lightning storms, flying tables, lunatics, public transportation, pornographic alliterations & the long march home

i thought these random memories were worth a mention

i'm currently witnessing a most spectacular storm of forked lightning over the hills on the southern horizon behind the city - it's either the southern highlands or the blue mountains or both or neither or something different or none of the above - whatever it is, it's very dramatic in that national geographic documentary special way - i'm tempted to go out on the balcony and do a running narration in a deep authoritative american walter cronkite-like voice, but a strong gust of wind has just up-ended our quite heavy balcony table and thrown it against the french windows and i'm afraid i might get blown into luna park if i step outside - a bit like that rather idiotic reporter in 'the day after tomorrow' who got too close to the multiple los angeles tornadoes and got smashed by a car - stupid bastard

today in town i saw a man lying down in the road in front of a stationary bus - after about thirty seconds he raised his head off the tarmac and started shouting obscenities at the bemused bus driver who had leant out of the side window to ask him to move

i'm glad to see that australia seems to pursue the same mental health policy as the uk, intergrating the mentally ill back into society by letting them aimlessly wander the streets twenty-four hours a day - oxford street seems to be the foremost melting pot in the city area of vagrants, the homeless and the mentally unstable with their random displays of violent and abusive behaviour - they beg for money, search in the waste bins, lie comatose in doorways, randomly shout at passersby and al fresco diners, and give off those unmistakable aromas of fresh or stale urine and armpit and crotch odour - we saw one of them in an indian restaurant the other night, being pinned to the floor and held down by three men as he flailed around shouting abuse at all and sundry - later as they threw him into the street we heard him shout, "i wanted fuckin' fish an' chips anyway, you bastards!" - the three waiters who had restrained him then had to go out the back and undergo decontamination washes identical to the one that meryl streep had to endure after she had been exposed to radiation in the 'silkwood' movie

i used to bemoan london transport from time to time, but it's a paragon of well organised simplicity and ease compared to public transport here - the bus timetables are incomprehensible - timetables at bus stops show the numbers of the buses and the times they arrive and depart, but there's no indication as to where they're actually going to or coming from - i long for those prettily coloured route maps on display at bus stops all over london, where each service is marked out by a coloured line and the main stops and final destinations are clearly written - and how about sydney public transport authority moving into the latter half of the twentieth century and installing some of those new fangled devices called escalators into their stations, and while they're at it, making transfers from the different forms of transport easier so you're not paying through the nose if you want to use the buses, trains, trams and the monorail all in the same day - i think i can see the problem - transport officials here that get sent to other countries to observe more effective and economic methods of running a public transportation system, obviously decide life is better in the place to which they've been sent and never come back again

in my never ending search of the planet's various adult literature and video establishments to discover amusing titles, i was impressed by the sight of a dvd cover i found in that famous oxford street institution, 'the tool shed' - i don't think i've seen such love of alliteration as i found in the title 'bustin' balls with the bareback boys' -what a load of b's, as kath day-night might say in an episode of 'kath & kim'

and finally it's happened - that nightmare scenario where you are stranded far from home with no transportation with only shanks's pony to fall back on - having been put off by the hordes of young south east asian guys gold-digging, mincing around like predatory lady-boys and generally blackening the name of their races and countries, we emerged in a less than sober state at 1.15 am from the midnight shift in oxford street and attempted to hail a cab - bad move as it seemed the whole of the trashed out nightclubbing population of the city had descended upon the area to do the same thing - so we walked down past the closed up museum station, regretting the return train tickets we'd bought earlier, and turned up elizabeth street, all the time trying to flag down apparently empty cabs which seemed to have neglected to turn on their lights - we assumed they were on call - a sign in the window to say this wouldn't have gone amiss, unless the drivers had difficulty spelling the two words 'on call' - halfway down elizabeth street we decided to call for one but after several attempts which got us the engaged beep, we moved on - by the time we reached circular quay and were dragging ourselves up the cahill expressway towards the harbour bridge we had decided that the taxi system in sydney is suffering from a definite supply and demand problem - we have walked across the bridge many times since we arrived and looked out over the water at the opera house and the harbour and commented on how it is one of the best city views in the world, but on this occasion at 2.40 am, in a sudden downpour of rain, with aching wet feet, i agreed with k.'s comment as he looked across at the impressive white shell-like structure and said, 'i want to blow the fucking thing up'

we finally got back at 3.05 am ..... as quoth the raven, 'nevermore'