tales from an ordinary world

1999-09-12

It's sunny. With nothing better to do I head back to St Kilda beach, grab lunch and sit on the end of the little pier to read (and finish) another book. The cold sea breeze freezes my hands, but I remain determined to sit there until the book is finished - it's only a short one. It's fairly quiet, and I have the pier to myself, save for the odd short visit by a few couples, and a guy whose dog gleefully jumps off and swims to the shore.

Upon returning to the beach, I realise how silent it's been - the wind was presumably protecting me from the hundreds of voices along the beachfront. Reaching into my bag I retrieve my headphones. Beautiful noise fills my head as I reach the concrete pathway that straddles the beach. I lean against a signpost and observe the proceedings, as always, from inside my little bubble that constantly keeps me distant from the world at large. All these people, with their rollerblades, prams and cargo pants. It just doesn't seem quite real.

About 6 years ago, Evan Dando (of the Lemonheads) did a solo gig at the Tote in Collingwood. A friend and I went to see him, and my friend recorded it all on a walkman. While I didn't really listen to my copy of it all that much, a lot of the stuff he sang that night stuck in my head ever since - he did heaps of covers - Neil Young, Lucinda Williams, Gram Parsons, and I wish I could find that tape again...

later...

On nights like this, I often wonder exactly how it is I get home. The usual Sunday night dinner at Sue's. Food, wine, etc. It's a good way to spend a Sunday evening. Afterwards, it's a 40 minute drunken walk home. How do I get there ? Tonight, dear reader, I understand. You put one foot after another. It's that simple. You don't stop. They move of their own accord. You walk past funeral parlours, pizza houses and even the local strip joint. You turn corners, realizing afterwards that you can't quite remember the actual moment of turning the corner. Somehow, it just happens. And eventually, you're home. Asleep. In your own bed. That's most of what matters.

Earlier, while at Sue's, I stood out on the balcony. An aircraft sped across the sky, blinking its light as it flew south. At the same time, a Mercedes grooved past, it's tail-lights flaring as it went around the bend towards the highway. It was a beautiful moment, and I must confess that I was thinking of Ana as I stood out there. It was a wonderful evening, full of sights and sounds, and I only wish I had someone with me to appreciate it.