Friday in the city on a balmy summer’s night
Saturday, 22 January, 2005
The Town Hall steps: central meeting location for the whole of Sydney. After purchasing a $5 pair of burgundy gloves (wrist-length, not elbow-length), I sat on these steps waiting for Elsie, knitting and watching my fellow wait-ers and passers-by. I had the great fortune to run into Nick and his friends just before but they were off to the cinemas to see The Incredibles and now, due to crazy Friday night traffic, Elsie was running late. I love how people dress up for this time of the week—such variety of clothing and personal styles, part flapper 20's, part brash 70's and nothing I would ever think to wear (but then I'm not part of the fashion adventurous). People-watching is always a mischievous activity, especially for a writer who always positions herself on the outside looking in, asking questions she doesn't really want to know the answers to—who is this person? What did s/he do today? Who's the person/people who's just come to meet them? A young man comes up and kisses a young woman dressed up to the nines and they link arms and walk off down the street. Did he meet her on some other Friday night on the town? Are they a comfortable couple or is it still in the edgey stages of the relationship where she's afraid she's scaring him off and he's afraid of looking like a fool?
In the dying summer light, the traffic heaves by to the rhythm of the ebb and flow of people waiting and crossing at the lights. And just as I marvel at the beauty of the city in which I live, a bird poops on my bag.
Elsie finds me trying to scrub off the mess and we go to see if we can find a $5 steak but Friday discriminates against us; they only have them Monday to Thursday. I didn't really want to go to a pub anyway. We walk several blocks to Chinatown and are delighted to find the City Night Market in full swing. In Eating World we split a Singapore noodle and Elsie treats me to a Mango Ice (don't Asians make the most interesting drinks in the world!) Once we've scoffed the lot, we wander up and down Dixon St, browsing the stalls.
It amuses me that our massive shopping malls, sprawling in the middle of the suburbs, haven't quite replaced the atmosphere and charm of open-air markets, for all their cleanliness, convenience and multi-level parking. Maybe it's because you can't haggle in Woolworths (not that I haggle but Elsie does). We buy cards of pressed flowers (three for $5!); an eye mask for when you're trying to get to sleep on camps and everyone else in your room still hasn't made it to bed yet; sponge cake and other sweets from the Asian bakery (reminds me of Hong Kong and when I used to go out with my grandmother); a CD for Ben which I am terrified he will buy before I give it to him; pork buns, ready to steam; octopus on a kebab stick, succulent and tender; and presents for other friends/family which I should not mention here in case they read this blog (except to say that both of us really wanted one too but could not justify the purchase so contented ourselves with the prospect of making other people delighted). There was lots of jewellery but no Death-like ankhs (apart from one which I thought was too small), lots of rip-off Hello Kitty (and other brands) and lots and lots of Asian-ness.
When we'd exhausted the street markets, Elsie and I headed off and came full circle at our city's Town Hall once more. We prayed together before parting in the underground station, thankful for the wonderful evening but also aware of all the things we still hadn't time to talk about yet. My train lumbered along the tracks while I knitted and read someone's discarded SMH Metro and Ben was there to meet me at the other end.
Blinks:
A way of funding writing in the future: pitch and idea and get people to support it.
Place where you can hire play equipment for parties, etc.
How to recalibrate the home button on your iPhone.
Unsolicited manuscripts accepted by Pan Macmillan with certain conditions.
Thought Balloon is a group blog in which the writers tackle a new theme every week? month? with one-page scripts. This URL is for their Phonogram ones.
How to sew a zipper on a knitted garment.
Issues organised by tale.
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A truly lovely entry, especially the first two paragraphs. I’d post like this all the time if I could.
I’ve found that knitting/stitching in public inspires all kind of wistful, interesting comments from acquaintances and strangers: O my granny used to do that, or, O I used to knit with my brothers and sisters when we were kids.
A customer tried to haggle with me in Coles once. Grrrr.
I find it easier to meet at the entrance to the QVB near the statue of queen Victoria. It has some cover if there is rain.