“Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.”
Down with them! cried Driftwood, those picaroons and shuftas whom our bridge would defile. Apologies to Macaulay, shipmates.
Somebody said that form follows function which I think means that there is a beauty in things we build for practicality. I think. So the Glebe Island bridge and the Gladesville Bridge are quite beautiful engineering artefacts, nay? The olde Coathanger and the Iron Cove Bridge too have a rather rustic charm?
I never joined the chorus against the monorail, as my vista of a future cityscape stemmed from Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers comics with graceful monorails and skywalks curving throughout the buildings. Form following function. See?
Alright, the extant monorail is something of a touristic toy, but a proper mass transit thingy would ease much of our strangulation, nay?
Back to bridges … the ghastly clip-on proposed at Iron Cove is never going to be other than an ugly eyesore. Is that a tautology? Here we go again with the avowed wishes of the masses ignored by our reps who take our money and then piss on our legs and kid us it is raining. The wombats have already started their burrowing and we will lose a beaut sylvan patch at each shore and overshadow or kill a successful and delightful coffee kaff at the western side.
Why, for gawd’s sake? Well, my dears The Fix has already gone in and the brown paper bags are rustling in the wings as the unholy alliance of pollies and ‘developers’ slaver at the thought of two hundred million floating around, for it will cost millions more than is now mooted of course. I always wanted to use mooted … and now I has.
Don’t think for one minute that an election and a change of actors will effect a single line, for the script is written and the play must go on. What a mess of self-perpetuating un-reason we have built. But allow me to echo the shuftas: “I have done nothing wrong!” and “None of it is my fault!” … it would make a cat laugh.
The ugly new bridge will do aught for traffic flow as the motors will be compressed into the road either end. ‘Vested Interests’ shipmates was the popular wisdom of a few decades ago and I revive the term.
My Mitzi in for a roadworthy check so I boarded a 60-seater Benz and went to town for a haircut and maybe the Pictures. A single key cut for $8! Jeezuz, last time I had one done it was about $2. Who was that bloke that slept for a hundred years and when he woke up the world had changed. Was it me?
Debussed and wandering down the cold grey canyons of Sydney town, characterless and indistinguishable from a thousand other glass and concrete towns round the world, I did recall Mister Patterson’s poem of Clancy. Of the Overflow. Love the cadence of the Bush Poets. I do.
Sydney, New York, Timbuktu, Bah, humbug the lot of ’em! “And the hurrying people daunt me,
and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another
in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy,
and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow,
they have no time to waste.”
But as I waited at the lights with the throng, I did look up and lo … lo, I say, there was the clear beautiful blue of the sky, dappled with a few clouds as white as white and my gloom lifted for it was all still there. The Real World.
The throng with me somehow seemed less stunted and weedy; their faces less pallid. No, despite the cold soulless canyons they looked sleekit, smug and well fed, if somewhat drab of dress … compared say to the colours of Nairobi. Black can be smart but, spare me days, what of the uplifting joy of colour. Simple pretty dresses and shirts and hats are not de trop you know. Whatever happened to hats anyway?
Colour? Yair, whatever happened to colour in the Western world? The most popular colour for motors is mostly shades of grey apparently; over 70 percent silver/grey, followed by black for gawd’s sake. Why in hell would you buy a black 4WD truck to drive the Eastern ’burbs and take the nippers to school? Is it that the drivers of such are all crooks, or doth the looming trucks instil crook driving.
Jeezuz, ’Arry, you know how to upset people. Well, people shouldn’t upset me.
Did I get to the Pictures? I did and paid me $10 to get in. I won’t mention the memory of getting in for a zac, or sneaking in at interval. I was out again in 10 minutes and bugger me $10 as the ear-shattering noise and childish comic book Hollywood shite expelled me like a champagne cork. At least I can now walk out on a lousy show or crook meal so that must mean a maturity of sorts?
Down with them! cried Driftwood, those picaroons and shuftas whom our bridge would defile. Apologies to Macaulay, shipmates. Somebody said that form follows function which I think means that there is a beauty in things we build for practicality. I think. So the Glebe Island bridge and the Gladesville Bridge are quite beautiful engineering artefacts, nay? The olde Coathanger and the Iron Cove Bridge too have a rather rustic charm? I never joined the chorus against the monorail, as my vista of a future cityscape stemmed from Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers comics with graceful monorails and skywalks curving throughout the buildings. Form following function. See? Alright, the extant monorail is something of a touristic toy, but a proper mass transit thingy would ease much of our strangulation, nay? Back to bridges … the ghastly clip-on proposed at Iron Cove is never going to be other than an ugly eyesore. Is that a tautology? Here we go again with the avowed wishes of the masses ignored by our reps who take our money and then piss on our legs and kid us it is raining. The wombats have already started their burrowing and we will lose a beaut sylvan patch at each shore and overshadow or kill a successful and delightful coffee kaff at the western side. Why, for gawd’s sake? Well, my dears The Fix has already gone in and the brown paper bags are rustling in the wings as the unholy alliance of pollies and ‘developers’ slaver at the thought of two hundred million floating around, for it will cost millions more than is now mooted of course. I always wanted to use mooted … and now I has. Don’t think for one minute that an election and a change of actors will effect a single line, for the script is written and the play must go on. What a mess of self-perpetuating un-reason we have built. But allow me to echo the shuftas: “I have done nothing wrong!” and “None of it is my fault!” … it would make a cat laugh. The ugly new bridge will do aught for traffic flow as the motors will be compressed into the road either end. ‘Vested Interests’ shipmates was the popular wisdom of a few decades ago and I revive the term. My Mitzi in for a roadworthy check so I boarded a 60-seater Benz and went to town for a haircut and maybe the Pictures. A single key cut for $8! Jeezuz, last time I had one done it was about $2. Who was that bloke that slept for a hundred years and when he woke up the world had changed. Was it me? Debussed and wandering down the cold grey canyons of Sydney town, characterless and indistinguishable from a thousand other glass and concrete towns round the world, I did recall Mister Patterson’s poem of Clancy. Of the Overflow. Love the cadence of the Bush Poets. I do. Sydney, New York, Timbuktu, Bah, humbug the lot of ’em! But as I waited at the lights with the throng, I did look up and lo … lo, I say, there was the clear beautiful blue of the sky, dappled with a few clouds as white as white and my gloom lifted for it was all still there. The Real World. The throng with me somehow seemed less stunted and weedy; their faces less pallid. No, despite the cold soulless canyons they looked sleekit, smug and well fed, if somewhat drab of dress … compared say to the colours of Nairobi. Black can be smart but, spare me days, what of the uplifting joy of colour. Simple pretty dresses and shirts and hats are not de trop you know. Whatever happened to hats anyway? Colour? Yair, whatever happened to colour in the Western world? The most popular colour for motors is mostly shades of grey apparently; over 70 percent silver/grey, followed by black for gawd’s sake. Why in hell would you buy a black 4WD truck to drive the Eastern ’burbs and take the nippers to school? Is it that the drivers of such are all crooks, or doth the looming trucks instil crook driving. Jeezuz, ’Arry, you know how to upset people. Well, people shouldn’t upset me. Did I get to the Pictures? I did and paid me $10 to get in. I won’t mention the memory of getting in for a zac, or sneaking in at interval. I was out again in 10 minutes and bugger me $10 as the ear-shattering noise and childish comic book Hollywood shite expelled me like a champagne cork. At least I can now walk out on a lousy show or crook meal so that must mean a maturity of sorts?
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