Skip to main content

Walking in South Perth


As counter-intuitive as I find the notion, apparently ‘exercise’ can do you some good. So, lately I have been walking around the fair city of South Perth at a brisk clip. I say brisk, but my brisk is someone else’s 'Cliff Young shuffle'. But I have years of not exercising to undo. From little things big things grow, as Paul Kelly once wrote.

I’ve seen some unexpected things out there in Southy. (Keep in mind that I’m a borderline shut-in. I’ve only just discovered that the age of VHS is over.) On Labouchere Road, at dusk, I saw a taxi-driver kneeling on the verge, next to his cab. He had a prayer mat out and his shoes were placed at the top. A very common thing in some parts of the world, but not what I thought I would see while walking past the South Perth Bowling Club.

Down on Sir James Mitchell Park, I heard a woman take on a couple of male cyclists over their dog. She was walking. I didn’t catch the beginning but I did hear her saying, “You f**king moron!” He replied just eruditely, “Get f**ked!” She said, puzzlingly, “Some people are trying to do the right thing. Just f**king be nice.”

I was walking by the river, along the stretch between Mends Street Jetty and the Narrows Bridge when I saw a guy riding along the bike path with his arms wide open as though he was on stage, accepting massive applause. “Look, Ma, no hands,” as my Father would say. I thought he might be doing it to impress a woman who was walking up ahead of me, but as he rode past her I figured that he was just an exhibitionist making an entrance. He doubled back and started talking to the woman. I was only about five metres behind them and I attempted to eavesdrop. Did he know her? Was he a pest on two wheels?

I was trying to work it out when I noticed that a dolphin was swimming next to us. It was quite near the retaining wall, only about ten feet away, maximum. Its grey fin cut through the surface. As it rose, I could see its blowhole and its long-snout from above. A young Mum and Dad with a kid in a stroller were on the path, going the opposite direction to Bikeman, the Woman and me. Mum said, “Is that a Dolphin?” Dad agreed it was. I thought, should I take a snap of this on my phone for my blog? but then thought, no why don’t I enjoy this unmediated by technology? Thanks to uni that’s the sort of sentence I say in my head, unfortunately. Anyhow, I was feeling pure. Zen. I was part of all things. All things were part of me. The dolphin had conferred upon me a kind of resonance with the Universe. You know the drill. That’s what dolphins do, man.

The Woman said, “Are you getting this?” to Bikeman. And indeed, he had his phone out, getting footage. While still riding his bike. Mum had one eye on husband who was pushing the stroller. Suddenly, Dad shouted out a loud, Oi! at Mum. Because she wasn’t watching her step and nor was Bikeman watching his. Bikeman came within a metre of running into Mum and pitching her into river. She probably would have had a good shot at landing on the dolphin.

Sure, it’s a story about what didn’t happen, but sometimes that’s good, too.

Mr Trivia


A morning with Jesus no less. Not the Biblical Jesus (as there's no direct evidence that he even existed). But the metaphorical Son of the Lord God who is simultaneously Son and Father Jesus.

You saw God in a clothless, and somewhat embarrassing, state.

For the King - he really doth wear - no clothes.

Popular posts from this blog

What's with George Eads' Hair? & David Edwards

Hey Zeitgeisters,

Bet you thought this blog would never top “What’s with Bradley Whitford’s Hair?” For those of you who weren’t part of that historical blog entry, it was the glittering moment where I wondered what’s with West Wing star Bradley Whitford’s hair. Good times.

However, tonight, while watching the current series (in Australia) of CSI :Original Recipe, I was forced to witness the unpleasantness of George Eads’ new(ish) 'do and I felt compelled to blog on’t.

George plays the part of Nick Stokes and has spent some 5 or 6 seasons with a haircut “you could set your watch to,” as Grandpa Simpson might say. It was always short; it always had that US Marine Corps vibe; it was always as dependable as the ebbing and flowing of the tides.

Now in something of an El Nino effect, I note that someone in Jerry Bruckheimer’s organization has decided to mess with the length of George’s crowning glory.

Although I chiefly watch CSI waiting for Grissom…

What’s with Bradley Whitford’s Hair?

Okay, Zeitgeisters, that’s as shallow an attention-grabbing start as one could ever want, but I really want to know. And sure, I’m really talking about Josh Lyman’s hair. (I’m like one of those people who insist on calling an actor by their character’s name – only in reverse. e.g. “Go Knight Boat!”)

Whitford plays Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh Lyman, in the Aaron Sorkin-created, NBC television series The West Wing. He plays this part to a tee and now he’s set to do great things in the new Sorkin drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. I know this last bit because the Angriest Ex-Video Store Clerk in the world told me.

Oh, and Whitford’s married to the awesome Jane Kaczmarek who plays mom, Lois, in the series Malcolm in the Middle. So Mr Whitford’s your regular pop-cultural icon and yardstick for excellence. We’re here in this, frankly, puzzling cultural landscape, because I’ve just finished watching season four of The West Wing on DVD. And Josh Lyman’s hair has bothered me throughout. It’s…

Institutional Memory

Note: If you’re here, you were connected with Perth’s Film and Television Institute at some point. The FTI in the form that we know it, is being wound up and some of its functions are being taken over by ScreenWest. This is my idiosyncratic tribute to the FTI as it was formerly.
I’m not someone who plans things. Depending on how well you know me, you might be saying “Amen to that” right about now. There was no plan to have anything to do with filmmaking when my friends and I entered our first efforts in the WA Film and Video Festival almost 35 years ago (forerunner of the WASAs). We made experimental films on Super 8 movie film; in-camera editing, falling down sand dunes, raw meat and tomato sauce representing the terrible effects of our filmic violence. Super-8 was the cheapest type of movie film. 8 millimetres in width. You could shoot two-and a-half to three-and-a-half minutes depending on your frames-per-second. We had no money, so shot “longer” at 18 fps. Our tiny epics, like “Mea…