Despite being one of Australia’s best-known tourist precincts, the atmosphere felt remarkably restrained. Nobody appeared particularly interested in impressing anyone else. People walked, cycled, surfed, lingered, watched the ocean, or simply occupied themselves with the agreeable business of doing very little.
In Pursuit of Oz: Along the Great Ocean Road
Armed with a 7-Eleven umbrella, she soon discovered that the local winds regarded umbrellas as little more than suggestions. After a brief but unequal struggle, the contraption inverted itself with remarkable efficiency, possibly as a precaution against its owner being carried off like a reluctant paratrooper.
In Pursuit of Oz: The Spirits of Melbourne
I had watched Spider-Man swing between skyscrapers often enough. I had simply never expected to audition for the role myself.
In Pursuit of Oz: Temporary Melburnians
Crossing the road from Flinders Street, we stepped into Federation Square. It is arguably Melbourne’s principal public space and, quite possibly, a declaration of war against the straight line. If Flinders Street Station belongs to the age of clocks, domes, and punctual railway ambitions, Federation Square appears to have been designed by a committee of highly gifted triangles.
In Pursuit of Oz: The Hong Kong Surprise
The young woman attempted an explanation in English. Unfortunately, the circumstances required a language altogether different. The more she explained, the less I understood, and the less I understood, the more elaborate my objections became.
Catch-24 X 7
This profound leadership oracle deserves its own place in the pantheon of corporate absurdities. It’s the kind of rhetorical flourish that leaves employees speechless, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or double-check their marriage certificates.
Virus and Void
From virus to virusI have kept my date with not dying,tossing and turning in sheets,cough syrups and repurposed antibiotics.Inside me, the pathogen worms,outside me, the pathogen storms,in the middle of it all: a spent spring.Intervals of time don’t matter,intervals of…
The Forgotten Barbecue
It has come upon meonce more, this month ofinquisitions, the rat raceto the roads I never thoughtI’d take. Behind me and beyondthe misty miles, lie themuch-dreamt meadowsthat will never be my home now. They beckon me yet againlike the foliage…
From the Diary of a Covid Positive Fugitive
It was on the Saturday the 24th of October, 2020, with the three days’ holiday in its infancy, that I dozed off with a mild ache pulsing through my meagre frame, right after the morning bout of toast and ginger-chai.…
This Drop Come Home
This drop on the sill, a distant cloud come home on wings of heaviness, or grief as I know.
Month of August
Sullen rain simmers, pretends to slalom yet surrenders,recoils in the clouds of sodden discontent.Arid thoughts smother the sapless stalks of life.It is the month of August, the fat middle ofan unrelenting virus, spinning off the sporesof a shivering November,it’s nowhere…
Exit the Ghost of Blogger
Confined to the peripheries of my home, looking out the window at a mysteriously pink moon rising day after day, I have of late been forced to cogitate on the wonders of being alive, the hump in the lawn not…
One Grain Amongst the Storm 