Three moments I would rather not forget.

1. Monbulk Rd, Kallista.

Walking on the roadside I saw a man, he was wearing a saffron robe, he had his head shaved and he had no shoes on. My first reaction was, goddamn hills, goddamn hippies... what did I expect, but then I looked a little closer; in one had he had a retractable dog leash which was attached to a tiny chihuahua wearing a tartan dog coat and he was holding a very new looking mobile phone up to his ear with the other hand. This man reminded me off a very strange night I had in the city about two years ago, I was in a bar in North Fitzroy watching a reggae band, everyone in the audience was white but sporting dreadlocks, rasta caps, ponchos and corduroy trousers. The band were singing out in a Jamaican accent and the whole audience called back sounding similarly fraudulent, a ganja smoke-screen filled the room and girls shook their booties like it was a rap video until a mobile phone sitting on one of the P.A speakers went off cutting the bands sound to ribbons with the incoming call stutter. All of a sudden we were transformed back into a bunch of middle class white kids sitting in some bar in one of Melbourne's gentrified inner-city suburbs.


The year of the reggae incident I moved out onto the Dandenong line... I would start the day with black coffee sitting on the wrecked couches in our back yard. Whilst Ice Cube's Ghetto Bird blared I would stare at the skyline of factory roofs and misplaced palm trees feeling gangsta, it was my morning ritual... we used to call the Clayton Sri Lankan massive Afro-Lankans, (had TuPac been alive and living in Clayton he would have been proud of his legacy!) There were always Afro-Lankan's hanging around out house which we named 'Trenchtown' in honor of the regae incident.


They used to smoke pot and talk jive.

2. Flinders Lane, Melbourne

On our way to the Bill Henson exhibition we have to stop off here to pick up one more free ticket. We walk into the lobby of a high-rise building, Dave leading the way through the cramped stone corridors until we come to a bank of elevators. The middle elevator opens first and we step into another world. It must have been the last lift car in the country which still employed an operator. She's small and old standing hunched over with huge glasses weighing her face down. In the back left corner of the lift is a small stool with a lunch box and a dog-eared paperback. All four walls covered with family photographs from floor to ceiling: parents, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts staring out from special occasions frozen forever, we are surrounded by her life, momentarily trapped inside it.

"What floor boys?"


The funny thing is that since I moved out to the hills I no matter where I am in the city I always feel trapped by something; all that concrete reaching for the sky makes me feel like I am indoors... to me Melbourne looks like someone forgot to put the ceiling on some gigantic elaborate fun-park maze. Back in the days when I lived in the city it was harder to get that 'lost buzz' but sometimes after I had worked a nightshift I would walk to the office district of the CBD and explore those self contained 24/7 office complexes the ones with the gyms, cafes, convenience stores and relaxation lounges tangled into the mess of workstations and management suites. I would get all the way to the top floor with my matted hair and dirty Shell uniform dragging the bags under my eyes on the floor as I walking wondering what the hell they paid the security guards to secure. No one ever asked me what I was doing, they just pretended I wasn't there.

3. St Kilda beach, St Kilda

Smoking cigarettes at the end of the pier after dark when Tania turns to me and says:
"How do you draw a line between love and the fear of dying alone?"