Journalists: what can you do?

This title could also read "Politicians: what can you do?"

Marrickvillia is on the front of the Sydney Morning Herald News Review section today. Remember our party on election night?

I was contacted earlier this week to comment on Rudd's recent downward swing in the polls. I was happy for the SMH to use images from Marrickvillia, and to put the journalist in contact with other people who had been at our "Don's Party."

It's an ok article but I didn't say what I'm quoted as saying--but I'm not surprised that it's there. "Jilted" isn't in my vocabulary... and I'm fully aware that Rudd has kept some promises and that those he hasn't been able to keep have been somewhat thwarted by the shameless Libs in various ways.

We are still a thousand times better off with the ALP than with Abbott and his gang of losers.

Truth be told, at the end of the day, when all's said and done, I won't lie to you: politicians are primarily politicians, and we never really believe their "promises" in the first place. And journalists are primarily journalists, and we expect them to make stuff up. And I'm an academic and write a whole lot of theory-crap occasionally. It's all part of our rich discursive tapestry.

Our "Don's party" was a great night because we felt it was finally the end of the Howard era and because two powerful, fabulous women were suddenly in the forefront of Australian politics, not because any of us really thought that a consummate politician like Rudd would ever be anything other than exactly that.

What God Likes

Graffiti seen in Illawarra Rd by a friend, but sadly cleaned off before I could photograph it:

"God hates homos"

and someone had written underneath it:

"Does he like Falafel?"

The Carriage Held But Just Ourselves

I've started a new blog over the road at wordpress (blogger is great, I just thought I'd try something different). It's a bit more personal than Marrickvillia... so please come to visit at http://thecarriageheldbutjustourselves.wordpress.com/, I'd love to see you. Marrickvillia is almost an old lady now in blog-years: she is out to pasture but I will visit her often -- in fact, there is a review of a new book set in Marrickville on my stovetop as I type...

If anyone would like to write something for Marrickvillia please feel free: reviews, commentary, politics, festivals, found objects, crime, culture, transport, food -- anything -- so long as it's about Marrickville, obviously.

See you around the layers of webbiness...

mj

I hopped on the 423 at Railway Square on Friday night but the driver wouldn't take my money. Apparently while I've been away the buses have become cash-free. I was cross and hungry and not about to get off the bus I'd waited ages for so I muttered "Whatever" and headed up the back, dropping my coins into my bag. The driver didn't say anything, he didn't care. After stretching my armpits swinging around on the hand-holds all along King St I finally got a seat.

Near me were two young men, drunk as -- they couldn't really talk but they could still walk. They were twins, identical, with the same profile: a slightly bumped nose and soft lips. Nice looking, young. They were communicating almost silently, only muttering things to each other occasionally and laughing and gesturing in that funny pissed unco' way. They wore matching blue-green beanies and milk-chocolate coloured tee-shirts, but one had jeans and thongs while his brother had grey trackies and sneakers. The one in jeans sat next to me and his head lolled onto my shoulder. He jerked up and laughed, blue-grey eyes open wide, and I smiled at him.

Then, at Enmore Park, the inspector got on. "Tickets please everyone." Oh shit & buggery I had no ticket. But the inspector ignored me and focused on the drunk brothers. They swayed, they staggered, they groped around in their pockets, they mumbled to each other, and eventually the inspector took them off the bus. But in seconds they'd leapt back on, grinning, waving their found tickets triumphantly. I felt like cheering. They sat far enough away that I could take their photo, and they got off at the corner of Victoria and Marrickville Roads near the cheesecake shop.

90 Cary St

Once upon a time there were market gardens and dairy farms in Marrickville. The area was sparsely populated and still largely rural until about 1900. There's a little decrepit weatherboard cottage in my street--it's been hidden behind dense shrubbery ever since I moved to Marrickville in 2000 and as far as I know nobody has lived in it in that time. Recently the vegetation has been cleared and now there's a sign up saying that two townhouses are going to be built. I think the house must date from about the 1870s, perhaps earlier--it was most likely a modest farmhouse. I thought I'd get some shots before it's torn down. For the full set see my flickr site.

The Davis (or possibly Carrington) Dairy at the corner of Carrington Road and Ruby Street, 1899, only 2 blocks away.

View from the street.

Old stone steps near the front of the property.

The front porch.

Hank, John & Wally did a good job of setting the Hills Hoist into a concrete round in 1959.

Their inscription lasted longer than the clothes line!

A number plate, 30s? 40s?

A close up of the front fence. You can see most of the same fence on the far right in the photo below--it was taken during a fire in the park at the foot of Cary Street in 1954.

The gum in the background is often filled with cockatoos.

Through the arched window...