sand and nearby grass, while swimmers dived off from two pontoons floating in the bay. A huge working ship slowly moved in the distance, as sailing boats peppered the glorious harbour. For a split second, I thought maybe, perhaps, Sydney is the best city in the world.

Of course there was a café, which seemed unpretentious. It was quite possibly the perfect place.

And it was a perfect afternoon. After a peaceful swim, Laura took us to the nearby yacht club, located just near Double Pay’s ferry jetty. She was a member and so we had exclusive access. We enjoyed Pimms as the sun still glared strongly over the bay. The club’s clientele chatted quietly, the older dames enjoying schooners of beer. The only thing that marred the dignity of the afternoon were the pokey machines behind the bar. Laura reckons they should bring in Russell Crowe to sort out that situation.

She’s probably right, but at that stage, I was simply happy to have discovered Redleaf Pool and enjoy a frolic in Double Pay.

Footnote. My friend Sallyanne has termed Double Bay as Double Pay.

The long night home

2007-12-23T02:49:00.000-08:00

After our staff christmas party these Marrickville Princesses wanted to go home

Our staff christmas party was great. Lots of booze but little food. After the 10th glass of bubbly and a boogie with work colleagues, McDonalds was desperately needed. But who cares about calories, our concern now was getting home in the middle of a festive season.

Walking along George St, our desperation grew as cabs drove past, their lights dulled, not a vacant one in sight. Kate suggested we walked to the cab rank on Park St. I thought we may be able to take a train. Alas at Town Hall station, the last train out of Bankstown was gone.

Our hearts sank, as we spotted the cab rank - groups of people milling behind the queue. That didn't not deter Kate and Juli as they patiently took their place. Nic and I thought we'd try the 423 but that too had finished for the night. Suprisingly Kate and Juli moved up the queue. After a group packed into a maxi-cab, a taxi driver with a glassed eye asked as where we were heading.

Marrickville we said in unison.

"No problem. I'll take you there"

We followed him across the road, jumped into the cab and laughed in happiness. We were on our way home!

Merry Christmas everyone

Love the Marrickville Princess

Night out in Surry Hills

2007-12-16T14:19:00.000-08:00

On a Saturday night, I finally managed to dine at il Barretto in Surry Hills with my friend Isabella. We had a lovely meal and decided to finish the evening with a contreau on ice.

Isabella ruled out the pub opposite the restaurant on Burke St. She told me when she went inside to buy a bottle of wine they had a bloke in there talking to himself while kicking chairs.

Walking to the Clock we decided to give the pub a miss. Crowd too young, too loud. We settled on Forresters, as a compromise. Trendy but not too refurbished. Isabella bagged a table outside while I went in to get the drinks. The crowd was already boisterous, delirious, soaked in alcohol.

A twenty-something bloke let me take his place at the bar calling me “bub”. At least he was gentle.

Glad to settle into my last drink for the evening we spotted a pack of blokes walking into the brothel opposite our pub.

“Why do men always have to travel in packs when they go to a brothel”, Isabella said.

Working in Surry Hills, Isabella told me how she always spots a bunch of blokes in a ute visit the brothel next to her office. This happens almost on a daily basis.

“They’re only in there for a few seconds. They must just get blow jobs,” she said.

She then went to the bathroom, while I sat in my own silence against the loud aggressive cheer of my fellow patrons.

“I love you I love you I love you” a well-dressed bloke behind me said into his mobile phone. As soon as he hung up, he said to his mates,

“Fuck my wife is a fucking moron. She expects me to be home at 11 tonight. Fuck off”

After a good 15 minutes, Isabella returned from the bathroom. The pub only had one ladies toilet and some bird was in their vomiting.

We kept a close watch on our handbags as numerous junkies hopped along on lame legs, many with tiny dogs.

A million bucks would buy you a box in Surry Hills and yet as I said to Isabella, I feel much safer in Marrickville.

Alright we have the junkies, the hoons in their cars and the secret drug deals that go on behind the lanes. But we all say G’day to each other and six hundred thousand can get you a pretty good federation home.

When looking to buy in Marrickville seven years ago, a friend’s husband said to me.

“As long as you know who is fire bombing your car, you have nothing to worry about. Once you know don’t know who fire bombs your car, then you have to start worrying”.

Train conversation with Tony

2007-12-16T14:18:00.000-08:00

I worked with Tony when I was in the NSW public service 10 years ago. On Saturday night, I bumped into him on the train. It was 9:15pm and I was in high spirits, as I only had to wait 10 minutes for my train, which of course was the all stations train to Bankstown train.

Tony was also on his way home to Belmore. He had just been to a Spanish restaurant on Liverpool St.

How was your night Tony?

It was good. I just had Spanish. Had a nice potato, some beans, it was pretty good.

So are you excited about Rudd getting in?

I’ve always liked Labor because they are supposed to be for the people you know. So why has Rudd decided to get the army to take photographs of people killing whales. Can’t he just go to Centrelink and get a couple of unemployed people to sit on boats all day and take the pictures.

And what about Morris Dilemma. Does he annoy you folks?

Mate he’s just bloody dumb. But we never had a choice. It was either him or that bloke that went around in budgey smugglers all day.

After touching base with all the people that I had worked for in the Department of Energy I bid Tony farewell at Dulwich Hill station. He was a great bloke to work with. I liked him.

From Stev(o)'s home in McMahon's Point....

2007-12-09T15:51:00.000-08:00

......To my home in Marrickville

At Madeline's wedding......

2007-12-09T15:48:00.000-08:00

Taras met Jesus

Charlie celebrated with bubbles

While Julia was playful with Stev(o)

My masseuse

2007-12-02T22:20:00.000-08:00

For a year my masseuse was a charming lady on Illawarra Rd. For $30 she would knead my tired muscles with Johnson’s baby oil while I listened to V8 engines roar up the road.

One day during a massage, she took a call on her mobile phone.

“Yes I do massages, “she said

Then in a whisper she replied to the unknown caller

“Yes I can make you happy”

I didn’t fancy being patron to a masseuse that also handled penises and so I decided to look elsewhere. My friend Julia suggested I try Pure Botanicals in Newtown.

I booked a half hour session with a chap called Glendon. I was looking for a remedial massage, and was told Glendon was the best in the business.

After a chat about my sore muscles, work habits, exercise regime and how I sleep, I began my half hour session. Listening to the sounds of waterfalls, Glendon slowly worked my aching back and knotted neck. Under soft candle light and with the fragrance of aromatherapy oil, tensions slowly lifted from my body.

My muscles were pretty crook and I booked another half hour session for the next Saturday. In the meantime I adjusted my seat and desk at work, precisely to Glendon’s suggestions. I even bought myself a proper pillow and one of those heat packs. The great thing is that these tips really helped alleviate my muscles in-between my massages.

After Saturday’s election my muscles really needed some help. Glendon again did not disappoint. This time I had a one hour session, something I highly recommended. My rigid shoulders now softened, my tight neck now relaxed as memories of the horrid 11 years under the Howard government left my tired back.

For $70 it is more than double what I was paying my masseuse on Illawarra Rd. But a decent massage is worth every cent and sounds of waterfalls beat V8 engines any day.

Pure Botanicals, King St, Newtown Ph: 02 9034 0555

Goodbye Mr Howard

2007-11-25T22:54:00.000-08:00

Going......

.....Going

Gone!

Goodbye.

[pics by Nic www.nicolemanktelow.com]

And now come the celebrations!

2007-11-25T22:30:00.000-08:00

After Kevin Rudd made his victory speech the cops arrived. Grinning like school boys they knew the reason behind our celebrations as they tapped on my door – covered in a Kevin Rudd poster. They saw a bunch of 30 somethings glued to the television. They knew their time was wasted and politely left.

Ok we may have been a little loud. But we have waited 11 long years for this fabulous moment – Labor taking 86 seats, Coalition 62 - Howard losing his own seat – icing on the cake. Trumped by not just a journalist but an ABC Journalist. Pure Gold.

We didn’t listen to Howard’s concession speech. Instead we sang loudly to The Angels’ love song 'Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again?
Hopefully never! Enjoy the pics.

Penny and Alex arrive, Majella meets them at the door

Friends enjoy the electoral coverage

Majella and Kev

Alex declares victory, Kate laughs

Pete to the Rescue

2007-11-08T22:11:00.000-08:00

Renovation Pete at another rescue

The other day, my oven stopped working. Who did I call? Renovation Pete of course.

The very next day Pete turned up with his Rolex watch and spanner.

His first task was to turn the power off, which meant I needed keys to the electricity room. Luckily my lovely neighbour Margaret was home and she gladly opened up the room for us.

The room was used by “the young kids in the street to shoot up” so today it remains locked.

After a call on his blackberry, Pete realised the oven was simply dead and the best solution was to buy a new one.

Next stop! Sam’s Appliances in Dulwich Hill.

We met store assistant ‘Sammy’, Pete called him the “annointed one”

Pete thought he would have it made at Sam’s Appliances as he gently cajoled ‘Sammy’ for a price discount.

“You know Christine, when you talk about a discount these Lebanese, they can’t hear”

“You know mate you are right, if I was Lebanese I’d be deaf. But I am from Brazil,” came Sammy’s reply.

We managed to get a stainless steel Westinghouse oven for $580 sweet ones. The next day Pete came over and installed it.

I wasn’t home that morning, instead I was having high tea at the Diana exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum. But my gorgeous flatmate Nicole told me he did a great job. And the finished work. Well judge for yourself. Pure class!

The oven insalled

Sam's appliances, 723 New Canterbury Rd, Dulwich Hill, 02 9558 5519

For Love or Money

2007-10-30T23:54:00.001-07:00

It took 10 years for this bloke to get money for his film

Last week I had the pleasure of attending the Australian Film Institute’s (AFI) awards.

I was an invited guest of a wealth manager which also sponsored the AFI Award for Best Screenplay. The price was $10,000 and would be awarded to the winner to “help further their story-telling career”.

Incidentally the wealth manager was the only financial services firm among the corporate sponsors.

During light refreshments, I had the pleasure of meeting Keith Richards, the screenwriter of the movie Clubland.

It took him 10 years to raise money for his movie. When he finally did get to make his movie, it took just two-and-a-half weeks since its release to reach $1 million at the box office. This was despite competition from the blockbusters such as Shrek 3 and Harry Potter.

As a finance journo it’s hard to conceive that a fund manager would take that long to raise money for their fund.

Some funds can raise over $150 million from one investor even before they go to market. For many fund managers, $10,000 would just pay for a media dinner (and post drinks).

Yes life can be grand in financial services but Richards still looked happy. I bid him farewell as he joined his fellow writers over meat pies and bubbles.

Journos enjoy the light refreshments

The Moonee Ponds Trail

2007-10-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

Glammed up shielas on the Moonie Pond trail

If a digger ever had to wear stiletto heels and a floral flock he’d be doing the treck from Moonee Ponds station to the Cox Plate race.

Christ that is some bloody walk.

I got invited this year to attend the Cox Plate. Of course I went and what a great day it was.

Moonee Ponds is different from the Flemington Racecourse. Last year when I was at Derby Day, there was not much of a walk from the train station to the Flemington racetrack. In fact, the trains virtually led you into the track grounds.

Last year, the only horse I saw was a police horse. We watched the race from a big screen near the corporate tents.

This year, I joined thousands of frocked up ladies and girls (in very very short dresses), on the march to the racetrack. Heeled up in pain we meandered through shoppers and residents enjoying their outdoor coffee until we finally reached our destination.

As a guest of an industry fund, costs were adhered too, and so we joined the masses at the Members Stand. We may have not seen a police horse but we got to see Miss Finland. Forget about the marquee my guests and I proceeded to dine at a makeshift table. Standing room only meant that at times squatting was required near the fences – most women had the same idea, so humiliation was spared. Still a great time was had by all and as my mate Pru said “mate I’ve had a ball”!

I even backed the winner – on advice from one of the punters’. My $5 for a place won me a grand total of $13!!!

Off and running and not a police horse in sight

Craig Williams brings his horse in

A rose among the thorns

My guest and I ever resourceful resorted to a makeshift table

Lee Freedman yacks to the press

Damian Oliver manages to just peer over the fence

End of the trail - Pru hangs up her Marc Jacobs

While I simply screetched in pain

Jinnah’s

2007-10-15T20:01:00.000-07:00

Mohammad Ali Jinnah is the founder of Pakistan. He was commonly called Quaid-e-Azam – the great leader. He was known as a freedom fighter for the Muslims of the South Asian subcontinent. In 1948 he was laid to rest in Karachi.

Today, a restaurant along Marrickville Rd stands in his honour.

Like many of Marrickville’s brothels and adult shops, Jinnah’s is accessed off-street. That is you have to walk up the stairs to get to the ‘main business.
Posters of Bollywood actors decorate the wall of the restaurant’s staircase. A large picture of a smiling Princess Diana greets you as you finally ascend the stairs.

Every inch of the restaurant is covered by pictures. There are photographs of Paul and Anita Keating, Bob Hawke and unfortunately John Howard.

Newspaper clippings of the Pakistani cricket team are framed and duly honoured on all three of Jinnah’s expansive walls. Cushions are stuck on the walls while the ceiling fans are covered in wrapping paper. A T.V is hung high up on the corner of the wall, which constantly features a Bollywood movie.

We knew we were in for a treat.

My mother reckon’s Mohammad Jinnah, is a blackmailer and the root of all of Pakistan’s problems. But that didn’t stop her from enjoying the Karachi chicken wings.

The menu is indeed expansive and for convenience divided, into food groups. The flock of lamb, farm of poultry and farm of cattle section of the menu includes more than 20 lamb, chicken and beef dishes.

Our very attentive waiter was into up-selling. Trying to convince us into getting the entrée ‘platter’, my family instead settled on deep fried onion rings (in chickpea oil), tandoori chicken and pappadums for entrée. We did, however, succumb to his suggestion to enjoy mango chutney with the pappadums.

Our beef, chicken and prawn main dishes came out in clay pots, each with a wooden spoon and a little Pakistani flag with the name of each dish written on it. A nice touch.

The food was sensational and my mother approved.

The great thing about Jinnah’s is that you can enjoy a drink. In fact the restaurant urges B.Y.O.G (Bring Your Own Grog) on the shop window. This makes it vastly different from the Muslim restaurants I normally eat at in Lakemba.

“That’s because the owners of Jinnah’s have good business sense,” my mother notes.

It would have been a great night except my new vow to stick to the new ‘drinking rules’ of 2 glasses of wine a day policy. At that stage the scene from the Bollywood movie revealed the lead actor to be an alcoholic. As he yearned for a glass of bourbon, the lead actress, clothed in a gorgeous green sari, danced seductively in front of him, her toes delicately touching the bottle of booze. He didn’t care for her, his face in perspiration, desperation in his eyes only for the bourbon. I knew how he felt and it was time to go.

As we left, we couldn’t help but ask the owner of Jinnah’s about Paul Keating’s visit to the restaurant.

“Oh Mr Keating comes here every five weeks”

We will definitely be back.

Jinnah's Tandoori & Seafood Restaurant
02) 9572 8833

Oktoberfest comes to Tempe

2007-10-02T20:29:00.001-07:00

The Place: Concordia Club, Tempe
When: October 1 2007

The night journos had to pay for their drinks

2007-10-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

At least two days a week I do not pay for my lunch. These ‘free’ lunches are normally held at Aria, The Coast Restaurant, Level 41 or Wildfire. Some evenings I may attend a ballet, theatre or an art show without ever opening my wallet. No I am not a call girl. I am a finance journalist.
So one can imagine my shock when I discovered that money had to be exchanged when purchasing a glass of bubbles at this year’s Hedge Fund’s Rock event.
This annual event brings together hedge fund managers in the industry to network and be merry. This year we had Richard Clapton and Evermore performing. And we had to pay for our drinks. Things only got worse when the Yellowglen ran out at the bar. The Stella Artois beer on offer was fine but sometime a lady likes her bubbles. At about 8:00pm the bar ran out of change so the $6.50 beers went up to $7.00.

I know we had this sub-prime crisis in the US but this was going a little too far. Still many people lost their homes because of this fiasco. Paying for our own drinks was a small price to pay and hey by looking at these pics my fellow journos all looked pretty happy.

Normally a bubbles girl, Julia had to resort to the beers

Darin with the beautiful Allison Langdon

Stevo and Johnny paid $6.50 each for their beer

Sallyanne and Julia work out some blackberry issues, Johnny looks on

Michael is stunned by the cost of beer

An ode to Marrickville’s Noodle Bars

2007-09-27T01:05:00.000-07:00

If you don’t mind fluorescent lighting and kitsch décor then Marrickville’s Noodle Bars are for you.

Located on Illawarra Road, The Nhat Tan and Thang Huong 2 are my particular favourites. The Nhat Tan serves a fabulous duck noodle soup for a tiny $7.70 (incl. GST). And if you dine alone you are kept company by a March 1998 New Woman magazine and the Asian Karaoke video suspended on the wall behind you.

It’s the place I always take my dates to and I’ve never had a complaint.

Thang Huong 2 offers a menu including jelly fish, crocodile, Kangaroo and squid for the adventurous palettes and sweet and sour and black bean for the weak and mild. You can basically become gluttonous to the point of obscenity and still only pay $15.00! Including tip.

The original owner of Thang Huong 2 has since opened up another restaurant on Marrickville Rd (just opposite the REM). He had left the original restaurant to his sister when he retired but told me he got bored of not working and so decided to open up another restaurant.

His photographs of flowers, the Eifell Tower and wedding bouquets that grace the wall of his new restaurant are actually taken by himself.

I love both restaraunts and the new place does an excellent salt & pepper squid.

Just off Marrickville Rd you will find the Bay Than . Legend has it that the Chef used to cook for Vietnamese Royalty. It’s often crowded so make sure you book in early. Further up Marrickville Rd (towards Livingston Rd) you will find Hung Cheung. Its Yum Cha proves its worth in long queues on a weekend.

But potential patrons take note. There are some rules/traditions that one must observe. These include:

Expect your 2002 Majella Coonawarra Shiraz to be poured into a champagne glass.

Best if you take screw top wines. Upon being seated you will be provided with a bottle opener. That’s for you to use, not the staff.

Don’t’ expect serviettes. Instead use the box of tissues that are provided on each of the tables.

Doggy bags are fine. But again, you will be provided with plastic containers for you to fill from your plates.

Ditch the credit card. For some of these noodle bars it’s ‘cash only’.

Forget pre-dinner drinks. Most of these places close at 9:00pm. Yep hat’s right. Just stick to post drinks.

Don’t be a wanker when it comes to your food and wine. These places are cheap and the food is fantastic. Keep your wanking for Balmain/Summer Hill/Annandale

I hope you enjoy my suggestions just remember the 9:00pm curfew!

MASSBUGGING to the city

2007-09-20T23:05:00.000-07:00

Fiona - leader of the pack bike buses the group into work

If the world was like local cycle group Marrickville South Sydney Bicycle Group (MASSBUG) it would be a fabulous place to live.

I’ve always wanted to cycle to work but only just feeling confident to take on the road, I never had the courage to meander through heavy, cranky traffic.

Today I did it! My friend Sam suggested I join the cycle group so at 6:50am we met outside the Henson Park Hotel. I was already exhausted from the ride up from home. I immediately thought crikey as I saw the four other cyclists and their groovy bikes.

I need not have worried, Fiona, the leader of the group immediately took my side as we made the trip to work. At one stage she did have to drag me as I puffed like a silly billy cart. She offered subtle tips such as watching for people in parked cars (so that they don’t open the bloody door on you) and smiling at bus drivers (so they get your immediate support) and waving at abusive drivers (to deflate their anger). This chick really knew her stuff. While at times she would ride ahead, a more experienced rider would instinctively take my side. Another experienced rider would ride behind the group warning us of any approaching cars.

Once on Elizabeth street Fiona literally forced cars aside with her gloved hand as the cycle group took the lane. People power at its best.

I loved every minute of my trip to work and felt more confident on the ride home. Unfortunately the 5:15pm departure time is just too optimistic for this deadline chained journalist. But I don’t think I have to wait too long, Caroline my fellow cyclists has offered to ride back with me at the realistic time of 6pm, one day a week.

PS My mate Sam loves the experience so much, within a week she dumped her K-mart bike for a sexy number at cheeky money.

Doy Tao Thai

2007-09-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

Why have a burger when you can tuck into this feed

McDonalds closed down in Newtown because of lack of business.

While surprising to many Australians, for the regular patrons that dine in Newtown’s zillion restaurants the news was not so surprising. I mean why pay $6 bugs for a burger and fries when you can get a fabulous cheap feed from many of Newtown’s eating joints.

On Friday, my mates and I began the evening at ‘happy hour’ at Kelly’s pub – $2.50 schooners. You can’t go wrong with that. After the fourth packet of twisties we knew it was time for dinner. Sam’s mate from her MASSBUG group suggested Doy Tao Thai.

According to Julia the place is normally packed out, still we thought we’d try our luck and thank goodness we did. In no time a table of five was set.

You know you are in for serious Thai when the staff wear matching T-shirts. The service was super quick as we ordered Pad Thai, duck curry, chicken curry, stir fried vegetables and a fabulous dish of salmon and crab. The price - $15 each. Bloody beautiful.

So next time you choose to drink in Newtown, take a trip down King St toward St Peter’s and visit Doy Tao Thai. But if you really feel like that greasy post beer burger, there’s always Oporto on Enmore Rd.

Post beers at Kelly's left us satisfied at Doy Tao Thai

Marrickville's birds

2007-09-16T20:05:00.001-07:00

“Personally I don’t have a problem with the birds. It’s nice to have a bit of fuckin wildlife about the place,” Ewart St Resident, Keith

So residents of Marrickville have a problem with the ibis.

ibis is a native wetland bird and is a protected species under the
NSW National Parks and Wildlife Act.

“Marrickville Council recognises that the ibis population has caused issues for some residents, but we have to consideration that the ibis is a protected species. This species is under enormous pressure due to the drought in inland NSW and in recent years has moved to urban areas such as Marrickville to breed,’ Marrickville Mayor Morris Hanna said.

As such the council is putting together an Ibis Management Plan. The plan will look at ways that will allow the ibis to breed while minimising any impact on residents.

The birds must have really pissed off some of my residents. Yesterday when checking my mailbox there was a sign stuck on the brick wall advising us of a ‘residents meeting’ about the ibis problem on the 15 September

“Personally I don’t have a problem with the birds. It’s nice to have a bit of fuckin wildlife about the place,” my neighbour Keith told me yesterday. Standing in our car park we discussed other birds we have seen in the area including pelicans along the Cook’s River and a kookaburra who from time-to-time sings a little tune from the lampposts near our building.

Keith is right; it’s nice to have some birds flying about the place, crows on the other hand…

This Man is an Englishman

2007-09-12T23:51:00.000-07:00

He votes Tory
And shoots foxes

The day I agreed with Miranda Devine

2007-09-10T00:50:00.001-07:00

“The streets have been swarming with police all week, pumped up and with nothing to do” – M Devine

OMG! My immediate thought when reading Sunday’s papers? “Cripes I need my head read’. I actually agreed with Miranda Devine. Her column attacked the behaviour of the police during APEC. Specifically she wrote about this bloke.

On Friday, a “respectable, bespectacled, middle-aged accountant in a Hawaiian shirt” was forcibly arrested for simply crossing the road. It gets worse. During the arrest, the poor bugger was trying to protect his glasses and instead was set upon by a group of cops who handcuffed him, put him in a cell with an ice addict and denied him legal assistance.

This was Sydney and this bloke is a mate of Miranda. In fact, she and her husband are godparents to his daughter.

She wrote.
“Security overkill in Sydney was just a big show, designed not to protect anyone from terrorists but to stymie protestors.”

She continues…”It’s a sign of an emasculated rudderless police force, with systemic small-man syndrome, acting like bullies in an attempt to cover up weakness, and chronic dysfunction.”

I wasn’t at the APEC rally but my mate Sam was. Her text to me that Saturday morning was frantic. “Holy fuck, there r riot police, vans & helicopters everywhere. They want 2 scare people feel sick”.

On Sunday, Bondi residents were visibly irritated and in fact outraged as they couldn’t even swim in a public beach because Janet Howard and the APEC ladies were out to lunch (most of them women so I am not going to bother about political correctness).

We’ve been so complacent about the anti-terrorism laws. Who cares if Muslims get locked up or an Indian doctor gets deported without any legal case against him. APEC showed us what sweeping police powers could do to people in the age of terror. Even to bespectacled middle aged men from the North Shore.

Marrickville Festival

2007-09-10T00:35:00.000-07:00

These Marrickville coppers certainly didn't suffer from small man syndrome

Compared to the cops at APEC, our Marrickville Police were a friendly lot. They even let me take pictures in the police car that was on display. Pretty impressive considering I am brown. God love them.

The Festival offered its usual array of food from around the world. I simply settled for a gelato and sausage from Lao. Penny settled for the Thai sausage.

The highlight was clearly the headline act by Deborah Conway. What a mouth, what a face, what a voice!

Enjoy the pics

Penny enjoys a Thai sausage

Deborah Conway belts out some tunes

Sam and Penny show their support

My Apec Week

2007-09-06T01:07:00.001-07:00

View from my office window

Where the streets have no name

cops on bikes

Sydney buses get an APEC makeover

At least we can all enjoy a beer

Is it time?

2007-09-05T00:10:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to Gleebooks to listen to election strategist extraordinaire Antony Green ‘in conversation” with Crikey’s Christian Kerr.

Christian was flogging his book, “Crikey’s Election guide”

The chattering classes packed the room so of course Sam and I were delighted to be among friends and even more so with the complimentary alcohol.

Is it time?, were one of the questions the men grappled with. Green noted that unlike the 2004 election, the polls this time have been very consistent – pointing to a Labor victory.

Both were very hesitant to predict an outcome and believed Howard still had the economy as his trump card. With successive interest rate rises and homes defaulting in the Hills district in NSW, who knows what can happen. Personally, I reckon It’s Time.

Some choice quotes from the evening:

From Antony....
“The shire is filled with people who have made it from Bankstown and over the Menai bridge, just so that they can get away from the wogs”
“If the Coalition loses Lindsay they would have truly lost the spiritual home of Howard’s battlers”
“John Howard's meaning of One Australia is One Wollstonecraft”

From Christian...
“All lower middle class people in Earlwood aspire to live on the North Shore. It must be nice for John Howard's family to know that their son lives near North Sydney station”
“Wentworth is a seat where the effluent meets the affluent. Turnbull will keep his seat simply because of own fabulousness,”

My catastrophe for the night was spilling red wine over my white trench coat from Cue. The MC from Gleebooks scolded me when I told her I didn't have nappy san at home.

"You must always have nappy san at home. It's the only way you can get rid of these stains," she said.

http://www.gleebooks.com.au/

Striptease

2007-08-29T00:29:00.001-07:00

This bloke is fund manager and we were on our way to a strip club.

As a finance journalist, the majority of my time spent away is at industry conferences. I’ve travelled to Melbourne, Hobart, Tasmania, Cairns, Perth, Brisvegas and too many times to the Gold Coast. For me, it can be a bit of a chore. For many, however, it’s a time to go nuts.

So now I hear Kevin07 visited a strip club – four years ago – as the shadow spokesperson for Foreign Affair’s. Who cares?

It was some Government overseas jaunt, and for me the only ‘wrongdoing’ is that it was a tax funded trip. But are we nit picking? I had this conversation last night with the managing director of a global ***. He admitted to me that at a conference he too went to a strip club “out of interest”. I admitted to him that I also went to a strip club “out of interest”. And yes I too, was at a conference.

It was in Perth and the evening began at a restaurant. Three bottles of wine and two cocktails later, I was being driven around in a Limousine, champagne flute in hand. Bored after going to Perth’s all of two great bars, I suggested we go to a strip club - one of the 150 things I wanted to do before I died.

It was interesting. Funnily I did get approached by a bloke with $50 in his hand. Apparently this gesture is some protocol for a private lap dance. Odd, I wasn’t scantily dressed (But then again I was wearing Supre)….. I could have done with the extra cash but I declined. I spotted some blokes walk in with plastic shoes and guessed that they were superannuation fund trustees. One of my fund manager’s dared me to ask them and I was right. They were indeed trustees.

Which now leads me to my point – We were at a conference paid for by our employers. Investors and superannuation fund members could be concerned that the fees that they pay should not go to funding such trips.

Unlike Kevin07, of course, fund managers and trustees are not elected to public office. But quite frankly I’d rather have my leader go to a strip club then lock up women and children in detention centres, lie about parents throwing their children overboard, ignore the Kyoto protocol, introduce a dodgy piece of industrial relations and walk down the corridor with Mark Tubby Taylor.

Ps. The strip club was rather boring. My only concern – the ladies were not contributing a portion of their savings to superannuation. I recommended they join the industry superannuation fund Hostplus. They liked the idea.

Back to the 80s

2007-08-24T00:47:00.001-07:00

You can hear the sounds of these blokes at The Marly

On Friday night, I had two choices. Watch the Midsommer Murders or go see a band.

I opted for the latter, accepting Julia’s invitation to see/her cousin play in the cover band, The Nevilles.

They were playing at the Malborough Hotel (Marly Bar) and there was no cover charge. Instead of the obligatory beer I normally consume when watching a band play, we chose cocktails. The Marly’s back bar have a good selection at great prices and are whipped up quickly without any posturing from the bar staff.

The band was great. Initially I was shy to take to the dance floor. When the Kylie medley began I was out of my seat. By the second set everyone in the pub was dancing. They played a whole gamut of 80s music. I must admit, I was surprised to see the young punters mouth the words to the songs – wouldn’t they have been in nappies when Frankie went to Hollywood? Anyway, they played music by Iggy Pop, ACDC, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Kim Wilde, Simple Minds as well as the forgettable stuff like Transvision Vamp’s I want your love. It was great! As one lady took a fancy to me, Julia became my ‘girlfriend’ for the night. Oh we did have some blokes come onto us. But they were married and that was that.

The Nevilles will be back at the Marly in six weeks. See you there.

From Brisvegas to Yamba

2007-08-17T00:20:00.000-07:00

It's 10am on a sunday and the folk in Fortitude Valley are already on the piss

I’ve just come back from a two week jaunt which included a stopover at Brisvegas followed by some glorious days in Yamba.

After a three-day ‘industry’ conference at the Brisbane Convention Centre, my travel companion Maria and I thought it may be a good idea to remain in the city for the weekend. Re-branding ourselves as Shazza and Stace, we took up residence at the Snooze Inn in Fortitude Valley. This place was cool. We may have had no window in our room, but heck there was a vending machine on site (proudly boasted on the hotel’s website) and ‘breakfast on the go’ – a complimentary service with fresh juice and muffins.

Maria aka Shazza takes a break in our windowless room

Sure, our hotel may have not been 5 star but at least it was bang in the middle of one of Brisbane’s more culturally exciting inner suburbs.

Fortitude Valley is almost like Sydney all squeezed into one. There is Mosman (Emporium Village), Eastern Suburbs (Cru Bar), and Brunswick Street (Newtown).

Within the Emporium Village, was the Emporium Hotel – a newly built ‘boutique’ hotel. It was the place we spent our first night in at the Valley. The place seemed inspired by the Gold Coast’s Versace Hotel. Indeed the female patrons were all blonde, pert and plastic. We were fortunate to be picked up by a pair of 60 something gents (property developers) who bought us bubbly all night.

The next day was spent in the Valley’s markets and I picked up some fabulous finds including a $10 vintage black cocktail dress and a black velvet coat for $60. I did have to try on the attire in the public toilets, located right next to the Fortitude Valley Police Station. Thank God for dear Shazza (aka Maria) who bravely held my toilet door closed. I only had to squeeze into a multitude of vintage clothing. Shazza had the experience of watching men pee – some who did it with a smoke in their mouths. The highlight for the afternoon was spotting Big Mal Meninga in the Miss Sixty boutique on Ann Street.

In the Valley you can get a somosa, a burger and a tatoo

We managed to enjoy some of the cultural aspects of Brisvegas including the Glass Menagerie by the Queensland Theatre Company and of course the recently opened Gallery of Modern Art – a fabulous place.

Brisvegas is a nice place with nice people who have nice smiles. As someone from the sub-continent, I did harbour views that I would get beaten up and thrown into prison, like that poor Indigenous bloke up in Townsville. Fortunately the only 'insult' I got was from a young bloke who told me to "fuck off" when Shazz and I informed him that we were from Sydney. I have to say, my only real gripe is the lack of infrastructure. You think Sydney is bad? Population is exploding in Brisvegas but unfortunately the transport system and roads can’t keep up with the growth. The taxi drivers make their Sydney counterparts look like limousine dirvers and the roads are mainly one way which is a real pain in the arse. While at the conference, I stayed at the Medina Executive just across the river from the Convention Centre. When I took a taxi from the hotel to the conference I was ready to celebrate by 37th birthday. It simply took ages to get anywhere. Even the ferries couldn’t accommodate the Sunday throng wanting to travel to Southbank. Australia’s first punk band The Saints hailed from Brisvegas. One of their hit singles was titled “Stranded”

I know what they mean.

Investment Technology's Michael Bailey, stranded on his way to the airport

Yamba

After four days in Yamba my goal is to become a self-funded retiree. This balcony is where I spent my evenings in Yamba. And according to my lovely hosts, all their “neighbours are like us – self funded retirees”.

Relax and unwind is exactly what I did in this beachside town. What made my holiday break extra special was the hospitality and generosity of Sam’s parents. Everyday, drinking would begin promptly at 12:00pm and end at about 9:00pm. Sam’s dad was a Jamie Oliver (without the punk attitude) in the kitchen. I was treated to homemade burgers, a marinated rack of lamb, cheese platers and seafood that included oysters, prawns and tuna. What more could a princess want? Oh, yes I did have a spa bath. Of course I drank a piccolo of champagne “Christine no one has gone into this spa without alcohol”, Sam’s dad told me.

The quiet streets of Yamba town

Yamba is a place where time seems to stand still. Days are filled with sunshine and the only stress anyone seems to have is if they have are on the list at the local golf club. The Pacific Hotel has a spectacular view of the beach and you still pay $6 for a piccolo of pink bubbly.

The big “social problem” in Yamba are the Aboriginals. Yamba has a ‘reserve’ where they all live and according to crime reports theft and burglary is common in the nearby streets around the reserve. “Nobody told the poor buggers who bought these homes what they were getting into” one local identity told me.

My Washing Line

2007-07-25T00:46:00.000-07:00

From Kevin to Crabs

2007-07-19T03:39:00.000-07:00

Last night I went from seeing this chap

To this chap

Let’s just say my Wednesday night was rather eventful. Kevin was in good form as he gave a lecture at the The Sydney Institute. While the speech was largely about his policy on childcare he did question the benefits generated from Howard’s economic boom, or should one really say the commodities boom. Nicely delivered. It made me hanker for a scotch finger biscuit and a cup of tea.

After an hour listening to Kev I took the 432 and bussed it to Glebe’s Friend in Hand pub. Last time I was at the pub, a copper dog warned me via text to be careful. Indeed the cops call it “A fist in the head”. The place didn’t strike me as dangerous. Filled with 20 year olds and backpackers, we were all there to watch the crab racing.

And what a show it was.

Given that fund manager Tyndall, is the only advertiser in my magazine, I thought it only fair that I called my crab Tyndall. It was one of the winning three. But the ‘fun’ didn’t stop there. All finalists, us, had to enter into a competition where we were required to eat a sao dry and then whistle into the microphone. I managed to eat my sao in minutes but couldn’t whistle. We lost.

The evening included a series of races and audience participation – This included hoola hooping by the women (my mate Victoria did a superb job), balloon blowing and a six pack competition among the blokes.

This is when the evening came to a distinct close. Unfortunately one bloke made it up on the bar. He proceeded to take off his clothes. As he stood up on the bench wit just his jocks, a barman came up and promptly pulled them down. His testicles were in full display.

Let’s just say I prefer looking into the face of Kevin Rudd rather than a bloke’s nuts.

Enjoy my pics!

The crab track is set

Ready set go!

Tyndall takes the lead

Vic does the hoopala

Jason enjoys a beer

Ann wins the balloon popping comp..and a t'shirt!

Punter wears a friendly t'shirt

Night nears its end

Thought for the Day

2007-07-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

If I had a choice between................

Option A

Option B

To lead my country. I would choose Option A. What would your choice be?

No longer pubs, just bars

2007-07-09T19:01:00.000-07:00

Friday night is a great time to get hammered. Just don't do it in Paddington

On Friday night my awfully polite English buddy Charlie was called a “posh cunt” by a punter at Paddington’s Royal Hotel.

Let’s just say this spat of rudeness set the tone for the evening.

Charlie was not doing anything particularly unusual. In fact he was just having ciggie outside the pub.

Looking at the Royal Hotel, one would assume the place resembled an old styled pub. I have always held the belief that Paddington is a place for the fancy. While the clientele at The Royal looked less well heeled, there was still a bit of a Nob feel about them. Maybe they are just working class wankers

The bar staff were as useful as ash in an ashtray and service was clearly not part of the job spec.

After a few rounds we headed to The London Inn. Apparently this pub had undergone a “refurbishment” "All glammed up", Stevo lamented. At this stage, it became too much for him.

“What’s going on with these fucking pubs? They’re not pubs anymore. They’re just
bars”.

Sallyanne and I had originally planned to go to the AB in Glebe. According to Stevo, Deano was not prepared to “travel that far”.....Geeze the things we do for blokes.

At least these chaps were friendly

2007-07-09T16:58:00.000-07:00

Grassroots activists

Last Thursday night, one thousand meetings were held in livings rooms across Australia to discuss climate change. I was part of one of those meetings.

As part of the non-party aligned GetUp group, this GetTogether was about climate change. Our agenda was to create awareness about this issue at a local level. Our group of nine had to come up with a climate change action and make sure it was covered in the local newspaper. With one GetTogether already taking place in Dulwich Hill and one held in Petersham our targeted paper was The Cooks River Valley Times.

Over homemade Tzatziki and a bowls of Twisties we brainstormed ideas. We came up with a simple idea that included Mick Mazza’s bicycle store and a plasma TV. This was not an extreme action. But then again, we are not extremists. We are just ordinary people needing a voice on issues in an era where mainstream political parties are too preoccupied with wedge politics. With one hundred and eighty thousand people already registered with GetUp, this makes us larger than the membership of the Labor and Liberal Party combined.

Forget Parliament and branch stacking. Real political change will be coming to a livingroom near you..

Marrickville Landscapes

2007-07-01T19:43:00.000-07:00

On a cold, windy Sunday afternoon, my mate Juli and I went on a photographic jaunt around Marrickville. I must say, it was rather tricky as we faced the suspicious glares of the Asian residents. (Juli even faced some questioning) Mila from work reckoned that they may have been "illegals". Perhaps things would have been different if Juli and I were males of "middle eastern" persuasion. If that was the case, no doubt we would have had a cop car pull up besides us. Paranoid? Probably, but at least our cameras managed to take a little snapshot of our darling suburb.

Enjoy xxx

Conversation with a Salami

2007-06-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

Another Dickhead to my line-up

As in most email correspondence, best start at the bottom

That wednesday night I was indeed enjoying post work drinks with my work buddies. Salami called. I met him outside the Art House and he simply said. "Hi I have to go now and catch up with my mates. Just wanted to check you out. Maybe we should go out for a drink sometime? The next day I got the following email.

Hey Trouble,

Nice meeting you last night…your hair wasn’t as messy as I thought nor were you carrying any arrows!

Now, if you promise to be a good girl…I might just ask you to join me for drinks tomorrow after work!!

________________________________________
From: xxxx
Sent: Wednesday, June 27, 2007 3:08 PM
To: xxx
Subject: RE: Italian salami...

no worries...

________________________________________
From: xxx
Sent: Wednesday, 27 June 2007 3:02 PM
To: XXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...
Ok…so you’ll have a wee bit of ink on your jeans, hands, face etc…but I’m sure your personality will make them fade into insignificance!

Gotta go…in meetings till 5.30pm

See ya later messy hair wonder!

From: XXX
Sent: Wednesday, June 27, 2007 2:14 PM
To: XXXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...

Mate. I'm a journo. We are on print deadline. I have my jeans look on today. There you go.

________________________________________
From: XXXX
Sent: Wednesday, 27 June 2007 2:10 PM
To: XXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...
I’ll be in town from 7pm…call me and I’ll let you know…though before you do, be sure your hair’s done!

Oh and Chris…be sure you look sharp!

________________________________________
From: XXX
Sent: Wednesday, June 27, 2007 1:50 PM
To: XXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...

I can handle anything - I am on deadline tonight so not sure what time I finish up. I normally go to the Art House..where do you go?
________________________________________
From: XXX
Sent: Wednesday, 27 June 2007 1:41 PM
To: XXXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...
Christine,

I’ll be heading over to one of my favourite café’s in the CBD after work and I think you should join me for a cup of something delicious and some interesting conversation...if you can handle it that is!

________________________________________
From: XXX
Sent: Wednesday, June 27, 2007 1:36 PM
To: XXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...

nah not the messy hair girl - I have not r**ted Ange. I am just his mate
________________________________________
From: XXX
Sent: Wednesday, 27 June 2007 1:30 PM
To: XXX
Subject: RE: Italian salami...

Christine…are you the messy hair girl he introduced me to one time at Stabo’s?

Doggy speak

2007-06-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

From the Glebe this week...

Balmain pet psychic Lynn Overhill has started a new business talking to animals.

Cheap laughs

2007-06-27T00:55:00.000-07:00

$15 for a drink, dinner and a show. Surely that is not possible in Sydney? It is if you make your way down to Glebe’s Roxbury Hotel.

Held every second and fourth Tuesday in the month, the night promises to deliver “the cheapest set of laughs on a weeknight”.

Not sure whether the word cheap was meant to describe the level of humour last night but I suddenly felt middle aged as I sat with an audience of largely 20 year olds. With quite a few of the blokes taking their seats while each balancing a $9 jug and schooner, it was an audience that reminded me of my university days.

It’s nice to see the young folk get up and perform. Aboriginals and Pedophiles were two major themes that were used in much of the comedic repertoire. Indeed a promotional email sent around invited us to experience “a team of brave comedic performers smash paradigms, and fill the room with laughs as they tackle the world's issues one by one!

However, as my sister noted, if they were going to bring up such highly sensitive issues, perhaps they should have had a point to it. Many of these ‘gag’s fell flat and although the audience was in stiches we were not. I am a big fan of The Chaser, so it’s not like I don’t have a sense of humour. The thing is,The Chaser does drive home political and social points in many of their comedic acts.

If you are a 20 year old prat then these comedy nights are for you. Me? Well after three glasses of red and few chuckles I went home and watched re-runs of Mash and Seinfeld. Maybe I am getting too old.

Princesses go to the Ball

2007-06-23T23:45:00.000-07:00

These kids are not refugees. It's Peter and Julia going to the ball

Last week, winter was a distinct theme for Sydney’s social events. Slip Inn hosted its Winter Party while the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) launched its newly acquired art at its Winter Season Launch. And last week, Marrickville Town Hall was the venue for the Randwick Children’s Hospital Mid-Winter Masquerade Ball.

Guests attending the Slip Inn and MCA functions included pub owner Justin Hemmes, MCA chief Elizabeth Ann McGregor and restaurateur Kylie Kwong.

Guests attending the Marrickville Town Hall Ball included noted finance journalists Julia X and Christine X and leading industry head hunter Peter XX. We were in great company. Other guests included Mary from Hurstville and Steve from “up the road”.

Supper included a buffet of chicken, pasta, salad and pork with white bread rolls. Although we each received a complimentary glass of ‘bubbly’ this was a BYO affair. Unfortunately the only drinking goblets provided were champagne glasses. This meant Julia, Peter and I had to drink a Chilean shiraz from these long stemmed flutes.

We were treated to dance displays of the fox trot and ballroom dancing. Kind of like Dancing with the Stars without the B grade celebrities.

While some guests danced the night out in ballroom steps the rest of us, boogied on like we were back at our High School dances. I’ll let my pics show you what a fun night we all had.

The buffet included a choice of white bread rolls or white bread rolls

Peter and his swan Julia

The ladies from Hurstville

Even a little fella could enjoy himself

Boys having fun

Steve "from up the road" twirls a lady

The Ball was progressive enough to include Nut Bush City Limits as part of its repetoire

Some guests stubbornly stuck to ballroom dancing as music played from the Sneaky Sound System

Next Please.....

2007-06-19T04:37:00.001-07:00

Why go to the circus to find a Bozo the Clown when you can find them on RSVP?

Yep I am on RSVP and after 11 months all I have are stories to tell. There’s the bloke who took me out for lunch to a café where he had a voucher for two for the price of one. The bill came to $16 and we still went dutch.

Now that’s class.

Another bloke I met, spent most of the conversation talking with his eyes glued to the ground. He then suggested we meet up again over another drink. Why wouldn’t I? I am so used to talking to thin air.

Then there are the show ponies. You know the blokes who are very good looking. Their online profile is all worked out. They have interesting, ‘interests’. They are the achievers. And they know what RSVP is all about. It’s just a numbers game.

I met one of them tonight.

You know when you’ve had a bad night, when the highlight of the evening is that you only had to wait 2 minutes for your train home. Actually it wasn’t all that bad.

“Hi I’m Michael. I an a lecturer in performing arts,” was his first email to me. After that it was simple one liners about where and what time we should meet. Might as well cut to the chase, I thought.

Anyway over a glass of house red at the Civic Hotel we discussed, theatre, AFL Football, Melbourne versus Sydney (he was originally from Melbourne), New York City and soccer. When I offered to buy the second round he said “No thanks. Actually I am going to go. Nice meeting you.”.

The only thing regret for the evening was walking through the heavy rain in my peep toe heels.

After all, these show ponies are right. Online dating is a numbers game. Next please……..

The Good Guys

2007-06-12T22:18:00.000-07:00

This is Charlie Corbett. He rang the Marrickville Police with a query about public bike sales

From The Glebe this week…

Glebe Police are seeking the owner of two bikes found at Rozelle on April 11.

“They are distinctive, they are not the usual run of the mill bikes around here. We are hoping that if someone sees them they will come forward,” Crime Prevention Officer Senior-Constable Jim Riganias said.

The story reminded me of the time my English editor Charlie Corbett rang Marrickville Police to find out if they on-sold bikes that were ‘impounded’ to the general public.

Apparently in London, this is what the local police stations actually do. Just by going to their local police station, Londoners can get microwave ovens, bikes, horses, televisions, at cheap prices.

Just like at a Good Guys store.

When I was looking to buy my bike, I was advised by a Bicycle enthusiast that I would need to spend about $1,000!! When I told Charlie this, he promptly rang the Marrickville Police station with his enquiry.

According to Charlie the officer who answered his query was very friendly and helpful. “A nice chap”.

While our local police do ‘impound bikes from time to time that look suspicious” they don’t sell them directly the public. He instead gave Charlie a number to call.

Perhaps Glebe police may be able to sell these ‘distinctive’ bikes to me if a member of the public does not claim them?

Copenhagen in Melbourne

2007-06-11T03:55:00.000-07:00

The sign on Ray’s window says it all. It seems Melbourne is embracing the cyclist culture of Copenhagen – with the addition of safety helmets.

When visiting Melbourne last week, I certainly noticed many cyclists on the road. And it seemed there were even dedicated cycle paths put in place. Glancing through the Melbourne magazine from the comfort of my hotel room at The Windsor, I read that there were plans to trial a “Copenhagen Lane” at the end of Swanston Street but the idea was thwarted by the car lobby and Minister Tim Pallas.

Some years ago, I had the pleasure of cycling through the city of Copenhagen. I had just flown in from Paris and my friend had met me at the airport. When we arrived home, she simply lent me a bike and off we sped off to meet her husband in the city. I had not been on a bike for well over five years so was quite nervous. Because Copenhagen is a city that was built around bikes, the trip into the city was relatively easy. It was easy not because of the dedicated cycle paths but simply because Danish drivers have a ‘cyclist sensibility’. This meant that they are not aggressive and are conscious of cycles around them. Which is probably why I was successfully prevented from causing an intersection collision.

Danish cyclists don’t wear helmets though, unlike Melbournian cyclists. Unlike their Sydney counterparts, Melbourne cyclists choose not to wear Lyra. Not that’s style and safety.

Bikes parked just off Flinders Lane as Melbournians go out for coffee

Meet the neighbours

2007-06-04T21:06:00.000-07:00

Christine and Jane meet the neighbours at Cafe Bo Bo's Locals Dinner

Many would agree that Sydney is not entirely a touchy feely town, so I was rather surprised when I came across an invitation for a Locals Dinner advertised on the window of Dulwich Hill’s Café Bo Bo.

I have to say, Café Bo Bo has been a welcome addition to my local part of Marrickville. With just two pizzerias and a Thai restaurant, one would have to walk miles for the traditional bacon & egg breakfast.

When Café Bo Bo opened in November 2004, my fellow neighbours Jane and Christine were indeed thrilled and I have to say the café does the best French toast and the coffee is divine.
But I digress.

Sam shares a chuckle with her new found neighbours

Importantly my friends, Christine, Jane, Sam and I met some lovely local people. Business cards were even exchanged so now I have access to a builder and an IT expert. Café Bo Bo’s owner Mark did a sterling job.

We could even walk home. We are definitely coming back for the Christmas in July dinner. Hope Mark has it themed. I quite fancy wearing my Santa hat.

Cafe owner Mark, thanks us for attending the evening

Marrickville’s Italians

2007-05-31T22:20:00.000-07:00

Local heroes

On Sunday I visited Marrickville Council’s cultural event, the Italian Festival, held at the Town Hall. It brought back memories of my childhood.

I grew up in Haberfield. My family were the only Indians in the suburb. Come to think about it we were the only Asians that lived in Haberfield at the time. As I grew into adolescence, I began to frequent the nightclubs of Musica Giovanni in Drummoyne and the APIA Club (now called La Montage) in Leichhardt. I was all of 16 and for some reason my photocopied baptism certificate would get me into these nightclubs. I would have my hair and fringe teased up so high that it would almost reach the ceiling of the APIA Club. I wore red nail polish and high patent heels. I thought I was hot.

It was the time when soccer was a ‘wog’ sport and the APIA club was called Australian Poofters In Action.

It was also the time when Europeans were the dominant cultural group in the inner west. Judging by the historical pictures displayed at the Town Hall, it seemed the Italian Community were also dominate in Marrickville, thriving on growing businesses.

I was amazed that former Prime Minister Sir Robert Menzies had officially opened the APIA Club in 1965. There were even pictures of the Italian fascist movement being welcomed in the 1930s at Martin Place. Marrickville's Mayor Morris Hanna takes a punt on some pizza making

It was a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. We enjoyed pizza, pasta, gelato, coffee and wine all free. You certainly can’t get that anywhere.

And my Italian soldiers (pictured) reminded me of my nightclubbing days at the APIA Club. Boys will be boys and Italian men will always be heroes.

Renovation make-over

2007-05-31T22:19:00.000-07:00

Michelle discusses the Kitchen sink with Renovation Pete

The day my sister’s tenants, Nazi and Habib left her unit on Myra Rd, Michelle decided to renovate.

It wasn’t that the taxi drivers had messed up the property. It wasn’t’ a renovation rescue. It was just time for an update. A makeover. It was time to call in Renovation Pete.

“Now Michelle, remember I just bring your tradesmen together. That’s all I do. I am not going to be hands on,” Pete reminded my sister.

Peter brought his trusted builder Tom along for the inspection.

While Michelle had dreams of dutch ovens, multi-coloured splashback walls, and side kitchen tables, Tom had plans for long-term durability.

For Tom, an update to a rental property was simple, durable, quality fittings with a simplicity that would transcend future renters.

His firm no’s at each suggestion were diplomatically accepted. Until it came to the kitchen sink.

Pete and Tom suggested the all in one faucet. All Michelle wanted was a separate hot and cold tap.

“Michelle you gotta go modern,” Pete demanded.

Michelle had her way. Tom and Pete accepted her decision and left for the evening to enjoy Eros in Earlwood.

Pete and Tom, your team

Who would have thought that Macca’s served Halal?

2007-05-28T19:04:00.001-07:00

From the Sydney Morning Herald this week…..

Former Guantanamo Bay detainee Mamdouh Habib has been charged with offensive behaviour over an incident in a Sydney fast-food outlet.

The 50-year-old was issued with a court attendance notice at a McDonald's restaurant in Bankstown in Sydney's south-west last Friday.

Police say officers were conducting patrols inside the restaurant when the incident happened.

No other details were given.

Newtown Fashion Week

2007-05-21T20:30:00.000-07:00

One of my dreams is to attend a Paris fashion show. Sit in the front row with Sienna Miller, wear dark glasses and tut tut as leggy models show off the designer’s wares.

I may never go to a Paris show but I did attend Newtown’s Fashionista extravaganza, Flaunt It by catching a show at the Marlborough Hotel.

My mate Vic managed to get us front row seats and we all received a complimentary glass of bubbly on arrival. Class! Like all good fashion shows, there was a sectioned off VIP area. The crowd looked like they were either from glamour media or family. I did spot a bloke wearing a singlet and shorts. He had a 711 plastic bag on one leg and a schooner of beer on the other. Perhaps my journo mates and I should have tried to muscle our way in.

Nevertheless our front row seating was pretty special. It was fun having such a close up view of the models, all gammed up in clothes from Newtown’s fashion stores. There were shorts, shifts, leggings, jeans and a wedding dress. The models were all gorgeous. They also looked like they ate food. As for the blokes, well I let Vic’s mobile phone picture speak for itself.

My only big regret was that I didn’t attend the special events around Flaunt It. Lunamorph looked very interesting and The Fitting Room, no doubt would have been a success. Oh well, hopefully next year. If any reader attended these events, I’d love to hear about it.

Who exactly is responsible for enforcing water restrictions?

2007-05-21T20:28:00.000-07:00

This water was allowed to go down the drane for 2.5 hours and Marrickville Council can't do a thing about it.

It was a question that needed to be answered on Sunday night. My mate Sam and I were enjoying gin and vodka martinis before our favourite show Ugly Betty. Sitting on Sam’s balcony we couldn’t help notice the sound of dripping water.

On closer inspection one of the balcony’s in the unit opposite Sam had water dripping down. It was a constant flow of water, which lasted for nearly two hours.

We decided to call the friendly constables at Marrickville Police. They directed my complaint to an emergency number with Marrickville Council.

When I called the Council they said it wasn’t a Council issue and told me to call Sydney Water.

Sydney Water told me that as the water was coming from a private residence, they had no authority to act. So in the end, the leaking tap from the balcony was allowed to flow.

No one, not the Council or the water utility had any authority to act. Marrickville Council runs a very intensive environmental and sustainability campaign.

Only a few weeks ago I was at its sustainability festival. All residents are encouraged to adopt sustainable environmental practices including the efficient use of water.

Yet a local resident was allowed to let their water run literally down the drain.

Can anyone police water wastage? Does anyone know?

Revisiting Glebe

2007-05-16T00:38:00.000-07:00

Twenty years ago and I was in Glebe wearing a school uniform. Before anyone gets excited, it was maroon with a thousand pleats that virtually came to the ankles.

Ten years ago and I was in Glebe living in a shared household that often resembled the Judgement Bar at 2:00am in the morning. In those days you were allowed to smoke inside.

Last week I was in Glebe celebrating Mother’s Day with my mum of course. Nothing has really changed actually except of course the pubs.

The Ancient Briton was a dive, Toxteth Hotel was a disgrace and the Harold Park Hotel was a hole in the ground. I loved all three of them. Now the Ancient Briton (or as tactfully they’ve renamed the AB Hotel) has a fish tank, overpriced glasses of ‘house’ wine and lousy service to match.

And the last time I recalled a visit to Harold Park was to see Ed Kuepper and the Yard Goes on Forever. It was the 80s and I wore patent leather heels, silk pants and drank midori. And yes, even Ed at the time would have thought my attire a disgrace.

They’ve really renovated the joint. Water features, chandeliers, lounges upholstered in fabric that resembled Florence Broadhurst style prints and an a la carte restaurant. It was a Sunday afternoon and so the place was filled with trendy blokes enjoying an Asahi beer with their mum’s (many whom settled for a pims).

At least Gleebooks is still around, Badde Manors is still happening and there are some tacky restaurants to choose.

Just wished the pubs weren’t too posh. Would have still liked Glebe to have the live music scene it had with the Harold Park Hotel.

Or maybe I am just getting too old.

Taking on the Road

2007-05-08T20:27:00.000-07:00

Vic takes some lessons

To ride on-road or off-road that is the question.

With just a couple of months of riding under my belt, I still didn’t’ feel confident enough to take my bike on the road. Instead I would stick to the Cook’s River or sheepishly ride my bike on the pavement. A copper dog once told me that if any cop was to book a cyclist for riding on the pavement, “they’d need to get a life’. In any case riding on the road was something I knew I had to master if I was to be a fully fledged inner west cyclist.

And so I decided to attend a three-hour free course with the Greenway group.

The course began at Johnson Park, Dulwich Hill. Getting there was a bit like an episode from Race Around the World. My work buddy Vic and her partner Jason drove from the Eastern Suburbs and after 15 minutes of getting lost along Warren Rd/Illawarra Rd they had finally made it to my home in Ewart St. Jason jumped out and wacked my bike on the back of his ute. With the three of us in the front street, (I have to say being in a ute for me was a thrill), we made it to Constitution St. The riders were still there so we needn’t have worried about missing the course. After a brief introduction from each person in the group we were ready to tackle our fist lessons – on the basketball court.

We were taught emergency braking, tight ways to manoeuvre our bike, gear changes, signalling and looking over our shoulder to check on traffic. It was quite intense but very helpful as we learnt simple tips that made such a difference to our riding.

While consuming our ‘packed lunch’ we were given a brief but very helpful overview of road rules. Our teacher Tanya recommended we take alternative quieter streets to ride on and where possible and ride through parks. I also didn’t realise that drink riding was a no no.

Learning rules over lunch

Then we were ready for our cycle to the Cook’s River. It was the first time for me. Riding on the road that is and I have to say it made such a difference riding with a group of people. The car drivers were indeed very respectful and I thought very patient too but then I guess that’s what safety in numbers is all about.

Tanya was fabulous and very encouraging. She did talk about a mate of hers who smashed his leg muscle and that the “only injury” she had was a broken collar bone.

By the end of the course, the only injury I sustained was some chipped nail polish on my left thumb.

For me, hand signalling and looking over my shoulder is something I still need to master. I think I will take up her suggestion and join my local bicycle user group (BUG), MASSBUG.0

And I will definitely take up her suggestion to join Bicycle NSW. An $85 membership gives you comprehensive insurance.

Hopefully soon, I’ll be able to whiz about Marrickville’s Streets.

I do recommend this course. Try it. You’ll enjoy it I am sure, just remember to bring the packed lunch. www.greenway.org.au

Jason packs the bikes back into his ute

Restless nobodies

2007-05-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

Shitbag Henry had so many charges against him that the police system couldn’t account for them anymore. At 999 he had reached his peak. Now he walks the streets of Glebe with shit in his bag.
His brain so fried up from life’s hard knocks his world is his own. He never really bothers anybody. Doesn’t mean to anyway. Occassionally his ‘fuck off’s would offend and that’s when the police would have to step in.
He did that once. Shouted it out at a bus driver while waving his dirty fingernail. The police picked him up in their panel van and dropped him off at Surry Hills.
They had no other place to put him.
You’ll see Rambling Rose meandering through the streets of Marrickville, shuffling on a train or standing still in Burwood. With bandaged arms she may ask you if the bandages are tight enough. You just have to say yes. She’d appreciate that.
“Rambling Rose is the name they gave me,” she told me while we were waiting for the Bankstown train at Redfern. “I like my walks they make me feel good. I’m no good for standing still,” she said.
Opening a wallet filled with $50 dollars she asked me if she owed me money. I said no and she placed it back into her rose coloured bag.
Unamed man walks with a pose fit for begging. With his right arm stretched and his hand cupped out, means he doesn’t have to make an effort when he asks you for some change.
One Sunday he walked into St Brigid’s during the 6pm mass and placed his hand into one of the church money bags. He saw the crucified Christ, placed it back into the bag and shuffled out. I don’t think Christ would have minded if he helped himself to the change.

Second Hand Rose

2007-04-29T20:34:00.000-07:00

Julia indulges in some vintage shopping

I am a self-confessed second hand rose. I love vintage. I simply adore the bloody stuff. I have shoes, jewellery, bags, vases, dresses, tops and coats sourced from Bath, to New York, to Burwood.

My work buddy Taras reckons I “do good vintage.”

So when I found out that there was a three day Vintage exhibition at Canterbury Racecourse I knew I had to be there.

In fact my mates, David and Julia also joined me, with David driving us in style in his 1960s Cadillac

Noice.

For an $11 entry fee, a girl had the choice of over 50 vintage stalls set up by shops from Mittatgong to Bowral, to Canberra to Melbourne.

Of course we went mad.

Fresh from her frenzied shopping for Stella McCartney at Target, Julia’s approach was somewhat calmer as she picked up gloves, scarves, hats and the odd dress.

I was somewhat more restrained, picking up a pair of Italian leather brown boots, a gorgeous full length rabbit fur coat (with a faded Cornelius label) and two mink hats. I was certainly set for winter.

Note to self: remember to hold a ‘This coat and hat is strictly vintage fur’ when next visiting Newtown.

David was great too. While no purchases in hand, he certainly knew how to handle the ladies, giving us honest feedback, “Christine you simply look like a vintage old lady,” (as I tried on a hat). He would also scrutinise the stiching on any dresses we were thinking of buying.

He even dismissed the idea of buying a “How to have a Healthy Marriage” magazine on the grounds that the back page had wet stains.

This bloke obviously knew his vintage.

My only criticism of the event would be the cafeteria. It would have been nice to have the choice of cotton candy, hot dogs and pink bubbly. Instead we had a meat pie, cheezels and lemonade.

Oh well we were there to shop not to eat.

In any case, after four hours we went home and Julia treated us to some fabulous Portugese pastries she pick up on our way through Petersham.

John The Plumber

2007-04-29T20:31:00.000-07:00

I’ll be honest. I’ve never had good experiences with tradesman. I had a plumber who took three hours of a Saturday morning to install my dishwasher only to bugger up the inside racks. Another time,an electrician offered to waive his fee if I had sex with him.

That was then. This is now. And now I have John the Plumber or as my sister calls him, Harry-Have-A-Chat.

Boy can this bloke talk. The thing is, his prices are cheap and the service is impeccable.

My dunny was leaking and I did some ring arounds to the local plumbers. On average the call out rate was $100 plus ‘spare parts’.

I found John the Plumber through one of my networks, a public relations consultant whose cousin was married to a plumber.

The great thing is, he just lives up the road from me.

John the Plumber charged me $70 for both the call out and the spare part to my dunny.

He loves cats, art and is an enthusiastic reader of England’s The Guardian (he’s a pom).

He doesn’t like John Howard but he loves his cuppa.

He’s doing some work for my sister and husband and always greets them with “better put the kettle on.”

They love him and they love his work.

So if anyone needs a plumber who is cost effective, reliable and does great work let me know, just remember to put the kettle on.

Hair Cuts

2007-04-19T19:44:00.000-07:00

Do you reckon this bloke was picked on by the cops because he had a leb hair cut?

Bulldogs star player Hazem El Masri claims he was harrassed by the police last week at a café outside Regents Park. When he refused to produce ID to the police, he was surrounded by nine officers from five patrol cars. He has now lodged an official complaint.

Maybe it was just his hair cut?

(Please see earlier story, Cops are tops for further explanation)

Don’t give us Rock Stars just give us the True Believers

2007-04-18T00:25:00.000-07:00

Well, this is the sweetest victory of all. This is a victory for the true believers: the people who, in difficult times, have kept the faith,” Keating said in 1993 after he won an election no one thought he’d win.

Since Keating’s left politics, it’s hard to imagine the same level of passion in any of our politicians.
I thought last night it would be different when I aattended the book launch of Australian Arts: Where the Bloody Hell Are You at the Seymour Centre.

The speakers included Minister for the Arts & Sport George Brandis and Shadow Minister for the Arts Peter Garrett.

As a former artist himself, I expected Garret to be more thought provoking in his discussion with Brandis. He was not and the evening was a flop.

It was all so polite and nice. But real leaders are not about sugar and spice. Keating would have mauled Brandis last night.

Let’s be honest about it, there is no doubt that when the Labor Party welcomed Garrett into the party it was because of the popularity he garnered as lead singer of Midnight Oil.

Here is a man that wrote evocative lyrics about our life and times. Forget about the power, the man was about passion.

Last night, however, he had no passion.

Brandis gave his predictable rubbish about how arts should not be about elitism, that perhaps arts advocates like the Cate Blanchett and the Australian Ballet should do more to promote arts in the community (because of course we can’t be arsed by giving money). He also spoke about the ‘commitment’ that cabinet ministers have towards the arts.

Apparently Ruddock has an extensive Aboriginal collection. Who cares? I mean who would be able to go Ruddock’s home to view this collection (um and let’s not go there about copyright issues) and who exactly wants to see Downer’s Ken Done collection.

And according to Brandis the US had no artistic life before World War II.

He George Brandis is a man that clearly has no idea about his portfolio.

Shouldn’t Garrett have asked the questions that as Arts and Sports minister, how much money has Brandis allocated to sports compared to arts? And if we are talking about wanting to export our arts industry shouldn’t foster our own local industry first?

To be fair to Garrett, he did say that as an industry, arts begin in the homes and in the local theatre and that is the basis to build an industry on.

He also quoted Keating. But instead of just quoting him, he should have had Keating’s balls to counteract the comments made by Brandis.

As much as I despise Howard I can respect him on the basis that he has fashioned this country to reflect his small mindedness, his pettiness, his stupidity. He has not compromised on who he is.

Arts are in trouble. There is no connect or support for local artists. There is neither commitment.

I wanted Garrett to articulate my frustrations, to take my screams at my television and present them to Brandis. I am sure Keating or Whitlam would have.

In the meantime I suspect that Brandis will return to Cabinet and allocate a further $500 million to sport.

Later that evening, my sister (who is an artist), her husband and I, retired to the Duck & Swan. We drank the house red and feasted on twisties which we pretended was a cheese platter.

Sustainable Festival

2007-04-15T22:33:00.000-07:00

This poor bugger might have copped it but at least we all got to spend the day in workshops.

It was also bloody hot and it took 10 hours to get a damn lemonade. But that didn’t really matter. We weren’t there for the bevvies, we were there to learn about sustainable living.

The Cook’s River Festival at Steel Park included ‘live entertainment, stalls crammed with information on water recycling, natural cleaning and backyard diversity. There were also workshops to explore this information in-depth.

One of the highlight’s for me was meeting up a ‘cultural consultant’ at the Sustainable Artists Gallery. My sister is a theatre maker and we were thrilled to learn that the Council will be conducting focus groups with local artists to get an idea about what they want to happen in Marrickville. In the age of interest rates, sport and John Howard, it seems grassroot support will be the only lifeline for many artists. Here’s hoping we get some results.

Mr Percival works the crowd

The other highlight for me was getting in touch with the bicycle groups. In particular the Green Way group. I’m going to register for a ‘free’ bicycle skills course. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Beer and cricket

2007-04-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

Inner West Cricketer Richie plays some air guitar at the Townie

Check out this pub crawl! These blokes play for an inner west cricket team and you guessed it they were out on the (New) Town with their team mates.

I met them at the Town Hall. One of them was a friend of my fabulous buddy Cat.

Nice chaps too. We spent the night over schooners of beer talking about love and those sorts of catastrophes. I even eavesdropped on two blokes talking about ‘relationships at crossroads, and ‘do you go for a new found love or should you opt for the long term relationship. The conversation was really intense too. Geez I never thought blokes spoke like that. It was actually quite sweet. I spoke to one of them after and at least his honesty was given to his lady face-to-face and not over a text. Class. Actually the whole evening was class minus poor Johnno who spewed at the bar at the Duke Hotel. I guess he just thought he was Andrew Symonds.

The last time I was out with a bunch of blokes from a cricket club was at the North Sydney Bowling Club. My mate Dazza is the captain of the local cricket club – grade B. The night was great. I met Steve Rixon. The only downer of the evening was during a speech given by Lenny Pascoe. One of the club boys piped up and told him to “go fuck himself.”

I didn’t really care. Lenny was quite full of himself that evening. .

1)18:00 Ricky Ponting, Drink a great Tasmanian Beer – Boags, (Michael’s Place)

2)19:00 Stuart Magill, Drink a glass of red of red, (Warren View Hotel)

3)19:30 Zoe Goss, See if you can pick the reference here.., (Sly Fox)

4)20:00 David Boon, Drink the beer of the people, Victoria Bitter (Queen Hotel)

5)20:30 Andrew Symonds, Drink Fast & Hard while guzzling XXXX (Duke Hotel)

6) 21:00 Steve Waugh, The iceman prefers Southern Comfort & Bourbon (Newtown RSL)

7) 21:30 Shane Warne, Food Stop - O'Portos, don't know if they have meat pies though (O'Portos)

8) 22:00 David Hookes, Pick a fight with a bouncer (Town Hall)

9) 22:30 Glen McGrath, You'll look great with a bad hair cut (The Bank)

10) 23:00 Michael Bevan Leave it till the last to have a big one... (The Zanzi Bar)

11 23:30 Bob Hawke/John Howard, Your choice of yard glasses or Shirley Temples (Kelly's)

Good Friday

2007-04-11T18:53:00.000-07:00

For a nation that is not overtly religious, it amazes me how Good Friday is observed in this country. While the Easter Show still draws strong crowds, the day still has supermarkets, bottle shops and pub bistros closed. Good Friday is filled with mass attendance and street marches honouring the death of Christ

Marrickville is no different.

Woolworths was closed, the Royal Exchange Marrickville only had one room of its pub opened and the catholic church of St Brigid’s held three masses; a Station’s of the Cross at 10:00am, Passion of the Christ at 3:00pm and the Italian procession honouring the death of Christ at 7:30pm.

I’ve always liked attending the 10:00am service. Unlike other catholic churches, the Station’s of the Cross is observed according to contemporary themes – normally Catholics recite a decade of the rosary for each station. So when Christ is condemned to death, St Brigid’s parish observes the injustice that political prisoners today face in some countries. Perhaps even in our own.

This year I decided to attend the 7:30pm procession. It was cold windy evening and the church was full with Italians, their second and third generation children, instead preferring the outside Church grounds. My friend Angelo reckons it’s “the perfect evening to pick up a chick”.

The procession finally began at 8:30pm.

The convoy was led by a man holding the Cross, followed by women clad in robes and veils, children in similar attire holding candles, the parish priests, young fit men fitted in Roman Soldier armoury followed by the open coffin of the dead Christ held up by the shoulders of old Italian men.

We all followed holding candles.

Part of Marrickville Rd is closed so that the procession could proceed through the streets of Marrickville, through Petersham Rd, and Francis St and finally to Livingston Rd. A priest in a ute with a microphone recites prayers followed by singing. This “priest mobile” began last year, because some irate neighbours in Francis St had cut the church’s PA system.

By 9:15pm it was all finished. The police hurriedly replacing barricades on Marrickville Rd with barricades along Livingston Rd. They now had the Greek mass to patrol.

Going to the Dogs

2007-04-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

Tip: Never back a bitch who has time to smell the roses.

Saturday night and my mates and I were at Wentworth Park in Glebe to watch the greyhounds.

I got myself glammed up. I decided to wear my hair piece that I wore for Derby Day racing in Melbourne, teamed up with my True Religion jeans that I bought at Bergdorf Goodman in New York and white stiletto peep toe heels.

Of course I did not look out of place.

We dined at the track’s a la carte styled bistro. Maria and I had an octopus salad while the boys feasted on steaks with pepper sauce, mashed potato and steam vegetables.

Darin tucks into a bit of steak

Steve ordered a bottle of Brokenwood shiraz to go with his steak.

Oh and then there were the dogs. New to betting Penny, Maria and I received enthusiastic advice from a couple of blokes from Armidale.

“I can’t believe youse girls are single. I mean if youse were in Armidale youse would all be on dates within five minutes.”

Charmed by his compliment we enthusiastically put 20 bucks each on his tip – No 5. A gorgeous little stunner who took in a little whiff of flowers in a bush prior to her run. What class!

She came second last.

We had a great night though. Lots of friendly punters about, kiddies with their parents, a nice easy way to spend a Saturday evening. And my mates from the North Shore were suitably impressed. I mean where else would you get the Brokenwood Shiraz for $20.

Stevo and Dave suitably impressed with the price of the Brokenwood Shiraz

And the dogs were impressive too. We even got our pic taken in the Greyhound Revolver. Heck I may even get myself into a syndicate and buy a bitch. Anyone interested?

La Ricetta

2007-04-05T00:12:00.000-07:00

Pic: Nina

“It’s a little bit jammy,” said Taras. “But at least the tannins have come out,” replied Steve.

I was out with my work colleagues and no we were not dining at Machiavelli in Clarence St. We were dining at La Ricetta in Enmore and both the boys were a little disappointed in the Brokenwood Pathdaway.

They were not, however, unhappy with La Ricetta.

“This is truly lovely food. There is so much to try on this menu I am definitely coming back,” said Steve, a proud Englishman who also confessed to us that night that he “would make a good lower middle class peer.”

The food was sensational. It always is. And the thing, about La Ricetta is that you don’t have to wait for the second coming of Christ to make a booking.

My favourite dish is the duck filled ravioli but tonight I chose differently. While my two English colleague’s poo pooed the idea of veal on ethical grounds, my English editor did not. But then again, his family goes fox hunting. We both opted for the veal, prosciutto, boccocini cheese and sage. It was bloody good.

The only complaint of the evening was the figs. While enjoyable, Steve thought they were a “tad overcooked”, but then again “everything else is absolutely splendid”.

Apparently La Ricetta is a favourite restaurant of Morris Dilemma and Graham Richardson celebrated his birthday there last year. With its starch white tablecloths and no nonsense service, it does resemble Machiavelli.

It’s cheaper though and a much better feed. And you won’t see Angus Hawley or Pru Goward there. Thank God for that.

La Ricetta – check it out.

www.laricetta.com.au

Turning off the lights

2007-04-04T21:16:00.000-07:00

On Saturday 31 April we observed Earth Hour. We were required to turn off the lights from 7:30pm to 8:30pm. As such, I decided to have a little candle lit dinner party. In fact I had my lights off till midnight.

In the end, I don't think I made much difference to minimising carbon emissions. I suspect my 2 hour slow roasted lamb and use of the dishwasher offset my original noble intentions.

It was great to see that most of my neighbours had their rooms lit up in candles.

Happy Earth Hour Marrickville

The Bra (Leb) Boys

2007-03-29T02:03:00.000-07:00

“I can guarantee you Christine that in two year’s time these blokes will be behind bars. I’d like to see where those A-listers will be then.”
- Sydney Detective

Guess What? I am going to write a documentary about Leb boys from Lakemba. I’d get some Hollywood Star to narrate the film. I don’t who at this stage. Maybe Anthony LaPaglia.

Might get some B-grade starlet to date one of them. Just for a bit of publicity.

Do you reckon Kate Fischer would bang a Leb?

What I am stuck on is whether my Leb Boys would be welcomed by Sydney’s A listers.

Do you reckon The Sydney Magazine would have them on the front cover?

What about that adman Jack Singleton? Do you think he might get them for a promo for one of this stupid beers?

And do you reckon my documentary would be met with silence from Alan Jones, Morris Dilemma and John Howard?

I mean who the heck are these Bra Boys anyway?

One of them was charged with murder, another with accessory. They were known to beat up on the cops.

One clown is even some world champion surfer and yet after all his international wins, he still remains in debt.

This fool has even got himself a new clothing line. Part of the branding includes a mug shot of him taken by Police.

Please! Aren’t they criminals?

If they were Lebs, I suspect the story would be different.

Alan Jones would be on the blower daily, screaming to his listeners about middle eastern crims benefiting from crime.

We’d have Morris Dilemma offering a zero tolerance policy that would prevent any Leb from venturing within 5 miles of a cop. And of course you would have John Howard. Nothing needs to be said.

Apparently these Bra Boys, did it tough. They grew up in a Housing Commission flat with a single parent – who was never around. Yawn.

Well I grew up in Housing Commission and I came from a single parent family.

I didn’t beat up cops though. Instead I became a finance journalist.

Cops are Tops

2007-03-29T01:57:00.000-07:00

My mate Sam and I met some lovely chaps at the Swank Hotel on Friday night.

They were cops.

Clearly I need another cop in my life like I need a hole in the head.

Still fresh from the way my former Copper Dog (“Dickhead Rod”) dumped me, I wasn’t exactly ready to meet more members of the NSW Police Force. But you can never plan these things. They just happen.

Sam and I were in celebratory spirits. She had scored a major win against her grossly incompetent Strata Manager and I needed to move on.

What better way to do this then with drinks at The Swank. The first bloke who ‘picked us up’ was El Salvador George - a chef (clearly from El Salvardor.) who works at the GPO on Martin Place.

“You come to my home and I cook you beautiful foood,” he told us.

His quest for a conquest was soon cut short. The poor bastard had to go home because his “cousin was locked out.”

Anyway Sam and I got talking to nice looking chap about…..football. He then introduced us to his other buddies. They were all detectives. And they drank cocktails.

What lovely chaps they were. We really didn’t dwell too much on crime. They did confirm that the term “Leb Hair Cuts’ is used by cops however it was “strictly for inhouse talk.”

Another term used by the cops is “The Housie”. “What’s a Housie” you ask.

“A person who lives in a Housing Commission estate who has either a mullet or a sharpie with a rat’s tail hair cut.”

All three confirmed that Shappelle Corby is guilty.

“If she wasn’t some white chick nobody would give a shit.”

They also hate the Bra Boys. And so did we.

We all agreed that New York was the best city in the world and that Peter Debnam and his budgy smugglers were a joke.

I really had a lovely night. It was just so nice to chat to a bunch of blokes about sport, superannuation and travelling. I could have stayed all night except when I got a text from Sam.

Sitting just opposite me she wrote

“Mate I am going to vomit soon. Must go home. No offence”.

It was fortunate we did leave at that time. We exchanged numbers and we made it home safely.

An evening at The Swank

2007-03-29T01:49:00.000-07:00

My how Newtown’s Bank Hotel has changed!!!! Talk about sophistication. The upstairs cocktail bar with its glorious outdoor deck and bird’s eye view of Newtown Station is a must for any inner west sophisticate.

Indeed, my mate Sallyanne has renamed it The Swank

But Westies take note! The Swank’s cocktail menu will not suite. Toblerone and Pina Colada free (to my disappointment). Instead we have a Ruby Manhattan, a Dirty Spanish Martini and a Strawberry Femme Fatale.

I must say, I wouldn’t really recommend the Ruby Manhattan. With Wild Turkey to the blend, it would have suited someone like Bon Scott – that’s if he was into cocktails.

The Vanilla Mojito had a ‘woozy’ affect on my mate Karen, who was kinda hoping for a Pina Colada but she did enjoy the Femme Fatale.

Downstairs there is a more rowdy crowd and more outdoor drinking. I have to say, I feel quite sorry for the poor buggers who live in the apartment blocks that serves as the pub deck’s backdrop.

Spending quite a bit of time at The old Bank, I was quite sceptic about how the ‘refurbishment’ would look.

Would it simply be a wank job?

Yep, it is fancy, but I reckon the service from the bar staff prevents the pub from being The Wank. Friendly, efficient, they are devoid of the anorexic stares that you get from most staff bar that exist in the city or Eastern Suburbs bars. AND the bar staff hand back your change without that annoying little silver tray – even in the cocktail bar.

Marrickville Mauling

2007-03-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine just emailed me this - Poor Fred, somehow I suspect the Christian Democratic Party won't have much traction in Marrickville. Amen to that!

Lounge Room Arrest

2007-03-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

I nearly got arrested in my lounge room the other night. Yep that’s right. The potential arrest happened over dinner with the copper dog and my sister, Evie and her husband, John.

My relatives were rather forthright in sharing my ‘crime stories’ with the copper dog – some of which feature in this blog.

Good naturedly he dismissed them all until the ‘chilli in the mailbox’ incident came up.

The ‘chilli in the mailbox’ incident you ask? Well let me provide you with some background information.

I was having a lot of trouble with my upstairs neighbours. They were noisy 24/7. This ‘noise’ included bong drums, screaming and of course that heavy bass sounding doof doof doof which would infiltrate every empty cell of quietness in my home.

It wasn’t particularly pleasant on a Saturday morning, nor throughout Sunday or any day of the week. My neighbour Branko, who came from Croatia was happy to suffer in silence. He reckoned that this noise was better than a plane dropping bombs on his head. Something he was used to back home.

My incompetent strata manager was completely useless and there is only so many times that a girl can call the police. After all they had other crimes to fight.

In the wee hours of a Saturday morning. I had enough. I took out a bottle of chilli sauce and proceeded to spill it all over the mailbox.

When this story was told to the copper dog he was mortified.

“That’s really bad Christine. You know you can be charged for vicious damage (chilli sauce?) and get a criminal record. I won’t worry……...for now anyway”.

I think John put it into perspective.

“I’m trying to make the link between noise and chilli sauce. I mean imagine when the neighbours find chilli sauce in the mailbox. Are they expected to automatically think, Oh we made a lot of noise last night?”

Anyway the evening ended on a high, with more amusing stories told by the copper dog including searching an ex crim’s bag only to find it packed with shit, saving a life when all his partner did was stand next to him and shout “OMG” and how dumb the majority of cops are.

The end.

Postscript. Unfortunately readers you will no longer get insights into the NSW Police force. The copper dog since dumped me via text. Interesting huh? I mean the man can beat up junkies, make arrests and tell big blokes “What the fuck are you looking at” Yet he can’t even tell a girl over the phone he can no longer see her. He’s no longer my copper dog. Instead he’s just “Dickhead Rod”. Oh and he used to work at Glebe Police Station.

Barefoot in the Park

2007-03-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

It was nearly 10:00am on a Sunday morning and the old timers were already well into their beer. No it wasn’t ANZAC day in a pub. In fact it was the Ashfield Bowling Club.

Ashfield Bowling Club is the second oldest club in Australia. And it is where myself and my mates Penny and Sam went to learn lawn bowls.

Set smack bang in the middle of picturesque Ashfield Park, the club offers free private classes. Yes that’s right it’s free.

Our teacher was Russell whose wife is one of the club’s champion bowlers. A young bloke called Dave also “helped out” but according to Russell this was because “he had seen youse young girls and got a bit excited.”

The drinking old timers were club members and Russell calls them the “drinking brigade”.

“Yeh that’s our drinking brigade over there. They’re well known for liking their beer.”

But we weren’t there for a beer. We were there to learn and for a Sunday morning, Russell was just the right bloke for the job.

With our barefeet on the lawns, we practiced our arm swings, our stepping forward “remember to put your left hand on your left knee as you step forward girls” and of course aiming the ball towards the ‘jack’.

After a while we got to know our ball – whether it would roll towards the jack, whether it would just roll straight or whether it was just a “wobbly wobbly”, which I was good at.

Sam managed to hit the jack twice!

We got to meet another club champion – Bev whose been playing bowls for seven years. Bev also “helps out the kitchen” and looks for bowling partners.

At 11:15 the ‘drinking parade’ packed up their bowls and walked into the club.

“Sometimes those blokes just like to finish early and get stuck into the beer.”

Which is what Penny, Sam and I did.

Honestly we could have gone on all day, such was Russell’s enthusiasm for the game.

He told us that we could even get ourselvs a club uniform

"The ladies uniform is really modern. Now our ladies can wear peddle pushers or slacks."

We may not have been interested in the uniform, but over a schooner of Blonde and three packets of chips we joined the club for a $5 social membership. For $2.60 a schooner, it’s bloody good.

Just ask for Michael at the bar

www.ashfieldbowlingclub.com.au

Second Choice Suburbs

2007-03-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

According to the Sydney Morning Herald, Marrickville is among the second choice suburbs of Sydney. The article, Cheapest Sydney Suburbs, included a list of these so called suburbs and began with advice given by that fancy real estate bloke McGrath.

McGrath urges buyers to shop around to find affordable property and look at second-choice locations a little further out than their first-choice suburbs.

"Annandale and Glebe might cost too much, but Erskineville and Camperdown are very affordable,” McGrath said.

What planet is he living on?

Anyway, the story goes on further to include comments from our illustrious local real estate agents.

“Marrickville is another well-priced suburb in the area, with a median of $534,000. Its big selling point, says Ray White Dulwich Hill agent Nick Karvouniaris, is that it’s so close to town and has good cafes and restaurants.

“We’re getting a lot of young families buying here as it’s so affordable. There are good schools, good shopping and plenty of transport,” Karvouniaris said.

$534 big ones. Isn’t that half a million? Wow how affordable is Sydney?

Karvouniaris is right about the schools – provided you are ok with Catholic and public schools, and yes great shopping and plenty of transport – minus the train delays and the inevitable traffic pile up on King St.

With all these attributes why are we considered a second choice suburb?

But then again, perhaps that’s a great thing. At least it keeps the Sydney arseholes away.

I recalled a conversation I had with a lady who drove me home after shopping at Woolies – she came to my rescue when after my $100 grocery shop, the staff at Woolies failed to tell me that home delivery had finished.

“A lot of people initially look at Marrickville because it is affordable, then they see what we all look like. Drive on I say to those people. We don’t want people like you in our suburb.”

Taking Bennelong

2007-03-05T15:12:00.000-08:00

Forget about these kids. Let’s just get rid of the Desiccated Coconut

Yep it’s the beginning of March and the NSW State election is only four weeks away. Yawn. Is it going to be Labor’s Carmel or the Green’s Fi? Who knows? Who cares? The trains still won’t run on time.

It certainly won’t be the Liberal’s Mansour. If there is one thing that is guaranteed in Marrickville, it is this. The Libs may get in but it will be during the second coming of Christ.

Unlike Bennelong of course.

But what’s exciting now, is the possibility of former ABC journo Maxine McKew taking on Howard in his seat.

With a four per cent swing needed to get rid of Coward which, Keating described recently as a desiccated coconut, it could still be a tall ask in this climate of fear and loathing.

But we can live in hope.

A dear work colleague of mine (a lovely lady from nearby Kingdom of Leichhardt) raised an interesting idea.

“Wouldn’t it be good if the inner west could vote in Bennelong,” she said in an email (which incidentally went via the company’s Chicago office but that’s another story).

It got me thinking.

The Glebe vox populi this week was on resident’s views about McKew taking on Howard. Comments included:

I like her so good on her. I’m just hoping Labor will get in so any opposition is good. She has a lovely voice and is obviously very intelligent.

“It’s a good think someone with a high profile is challenging the Prime Minister. I’d like to see him gone.”

What if we transport these beliefs in Bennelong by getting some short-term leases in East Ryde, Epping or Denistone?

With the rental crisis happening at the moment, surely we can easily find tenants for our Marrickville homes?

Is this too much of a fanciful notion? Am I just dreaming? Has over ten years of the Coward Government affected my brain?

Help!

Strata managers are not nice people

2007-03-04T21:59:00.000-08:00

Letter from Princess Sam

He irons his socks and rules his backyard domain with a tight little iron fist. He takes no prisoners and has no friends. He’s a Sydney strata manager. Lips are pursed, arseholes are tight. Grey formica tables are surveyed. Answering machine switched on from 5.05pm until 8.35am in the mornings.

A receptionist with the attention span of a goldfish and a door between the front desk and ‘the office’, where he will recite his Strata Schemes Management Act 1997 with great sound and fury.

This is the type of person you don’t ordinarily choose to deal with. It’s like supping with racists or bathing in kerosene. It aint fun and it aint pretty.

Unfortunately, sometimes princesses have to get their hands dirty.

And so it was that I found myself phoning Juan Nathaniel, proprietor of a caravan with Sydney Strata Managers scrawled in crayon on its sides, at 8.30am on a Friday morning. Earlier that fine day, I had discovered that my toilet bowl was singing along with me in the shower.

Shared pipes in glorious Marrickvillean flats and all that. Could I get away with not dealing with the inner west’s version of The Office’s Gareth? Alas, as I stepped onto the bathroom tiles, I realised that I was about to take a second bath. Or ring the fucker. Step in shit or speak to it. Sophie’s choice, really.

Of course, at 8.30am on a Friday morning, the answering machine was on. I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to watch the effluent rise.

At 8.35am, Nathaniel himself answered on his mobile phone.

“Could you possibly fax your request to me?” he had asked.

Could he not hear my request? My flat was beginning to flood.

“Yes, but I need proof that this is a genuine call.”

Now, when you’re staring at a rising tide of other people’s poo and wee (gotta love living in a ground floor flat!), you tend to have a tinge of desperation in your voice that is hard to mask. It’s kind of like Ivan Milat would sound if he were a woman and he was in labour. You notice this desperation. You certainly don’t fuck with it. At least, if you have an IQ of more than 12 you don’t fuck with it.

Mr Nathaniel, of course, took some extra convincing.

Eventually, however, I managed to establish that I wasn’t in fact a prank caller (highlight of the rampant prank calling scene in Sydney is to ring Juan Nathaniel, apparently, and try to pull the wool over his penetrating gaze). I’ll give him his due: the plumber called me sharpish and was around within the hour. Unfortunately, an hour was all it took for the entire block’s effluent to reach my ears – or at least, to flood all of my bathroom, much of my living room, my adjoining linen cupboard and, in my bedroom, my inbuilt wardrobe.

Nice.

Juan “the Gareth” Nathaniel, however, was having none of it. “We’ll pay for the plumbing but we are not responsible for the repercussions of any strata plumbing fault. Goodbye.”

And that, my friends, is how I have been lumped with a stinky flat and thousands of dollars damage. This is the third time this has happened. No-one in strata has fixed it. And I ask you: are we to wallow in shit and neighbours’ pubic hair under the yoke of people who iron their socks and recite the Strata Schemes Management Act 1997?

Is Marrickville – nay Sydney? - to be placed in the hands of idiot children in possession of a grey formica desk, an Officeworks account and a teeny dick?

I think it’s time that Sydney flat dwellers arise against the likes of the Juan Nathaniels in our midst. Let’s reclaim our shit-free flats from the shits.

You know it’s right.

Is the Australian cricket team just a bunch of dickeads?

2007-02-26T19:58:00.000-08:00

Are these blokes just a bunch of arseholes? This was a theme picked up at a recent inner west dinner party with my fellow Princess Sam

Princess Sam says....

“They might be arseholes but they’re our arseholes.”

I found myself uttering these very words quite recently, in defence of the indefensible: the Australian cricket team.

I was at a BBQ at a friend of a friend’s gorgeous Art Deco flat in Ewart Street. There were four of us: the host and her equally lovely friend, who were both from New Zealand, had agreed to break bread with two Aussies - Our Marrickville Princess and yours truly.

The cricket was on somewhere in the background – Australia playing New Zealand in a one-dayer - and, considering our salon bridged both sides of the Tasman, we took more than a passing interest.

Now, I do realise that the Australian cricket team is utterly indefensible. They wear canary yellow tracksuits. They call themselves Warnie, Watto, Symmo and Punter. They text too much and sledge even more.

And worse – on this Sunday, they were playing New Zealand. New Zealand, who serve their dish of Daniel Vettori on a bed of sleek black trakkies (apparently brown was the new black only up until the late 1990s…) with lovely wire-rimmed specs on top. Who play…but really, who cares? Let’s just stick with Vettori.

Yet, when I noticed that the Princess was supporting New Zealand on this occasion, I had to say my piece. I had recently returned from a two and a bit year sojourn to the UK where I had to learn to love ‘our boys’ after they lost the Ashes to the locals in 2005. I had figured out how to focus on Gilchrist and his sportsmanship, on the fact that ‘Bing’ Lee had managed to grow up (except for his nickname…and that band, obviously…oh, never mind!) and to pretend to accept the fact that ‘Punter’ was obviously deeply misunderstood by the clientele of Bourbon & Beefsteak who thought him a petulant little man, and that he did not even vaguely resemble George W. Bush.

Our Princess was, however, not buying my rhetoric: “I love the cricket and I know I’m Aussie, but they’re arseholes,” she remonstrated.
And this is where I puffed up my chest, sucked in my breath and uttered in sage-like earnestness: “They might be arseholes but they’re our arseholes.”

Now, it would be prudent to point out that this was no charcoal snag and warm tinny evening. There were three types of cheese (like Michelin stars, I think the more cheeses there are on the table, the posher the do – but I was born in Blacktown so I’d take that cheese with more than a few grains of salt, Kraft Cheddar Cheese-style) so, clearly, the evening was civilised.

And I was not.

But surely it’s OK to indulge in that atavistic urge to love the devil you know? To pin your colours to canary yellow tracksuits and thump your chest with teary pride when Symmo hits the winning runs and screams in the face of his opponent rather than shake hands gracefully?

Nonetheless, I remain troubled by it all.

The Marrickville Neighbourhood Hall of Shame

2007-02-22T18:32:00.000-08:00

Letter from a fellow princess

The Neighbours
She has all the warmth and grace of a stonefish. Surveying the room with eyes swimming behind two feet of Winnie Blue soup. This is my neighbour: six foot, built like a brick shithouse (with extensions added), dyed blonde hair thin and wispy fairy threads. Raw face spitting out swear words like grapeshot in the middle of the living room: she will get that fucking wedding dress on if it’s the last thing she does.
“Fuck it, Trev! Help me with this fucking dress.”
From the kitchen comes the gurgling of a bong. A slight guy with lizard eyes and shaved head eventually speaks in perfect Queen’s English: “The dress is too small, Gay. And it’s brown.”
(She is so proud of that voice: “People think he’s a poof because he speaks so well. But he’s not.”)
The frogs – ceramic, plastic, glass – on the walls, next to the bathtub, on the fridge, hanging off window ledges… The mismatched glasses of cask white balancing where they can, plants in various states of rude health everywhere else.
Gay and Trev will be married in a park in two weeks’ time. The reception will be held at the Royal Exchange Hotel in Marrickville. But first she’s got her hen’s week in Melbourne. Once she gets into her dress, that is.
“Maybe we should catch up for dinner on Saturday, when she’s away,” Trev had said to me earlier. Not a happy thought.
But on the Wednesday before, up on the first floor in a Schwebel Street flat, it took three of us to cajole the zipper northwards while Gay swore like a hungover truckie.
God knows how she got the thing off afterwards – I was out of there in a flash.

The Shame
Saturday afternoon hung like a grey greasy dishcloth, occasionally dripping lukewarm rain. I was depressed - Trev had rung me twice in the two hours that Gay had left for Melbourne.
He was on a roll when I saw him in his amphibian-themed crack den: chilling his Seaview sparkling red (“This costs a lot of money, you know. I like fine wine.”), talking about the job interview he’d lined up for the following Tuesday (“It’s inbound sales at the Advanced Medical Institute – you know, I can make so much money from this role, I can feel it. If I drop my CV off to you tomorrow, you can edit and correct it by tomorrow night, right?”) and finishing his third or fourth bong for the day.
How could a Marrickville Princess be anything but bewitched by it all?
Clearly, the very expensive sparkling red shared my excitement as its very expensive cork made a bold effort to escape, narrowly missing a frog.
Trev’s swivelling hips and sandbag eyelids both started in embarrassment but he made a concerted effort to recover his wits (bless his stud muffin heart!), insinuating himself next to me to fill my glass.
In true Princess fashion, I skolled it and got up to leave.
Slither, slither – and is that Frank Sinatra music playing??? - the sound of wine being poured.
I skolled that, too, smiled, gurgled apologies and made for the door like a startled rabbit.
In smoothest Queen’s English: “I wanted to say something to you.”
Shit!
And just then, he attempted to bestow upon me the title of ‘lucky last lady before the wedding’. But I was ready: “Actually, Trev, this is really very flattering but Gay is a friend and I could never do that to her.”
Shazam! Wonder twins activate! Form of a foxy Princess!
“Actually, Gay and I discussed it and she picked you. She said you needed it. I was glad. Remember that red dress you had on the last time you were here? I had an erection for three hours afterwards.”
Squeak.
Scurry.
Herein ends this entry for the Marrickville Neighbourhood Hall of Shame. Suffice to say, I think you can still trace the claw marks leading from the amphibian crack den haunt of the leery lovers to my humble princess abode.
Sadly, I never got to help pour Gay into her brown wedding dress. And so I still don’t know who they took on their Gold Coast honeymoon.

Ladies of the night

2007-02-18T14:23:00.000-08:00

“Hey girls, I am on way to the brothel. I’d really love it if youse would help me out. I doubt it I know, but youse are both so sexy.”

It’s not everyday that a girl gets such a tempting proposal but it happened to my mate Sam and I after drinks at the Royal Exchange Marrickville (REM).

The invitation was from a fellow REM punter who went on to ask Sam the size of her bra.

Charming chap.

Good naturedly we refused his kind offer and bid him farewell as he continued on his way to seek relief from Marrickville’s ladies of the night.

The issue of brothels is constantly on the local Council’s agenda. Only last week an application for a Brothel to operate 100 metres from Marrickville Public School had been rejected.

The Marrickville Council also voted to write to the Minister for Planning asking for a limit to be placed on the number of brothels operating in Marrickville.

So far, Marrickville has 15 brothels.

It was about two years ago when some of these brothels were seeking approval to operate at street level (currently you have to access these establishments via stairs leading to the top of Marrickville’s shops).

According to my local priest, Fr Tom of St Brigid’s Church, the brothel owners wanted their businesses to operate at street level so that people on wheelchairs could have street access.

Unfortunately their proposal never went ahead and who knows what the poor wheelchair bound blokes now have to do.

To be quite honest, I never can understand what the big hoorah is about brothels. OK, maybe I can understand that such businesses need not operate next to schools, but the ones I know that operate in the central business district of Marrickville Rd seem so non descript from the rest Marrickivlle’s businesses.

And the blokes that I have seen patronising such an establishment hardly seem to be of ‘criminal’ kind. In fact they remind me of some of the blokes I work with.

Greens councillor Fiona Bryne said in this week’s The Glebe, a limit on brothels is not going to stop people opening brothels, it’s going to push them underground and stop us from regulating them.”

The real issue should be the safety and security for Marrickville’s ladies.

The Glebe has an online poll where fellow Marrickvillians can have their say about brothels at http://www.theglebe.com.au/

The Devil’s brother

2007-02-15T15:00:00.000-08:00

My neighbour Rick reckons he is the brother of the devil. Just to make sure that the rest of the block of units is aware of his family lineage he has drawn two sixes besides the No. six of his front door.

Four foot tall, weighing about 40 kilos and covered in tatts he also tells me he once worked for ASIO.

Matted long brown hair and a beard that covers almost all his face except for his fading blue eyes, he also reckons he began his career as a police officer.

He told me he chucked in his career “cause he was sick of the “whole cop bullshit thing.” Besides he claims he is a millionaire and prefers to now “live a life of luxury” in Marrickville.

Generally Rick is harmless. Occassionally, however, he is prone to bouts of torment.

You know when this will happen when he has is door unusually opened. Loud music blares and sporadically he will walk out the door and shout FUUUUCKKK, then walk inside. It normally happens throughout the day and well into the night.

I first met Rick on the front lawn of my units. He was sitting on the grass drinking a bottle of Jim Beam. He had a bit of class at least, as he drank with a glass. He asked my name and then immediately fell in love with me. That’s not unusual as most phycopaths do.

Months followed with love letters left at my door. They were brief but straight to the point.

One time he told me that if anyone was to tell me to fuck off he would be happy to take out his shotgun and “shoot them in the face.”

Nice.

I knew things were going to go a bit of out control when he professed his love for me while I was hanging out my clothes on our Hills Hoist.

Then and there I knew I had to put a stop to it. It took a while for Rick to get the message. I had to persistently decline his offers to go to the movies or up the road for a drink and would scurry into my unit when his was door opened. Finally I achieved my aim.

Now Rick doesn’t hassle me as much. He is now interested in Emily who has just moved in next door to me.

The Newtown Streaker

2007-02-15T14:58:00.000-08:00

Letter from a fellow prince

Last week I hung out in my home suburb of Newtown for two days. It was great to discover the area, history and people, and would love to share it with you all.

How to get there? Well, I am not entirely sure because on Friday night I was out in Surry Hills and awoke in my bed on Saturday. I think it must have been the legendary “Newtown Magic Beer Bus” that picked me up and dropped me off in bed. But I am sure there are other buses, taxis, trains and planes and stuff. Check out the website newtownmagicbeerbus.com.au for a timetable.

Saturday Mornings in Newtown: I started my afternoon by visiting the local markets, or “IGA” as it is known in the native “Newtownese”. The variety of produce and tourists can be overwhelming at first, but I did not let that distress me. Possessing a degree in “Shopping Protocol” from the Berlin School of Kurfurstendamn, I was able to apply my knowledge, and put my elbows and ignorance of other people into action. The troublesome thing at local markets is what to buy? So, I made sure I made al list on a tatty piece of paper (highly recommended) – toilet paper, bread, milk and cigarettes… and a tin of mackerals in tomato sauce, for Graham, a local gentleman whom enjoys a fine cask wine or two in the parking lot behind my apartment.

Saturday afternoons in Newtown: After dropping off my bounty from the local markets, I hit King Street, the Kurfestendamn of Newtown. Bustling my way through tourist, Goths, Greenpeace protesters, and people laying on the pavement handing out poetry and asking for spare change, I went tot the “Courthouse Hotel” to watch a traditional game of football invented by very intelligent people in Melbourne called Australian Rules Football. The “Corto”, as it is known in its native Newtownese, is renowned for its fine ales, all of which I can highly recommend! And is also a hangout for locals practising their English.

Saturday Nights in Newtown: You can hire a DVD at either Video World on Wilson Street or Blockbuster on Enmore Road. The prices are basically the same, however the Video World has a pizzeria next door, while the Blockbuster has one of hose horrible fried chicken places. For conversation, my friend Graham, whom lives in the parking lot next door, is always good for a chat. He hangs out at night in front of the IGA, and you can lend him your mobile phone if you like so that he can call his lady friend in Redfern!

For Sunday evenings in Newtown, see above

My life of crime

2007-02-08T17:47:00.000-08:00

I have been in front of a magistrate and done a runner on a taxi driver. Fortunately I do not have a criminal record. Instead I have stories to tell.

The runner on a taxi driver was quite an experience. I had just moved to Marrickville and so was not too familiar with street directions, especially at 4:00am in the morning after a party in Paddington. Of course I was not drunk.

I had hailed my cabbie from Oxford St and directed him to Livingston Rd, Marrickville. After a while the suburb looked vaguely familiar but unfortunately I could not exactly navigate him to the street where I lived.

He could not read a road map.

It was 4:30am and he was prepared to leave me in the middle of nowhere. Remembering the landmark decision, Donohue versus Stevenson’s Snail in the Bottle case I thought, this bloke has a duty of care to take me home. And yet he didn’t care.

I got out of the car and ran.

His limited English stretched out to include, Fucking Bitch and Fucking Slut in his vocabulary. Fortunately I was able to escape by running the other way. I managed to get into another taxi and the driver knew exactly where my street was.

I was so traumatised that the next day I suffered a bout of diarrhoea which, indeed was uncomfortable as it lasted the whole week. And that week was Melbourne Cup week.

My day in court

2007-02-08T17:33:00.000-08:00

The previous year I was charged for drinking on the train. I would have paid the fine except it was $400 and with constant train delays I was sick and tired of funding Bob Carr’s chronically bad infrastructure system.

So I decided to have my day in court. Going to court is like going into a public hospital system. Every freak known to mankind is present and most of them badly dressed.

If I was a magistrate, dress standards would apply in my courtroom.

I would ban white pants, midriff tops, three quarter jeans, jeans full stop!

Facing the magistrate was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I was even given the opportunity to cross examine the ticket inspector who charged me while he sat in the witness stand in his little Railcorp uniform.

I had entered a plea of ‘Not Guilty’ on the basis that the fine had incorrectly stated that I was charged at Wynyard Station at 9:30pm when in fact I was charged at Chatswood Station at 6.00pm in the evening.

In the end, it didn’t matter when and where the ‘offence’ happened, the fact was I was guilty because I was drinking on the train, according to the magistrate.

Fortunately I was only charged $65 in court costs and given a firm warning and dressing down from the magistrate.

Courts are very intimidating places. They’re not exactly warm and fuzzy places and with police – with a penchant for Robert Ludlum books - everywhere and robed barristers. It’s not an environment that one would experience in their everyday life.

From my experience, however, the magistrates were very sympathetic to us freaks who represented ourselves.

One magistrate was particularly tolerant of a young man with a strong resemblance to Eminem who simply told him to fuck off when he approached the bench uninvited.

Having represented myself, they were very patient, instead opting to give the arrogant barristers a run for their money.

I can’t imagine Alan Jones et al sharing my praise.

Onya bike!

2007-02-08T17:31:00.000-08:00

Since moving to Marrickville six years ago, I have always wanted to ride a bike. The Cooks River cycle paths always seemed tempting to me, as I would go for my daily runs.

One Sunday morning in December I was brunching with my mate Lou and her neighbour Fifi when a group of muscled blokes walked past. Stretched across one shoulder blade to another, The Dulwich Hill Inner West Cycle Group was written across their extremely taut backs. Perked up by our sexual excitement – I certainly had had no sex for ages – Lou tapped one bloke on the back and asked if women were allowed to join their seemingly ‘blokes only’ group.

Geoff, a friendly chap, gave me details about the group, telling me it was the club’s New Year resolution to sign up more women. He advised me to contact the group’s president Lindsay Munks – a bloke I was to soon realise as the doyen of Sydney cycle enthusiasts.

The next day I shot off an email to Lindsay and received a warm reply. He recommended a WSD bikes (that would be Womens' Specific Design) quoting me a price of about $1000

Shocked by the possibility of having to fork out that amount of money for a new bike, my English editor Charlie Bubbles suggested I contact my local police. Apparently in London, police have sales where they sell off stolen bikes, computers, cars and even police horses. Sort of like what we have with the ‘Good Guys’ here. To prove this possibility, he made a call to Marrickville Police Station. After a good 20 minutes on the phone, the police gave Charlie a number to call. Apparently Marrickville Police do take in bikes “that look suspicious” but do not sell directly to the public.

In the end I purchased a $275 ‘on-the-road’ bike from Mick Mazza which, also came with a box of roses.

My friend Sam’s fellow public service colleague said Lindsay Munks would laugh at my bike when he sees it.

We shall see.

Marrickville’s Rissole

2007-02-07T20:12:00.001-08:00

A letter from a fellow princess….

Lit up like a spastic fibreoptic ornament in your grandad’s pool room, it looks like a harbinger of great, glitzy things, a Soviet-designed block monument to glorious kitsch in need of a good dusting. Bleeping pokies. Red, blue, green and pink neons: it’s the Marrickville RSL.

I always wondered if the real Elvis might wobble out from behind the stage set one day and surprise the punters over their $6.90 steak and veggies special.

One day, I had to stop wondering and find out.

Remember when you discovered there was no Santa?

It was one of those blustery summer days when to walk two blocks along Illawarra Road is to wedge yourself under the wet, smelly armpit of a 20 stone man on a peak hour train that’s broken down.

It was time for a beer and the Rissole’s Vegas siren song could not be resisted.

Happy Joe was there to greet me at the front desk. All hairy forearms and waxed silver hair, if I remember correctly. He was a man of few grunts and even less time.

Happy Joe was not really happy at all to sign me in. I needed a membership. All fine and good and I dutifully filled in the forms, squinting my eyes against the small black and white form. No mean feat, considering I already felt like a ‘roo in headlights – and this just from the swirly carpet, front of house neons and raffle barrel in the Rissole’s foyer.

$2 and an oblong piece of plastic later and I was feeling my way into the main bar area. I think. A few false turns here and there and not a few bumps as I negotiated my way around the shiny black - did I mention neon? – walls.

The bar!!! I finally found the bar!!!

Now, this was before the days of topless Vegas shows – or at least they weren’t on when I was there that day. Which you would’ve thought would be a good thing, except that I think it meant that my ample shape in a summer dress was the show. There were at least four blokes at the bar that day and not a dozen teeth between them. As the bartender plonked my icy beer in front of me, I couldn’t thank him for blushing.

It was a hot day, though, and I was thirsty. True to the odds, it was the quickest inhalation of a VB that ever was seen this side of the Murray. Then I left.

This is all a shame, because the Marrickville Rissole should be a far more fabulous place than it is, don’t you think?

If the inner west has its own Vegas, then why is it being commandeered by dirty old men rather than being utilised by all the natives, including the befrocked ones?

Hair cuts

2007-02-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

My New Year’s resolution was to put less money into maintaining my hair and more money into my mortgage repayments.

Sounds boring. Well I’m not getting any younger and nor are my mortgage repayments.

I used to have my hair styled at a very up market fashionable hair dressing salon in Sydney’s ‘Toaster’ building. In fact it was the same hair dressing salon that Alan Jones and the dancers from the Sydney Ballet went.

Now I have my hair done at Tam’s in Lakemba.

So instead of taking in views of Sydney harbor I now have a view of Lakemba station.

And instead of sipping a cocktail after my hair cut, I now have a falafel roll.

HOWEVER! Instead of paying $110 for a wash cut and blow dry (and that was a GENEROUS concession) I now pay $50 which INCLUDES an eyebrow wax.

I have to say after my hair cut at Tam’s I continue to receive many compliments. As a result, I am now organizing small tour groups to the hair dressing salon.

But readers be warned, Tam’s does not take any appointments and let’s face it, Lakemba aint no café society. So if you are happy to wait an hour and read all about Paris Hilton and Nicole Kidman, then Tam’s is for you.

Copper dogs and Shit like that

2007-02-07T19:57:00.000-08:00

Picture this! You are on your second date and you are eager to please the object of your affection. The first date went extremely well so you think to hell with it I’ll take him to my local. You’re enjoying your flirtatious banter over a schooner of New when he leans over and whispers in your ear “Careful the person behind you is a repeat offender.”

Saturday night and I am at Marrickville’s Royal Exchange Hotel sharing my romantic evening with a police identified repeat offender.

My date was of course a police officer. Apparently photographs of repeat offenders are plastered over the walls of inner west Police Stations.

This bloke, the repeat offender, had just come out of jail l a week ago for armed robbery. “He comes from a criminal family and his brother is still in jail”, he said.

Sneaking a look at my fellow dining companion behind me, all I saw was a seemingly gentle giant tucking into the specially priced T-bone steak with mash potato and a side of steamed vegetables.

Beats prison porridge I suppose.

Dating a police officer had its upside. Pillow talk gave me a unique insight into some of the machinations of the Force. Criminals affectionately call them ‘Copper Dogs’ and Police call them ‘shit’.

According to my copper dog, Marrickville is full of shit.

One night in my favourite noodle bar I asked my Copper Dog if he could spot any diners who were ‘shit’.

Gazing over the diners he replied, “That one over there used to be a shit, and that one over there will become a shit”.

Another day as we took a leisurely walk down Illawarra Rd, my Copper dog nominated which passer by he would stop to do a search.

The problem was, it was most passers by.

I’ve never had any problems in Marrickville – here’s hoping’. Once I was called a ‘curry cunt’ by an irate woman when I refused to give her any money. But that was in Burwood NOT Marrickville.

Have you been the victim of a crime?

Renovation Pete

2007-02-07T19:56:00.001-08:00

Need a renovation but on a budget? Simple. Just call Renovation Pete.

Renovation Pete is an Adonis version of Jamie Durie without the biceps and short stature.

He even has a strategy to renovate the inner west from junkies

“There is only one solution for those people. You put them in a garbage bag, tie it up and drop them in the middle of the harbour.”

A business development manager by day and a renovator by night (or after office hours) – Renovation Pete can be seen project managing all sorts of renovations of (mostly single women) in many a home/apartment in the inner west.

He’ll warn you though – “You may have champagne tastes but darling you got to remember you also have a beer budget”.

At least you know there is no risk of a budget blow out following your well thought of renovations. This aint no Packer sponsored renovation.

Renovation Pete began his career in ‘building’ and yep he’s got the broken finger to prove it. While he moved into another lucrative world – publishing – Renovation Pete remained in contact with his building mates. These contacts have allowed him to still “have his foot in the industry” AND conduct successful small/medium/large scale renovations for those with um er..a budget.

Nothing is too hard for Renovation Pete.

Your bathroom needs an overhaul. Easy. “Mate I’ll just get my Dim Sims (Asians) in to do the work. No worries there.

Walls need plastering? “Yeh I’ve got a Cypriot that can help. He’s very good.”

Renovation Pete can even do you a backyard blitz.

“I’ll just get my Monkey Boys (Islanders) to come in and move your trees. They can even do your paving”.

He’ll even take you shopping. I’m actually in the process of having my bathroom fixed with a new dunny, shower taps and screen. Saturday morning I was off to Hurlstone Park with Renovation Pete in his red monaro. The only tiff we had was the choice of toilet seat. Of course I wanted ceramic. Renovation Pete couldn’t understand why plastic was a problem. “What’s the big deal, all you do is just got to park your arse on the damn thing”.

I got the ceramic seat but had to forgo the Hansgrohe Cromo shower head. Oh well most of the time beer is often better to drink than champagne.

Cops and Leb hair cuts

2007-02-07T19:32:00.000-08:00

Recently my neighbour Lou ran into a spot of bother with some chaps up on Warren Rd.

The poor lady was walking home one night when “some young boys” walked past her and politely murmured “excuse me mam.” No sooner were they out of eye shot that she smelt something burning in her back pack.

The horrid buggers had dropped their cigarettes into her back pack setting the bag on smoke.

The ‘incident’ happened in the early evening on Warren Road just outside the rambling home of the woman with ‘droopy boobs. Fellow residents may remember her on their walk to Woolies on Illawarra Rd. She’s often on her porch drinking a VB.

Anyway – Lou asked if she could call the Police from her home. The droopy breasted woman refused saying “Why bother the cops. Stuff like this happens all the time.”

Enraged, Lou made the call in the privacy and comfort of her home. The police duly arrived and offered the description “Did they have Leb hair cuts?”

We suspect the constables were young.

The police thanked her and said many incident such as these happen and it’s important that citizens in Marrickville report such matters to the local police otherwise “we have no way of knowing what’s going on out there.”

So readers please keep our local cops informed of any incident that happens near your area.

Have you been the victim of petty crime? Has anyone ever seen a police officer with a Leb hair cut?

Australian celebrations go back to the 80s

2007-01-30T23:03:00.000-08:00

I was on board the National Australia Bank’s ferry at this year’s Australia Day Ferrython. The highlight for me, however, was seeing Spy versus Spy at the Marrickville day of celebrations.

Not that I have ever seen Spy versus Spy live but going back to the 80s – a theme picked up by the council with Choose Marrickville – I was looking forward to recounting my days of pub rock.

It was exactly the sentiment picked up by the band.

“Isn’t it great to listen to pure rock than the techno shit you get these days.”

To be honest I really didn’t enjoy the day as much as I expected. Maybe it was because my friend Lou and I got screamed at because we patted a pony or maybe it was because a fat cop wouldn’t let me have a photo taken behind the wheel of the police car, offering some flimsy excuse that "they were looking for some missing kid."

Who knows? The cotton candy or those green lamingtons offered for free by The Glebe didn’t even excite me. Not even spotting this year’s Australian idol Damien Leith at Vic Hotel enthused me (was it really him?).

On our way home we encountered a teenage boy riding his bike while texting from his mobile phone. Like two stern teachers we warned him to watch where he was going.

“Oh fuck off will youse, I didn’t run into you did I,” he replied

How did you enjoy your Aussie Day at Marrickville?

Another year another train dilemma

2007-01-23T17:04:00.000-08:00

It’s not even the end of January and already the trains are buggered. Apparently this week, CityRail has informed us that there is some urgent trackwork that needs to be completed. Therefore “All trains are not running to timetable order”. Instead the timetable has been changed to an “Emergency Timetable with trains running (supposedly) 15 minutes apart.” Well that’s what CityRail tells us.

Marrickville is approximately 8 kilometres south west from the Sydney’s CBD and 7km by train to central station. When trains to run on time it normally takes me 40 minutes to get to work door-to-door. It should be an efficient way to travel.

Yet why does it feel like such a battle to get to work everyday? I tell you what though, I feel sorry for the poor buggers that have to get on at St Peter’s and Erskineville. By the time the sardine packed train arrives at their respective stations they’re stuffed!