A Thousand Words

Today’s Daily Prompt: “If you normally write non-fiction, post a photo. If you normally post images, write fiction. If you normally write fiction, write a poem. If you normally write poetry, draw a picture.”

I usually write non-fiction with the odd poem thrown in so I guess I need to post a photo. Should I take a new photo or use an old one?

I decided to open up iPhoto and have a quick scan and see what grabbed my attention. I ended up with three.

Here’s the first I found (you can click on them all to see them larger):


It’s a picture of the Newtown Festival from almost two years ago. I went the day before I flew out to Boston for Thanksgiving. It’s shot diagonally across Camperdown Park just by the stone wall to St Stephen’s Church and just out of shot in the distance is the house I lived in with my ex-wife.

Here’s the second:


This one is Fremont Street in Las Vegas. It’s where I met my brother and his wife on the way to Boston. I guess that makes it my second trip to Vegas but my first to Fremont Street.

Here’s the third:


This is a closeup of some “lace” made out of iron. There was a brilliant exhibition of all sorts of lace at Sydney’s Powerhouse Museum and I took some great photos.

I Love Newtown’s Women

OK, you might think I’m just talking about all the young women, and certainly one of the pleasures is watching those young beauties but I appreciate more than that. The variety of women, the young the middle aged, the old, the anglo-saxon, the southern european, the middle eastern, the indigenous, the asian, the hipsters, the punks, the dykes and the inner city trendies.

I love the variety of clothing styles, from the cutting edge fashionable to the suburban it runs the full gamut. Men just don’t have that same variety, the same colour.

It’s not just the different clothes, it’s the different ways of being, the different ways of walking and standing, the different ways of sitting at the coffee shop tables and talking.

I’ve loved Newtown for almost thirty years since I first started living and working in the area in the early eighties. It has since that time been a melting pot. You can still see today, despite the gentrification of coffee shops and fashion stores, the bones of that down market inner city suburb in both some of the store fronts and some of those people walking along the streets. At the same time as the well off gays and inner city parents there are the students and other young people that obviously don’t have as much money.

So I sit at one of those coffee shop tables on King Street and watch the women sitting at the next table and walking past me. I love watching them all in their glorious variety. I love shopping at an IGA where one of the checkout workers is a middle age, southern european lady; one is a trendy with a severe fringe and arms covered in ink and a third looks like a young uni student with incredibly long dark lashes and pink, glittering eye shadow.

Newtown is one of the great suburbs in Sydney, well worth a visit for more than the shopping and the coffee. It’s the people and the culture that make it a standout place.