Letter to Charles 15 May 10

May 14, 2010

palmdale290.jpgDear Charles,

I hope being that familiar so soon is okay. I just wanted to say thanks for the excuse to run up to Palmdale today.  There  is no town centre to speak of but I am sure the couple of women I crept past as they walked their Clydesdales in the shadow of giant Norfolk pines would have it no other way. It was one of those clear blue shiny days Sydney does so well. Brooklyn shone and glistened and there was not a cloud to be seen. Read more

Letter to Mr Charles Sayers

May 13, 2010

charles-sayers-290.jpgDear Mr Sayers,

Here you are at last. Funny how a photo makes it all a bit more personal. Just a shame I had to rely on the Army to provide it. I am sure you appreciated the recruits haircut you received just as much as the rest of us did when we received ours.  We had a Mr Sayers for maths (how he got the nickname “Spotty” I will never know) and he was in the Army as well. I wonder if you were ever connected. Read more

Notes in a Sydney Train

May 11, 2010

train290.jpgScrubbed timber has no smell. The burnt brake pads and the metal wheel flange create their own dust and heat and smell which lifts in the warm afternoon, hangs in the humid air and is pushed aside by the train as it sighs up to the platform. I watch the handful of people who angle towards the last carriage. They walk past the second to last to align with the trailing one as if there is something lucky by being there. Or not being somewhere else. Read more

Cobar – By Moonlight

May 1, 2010

great-western-hotel.jpgI rolled into Cobar with the sun sunk by twenty minutes and the clear autumn sky turned Indian ink blue. The rising moon was flashing through the trees on my right, distracting me from the roos taking a leisurely leap into my path. Thank goodness for peripheral vision. To my surprise all the “No” neons in front of “Vacancy” were lit, not what I was expecting in this desolate place. So I trawled up the main street, and then back looking for a place to sleep, finally settling on the Great Western Motel, a classic corner pub with verandahs and a public bar slapped down on the corner. Plenty of character on the outside but dead silence in the public bar as I booked a room. Patrons sat quietly, the television was muted and the only sound was the pulsing hiss of the gas heater. I pay my money, the warden issues a key to my cell and I head for the street. Read more