station'ry

attention passengers

2009-05-09T00:42:21Z

The 11:45 train to Flinders Street, stopping all stations except East Richmond is on time, and is expected to arrive shortly. Connex apologises for any convenience caused.

a suburban practice

2009-05-05T14:57:19Z

The collection of cups leaning into each other in a heap on the sink rattle as a Sandringham bound train rumbles over us. The train;s wheels thumping rhythmically as they pass through a switch in the tracks. His office, a warren of dingy beige rooms, is under the elevated tracks at Gardenvale station. Above the sink in the back corner of the front office, I notice a small hole in the wall surrounded by a rectangular patch of undulled paint. The framed photograph that once hung there now leans against the wall directly beneath its corresponding patch of painted plaster. He speaks with his back to me as he stirs a third spoonful of blend 43 into a steaming cup. The bastards at the post office - rezoned me - changed me address - I had to tell me clients me address is in bloody east broyton - they wont deliver me mail if it says gaaardenvale - Problem is - me clients wont come to east bloody broyton! The word "Milk!" is scrawled across today's date on the calendar taped to the fridge door. The white-toothed smile straddling the bikini-clad calendar girl's face is strangely understated. The name of a local Panel Beater appears in a far too formal serifed font between her bare feet and the rows of dates defining August. He doesn't sniff the milk carton's contents before adding a long dash to my cup. There's a bus stop in front of his office. A group of students wait to catch the North Road bus to Monash. The frosted front window blends their shapes and shadows. The blur of the glass averages out any unique personal traits into a neutral, backpacked, blue-jeaned mass. I hear the coffee cup slide across the laminex desk towards me. His computer's disk drive had been grinding away constantly, shuffling its contents between sectors in a vain attempt to find more space. The computer's exhaust fan drones as it blows hot air across my cup, rippling the surface of the over milked coffee. From the street the hiss of air brakes, a bus arrives, the blur of bodies cluster at the door and slowly file on board. Through the open front door I can see a fresh batch of scholastic hopefuls streaming down the ramp from the station, they become part of the blur and disappear into the idling bus, an Eastrans 630, it pulls away from the curb as a city bound train rumbles over our heads. The unsniffed milk has gone lumpy in my cup, the chalky chunks blown to the southern rim by the computer generated breeze. The bikini girl's smile seems widened, the reason for her curious expression now made more clear. The calendar on the fridge is five years old.

under covered areas

2009-04-24T11:45:48Z

My left eye's corner watched as he approached. A fanfare of scarves bursting from his coat. Hand knitted gloves and beanie. Dragging his left leg. I distract myself with unnecessary fingernail maintenance "you can't smoke here" he tells me, "you can't .. not here, no" His concealed finger slowly traces an arc, from the ground to me and then onwards, to the rusty roof covering platform 3 "You... can't smoke here" I nod, and return to my index finger, he sits beside me, and slowly lowers his. "no, cant smoke, not here!" I'll keep that in mind in case I ever start.

Saturday

2008-08-09T02:16:05Z

on the train
life
pouts postulates preens
black & red uniform
matching clown outfit?

leather balls, even out the usual mix
turbans, beanies & baseball caps
different teams same function
R A T M blasts drowning
out
the. banter of a hundred nations
dressed to the nines
flattened wastelands brimming with regrets
glide past

scratched, grubby windows
fences battle
creepers for supremacy
change here for Cragieburn
services
five ply, yellow girders
hi-vis vests

still the murmur of a hundred nations
skyscrapers prod a melancholic sky
even the trains sport
different teams colours
hacking; dry; dim sims

lesser beanies
regular mix of accents
tube of sound
rumbles
morse of flouros
dark arches
lead to darker skies
and a horizon broken by hi-vis jackets

a few words

2008-06-29T09:17:17Z

(seen written - in cursive! - just under the window of the 86 tram we were on yesterday afternoon)

sweet lime
vanilla slice
chocolate macaroon
baklava

86, northcote

on this morning's tram

2008-04-30T22:48:49Z

I sat under this sign
and maybe
just maybe
the funny looks weren't aimed
at me, this time.

oh, wait...

86, bourke st, tram

monday morning's alright for standing

2007-08-12T23:20:51Z

A shock on the 86 this morning - it's not right for a Monday, not when it's the wrong side of 7am - we've got one of those trams where they've ripped out most of the seats and put a line of bum-cushions down along the windows, instead. For a little while, I teeter on the edge of one of the few real seats left, but figure that I'll be giving it up for somebody more worthy some time real soon now, and so decide to pre-empt the situation before there's nowhere good to stand. The end of the tram suits me. I can stare out the back window, watching the rails shoot out and away, the rain make patterns on the windscreen, and drivers swarming around the rear of the tram like angry bees.

familiar things in unfamiliar places

2007-07-24T11:03:49Z

On my last ride to in work on the 112 tram, we reached the SuperStop^TM at the top end of Collins St. I watched a scraggly old man carefully drape an Australian flag across a rubbish bin, before picking up his plastic bags and walking off. A few passers-by looked nervously at it, before it blew off and fell in a crumpled heap on the ground.

the luck of the polish

2007-05-13T03:09:04Z

We sped toward the city in the dark and I nestled my camera on my lap as the taxi driver waxed enthusiastically about winning two thousand on the horses today, further proof that today was his lucky day. My waving him down on the side of the nearby main road was also proof of his lucky day, since he'd just dropped someone off and was hoping to head back to the city. But horses. He was keen. He studied the form guides, watched the international races now and then (but didn't do so well on the Japanese horse that won last year's Melbourne Cup) but seemed to be forming the opinion based on today's experience that a slightly crazy bet now and then was almost a surer way to win (if you were going to win at all, that day).

He told me a story about taking some friends to the races, years ago, along with a visiting Polish family member who couldn't speak much English, but pointed at a horse called "Lulu" on the sheet, so they put a few bucks down for her. It came in at 25:1. Blind luck, he said, shaking his head. When I got out, I wished him luck. Well, further luck.

shakespeare's brother

2007-03-27T11:17:38Z

Overheard on the 70 tram heading along Flinders St today, just after midday: "Shakespeare had it hard, y'know...the puritans tried to ban theatre...they tried to ban Christmas!"

86'ed

2007-03-20T01:12:03Z

I took a slightly more circuitous route home, thinking that a walk would do me good, and that I'd be able to see how the old street was going. The tram, however, was full. I couldn't see much past the other passengers, so it was all just a blur of old Northcote memories as I strained to see through the window and work out what had changed in the past few months. By the time the crowd thinned out I was back in more familiar territory, so I left it behind and set out on foot.

station'ry is expanding to cover trams, buses and taxis - i haven't been taking the train much, lately, and we seem a bit starved for content.

portable merriment

2006-12-25T11:44:55Z

From somewhere behind me, a voice rings out as we head north, alongside Hoddle St:

"Hi. Yeah, I'm on my way to Epping now, and I'm pissed.
Yeah, I've got my traveller.
Geez, I'm the only one on the train having fun.
Nar, nobody else looks particularly merry.
Anywa, I'll seeya soon. Ciao. Bye."

press button for assistance

2006-11-01T09:45:06Z

sit down on the train hot bothered i just want to get home no train for 15 minutes so i hop on the hurstbridge one instead one row of seats ahead a girl looks at me pouting looking terribly unimpressed i don't know what sin i could've possibly committed but i stare out the window avoiding eye contact from here on in turn up the fall as we speed through richmond and abbotsford "ten times my age and one tenth my height" says mark e smith later we reach clifton hill over the music i can suddenly hear her mention the word "epping" to her friend who reaches for her timetable for the epping line i get off at westgarth to walk over to the tram and wonder should i have said something?

allocated seating

2006-10-23T12:48:17Z

The train emerges from the underpass to be assaulted by the early morning sunlight I try to squint into it. along with the others who forgot what side of the train to sit on Daylight savings' salvation still a week away The sun screams into my face slipping into the carriage like a veteran fare evader urban shadows flash across the scene strobing through my clenched eyelids. The people who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up stare back at us, they knew where to sit, saw it all coming. the scratched windows mock us further with disfiguring shadows hastily applied vandal wrinkles, defying age or status. Blind hands lay frozen solid in our laps the proximity to strangers strangers we see every day immobilises us until the passageway fills with more commuters some savvy, some fools, at Camberwell.

the lonesome west, again

2006-09-13T12:42:28Z

White City station lives on in old editions of the map, if nowhere else - I walked along Sunshine Road today, and there really is no trace of it, as Wikipedia warned. I've got a childhood nostalgia for the western suburbs that's hard to shake. It reminds me of the old blue trains, which makes me think of the smell of brake fluid and rubber as they'd hurtle through the (brand new) city loop with the doors open, creating a deafening roar. Being young and impressionable, I'd worry about somehow falling out one of these open doorways, left to scrape my way out of a greasy and dusty tunnel on my own.

(see also.)