tales from an ordinary world

2002-11-20

The first thing I see entering the hotel besides the thing I'm attending, is a notice of where to find the "today not tomorrow foundation" meeting. Intriguing.

I stood outside at the top of the hotel, peering over the top of the fence. All there was to see were the tops of other buildings - questionable colour schemes, radio dishes, poles and windows - and the unassuming clouds, covering the city like an old blanket.

At this 'forum', I see two people wearing those big old boots, like the ones I haven't worn in ages. I can never find the right occasion anymore, as if I lost that part of my image, that facet of myself.

Walking away, mid afternoon, a cheer goes up and we see people playing a kind of bowls alongside the fountain. You don't see that every day. The red and green balls look not unlike seamless cricket balls, or something.

Standing on the street. A girl takes photos of trams, or the building site behind them - I'm not sure which. Everybody's moving, going somewhere.

A pot of chai in a noisy room. Students abound, I feel old here. Honey mixes through, girls move back and forth to the bar, the bathroom. I thought I could stay here a while, but it's time to walk instead.

Degraves St. German girl talks to her friend - I couldn't pick the accent until her friend spelt it out by proudly showing off her "learning German" kit. I watch the way she leans into the table as her friend speaks, listening up close. Meanwhile I imagine sitting across the table from a particular someone, the way she'd smile and look around. Just up the end of the street, schoolgirls drink coffee and nurse their single cigarettes. Converse sneakers rule the roost in Missing Link, it seems.

Move out of town for a while. Wander through the dark green bookshop, or the black, echoy CD shop. So much to pick up, stare at the back of and put down again. I'm practising restraint. You don't win by shying away from temptation, you face up to it and say 'no. not today'.

Cut across through the park, geese, soccer, UK accents, a confused little boy and his mother. Two cyclists kiss at the lights, the traffic passes like waves in an evening sea. The tide flows out, out to the suburbs. A little backwash leaves visitors like myself, who've headed back into the centre of town.

They were probably thinking of people like Burke and Wills when they named Exploration Lane but we were a different kind of explorer, gathered together in a tiny CBD bar. Sickness and Gin. Parallels and Pavement. Rum carts, rollmops and rock-paper-scissors. Dim the lights. Pump the music.