love my way

The other night I got a text from a friend telling me she'd finally got around to watching LOVE MY WAY. I'd first watched this series over a long weekend in March 2006 when living in Hobart. All my social circle had gone away for mini breaks and I had the house to myself. Í'd spent 2 days of it at a drawing class, where my drawing teacher had adopted me and told me her story of being a single mum living in a large narrow terrace house in the worst street in west hobart, until finally she'd found love second time around and moved to melbourne and was about to get married. Some of her children had followed and some had stayed behind; she wanted to reassure me that things would work out for me too. Other parts of the weekend were spent lazing in the garden on my purple yoga mat, resting my head on a favourite blue silk cushion I picked up from the sadly departed Orange Lane markets in Norwood. Not all things stay the same and not all things are there for you when you return. I loved the Orange Lane markets, only infrequently haunted it throughout my Adelaide uni days (yah, I spent way more time in the pub than in more affirming communal haunts like markets; it was like I needed a gang to tag along and felt guilty about the solo-ism of my markets haunting; yet plenty of my friends liked the markets too; in fact being a fan of markets and op shopping was my litmus test for female friendship as a late teen), but only have fond memories. My first visit was a shy young lass, when I wouldn't let a guy draw my face; and then I visited different years, bought books, ate yummy vegeterian food, bought plenty of clothes, and found great second hand magazines. I even had moments of synchronicity: whilst hunting a copy of "Heart of Darkness' (Joseph Conrad, referred to in a Barbara Trapido book) which I missed out by 1 second to a ponytailed blond guy who pulled it from the second hand stall ahead of me, I did luck onto the prequel Trapido book, BROTHER OF THE LESS FAMOUS JACK, which I was even more desperate to read.

All in all, the return to Adelaide in 2002 yielded a side of the city I'd been to0 solipstic to notice in my previous residence, and I was charmed to discover that weary second hand book sellers, spouting anti Howard rhetoric and wearing slogan tshirts were in abundance. They'd just moved, moved from The Parade to the hills, or from the hills to the mitcham region, or from the markets to Kensington Road or Prospect or on-line or to a spare room at an antiques trader out Semaphore way. Today I shopped at the Sawtell markets and listened in on one trader advise his customer of all the suitable second hand/antiques outlets in a 100km radius. He was happy to hear his voice for nigh on five minutes, enjoyed the sound, enjoyed advising people what book to buy and what to collect and where to go and what he used to read; and based on his confidence I bought some crazy sci-fi/paelithic era novel for my 9 year old nephew. Is Ned likely to turn out like him? For now he's into swimming, surf club practice and Saturday night sleep overs that leave him very tired and grumpy of a Sunday.

So my friend sharing her first impressions, had me getting out the DVDs again, to see what my impressions were 2 1/2 years on. For starters, my DVD cover is all bubbled, and I'm curious about that (lent it to a friend, what did she do to get the plastic cover all bubbled? Said friend is a great mystery, desperately disorganised and capable of profound psychological insights for others despite living in a personal chaos). The series? Still holds up. I recognise Sydney and recognise the side of Sydney it shows, the affluents getting ahead, the bohemian living a champagne lifestyle cannily (but perilously, the life of a renter) and dear old Tom who is temporarily dwelling at the bottom of a working poor rut of desperation and disbelief. Parts of it are a bit precocious but mostly I like it.