Georgiezine

Have been reading Geoff Dyer. He was on the panel for Adelaide Writers Week a few years back.  I read “Paris Trance”, which recalled the 90s to me. Lack of mobile phones and internet,  absence of 80s era greed. He writes of that time when you have shallow roots in new city, young and poor and a dead end job, friends to go out with but it’s only a passing phase. You don’t save anything, you go on road trips with friends and stay together in odd holiday digs where you invent odd ways to pass the time. Like Canberra at Jules Dad’s vineyard, the games of celebrity head, intense cooking sessions, walks on surveyor's hill, enthusing with Kinloch the hippie teen neighbour, reading Canberra Times cover to cover. The characters in Paris Trance talk a lot of tropes, such as man moves to small town where he knows no-one and starts dating a waitress in a diner (or single mum moves to small town where she knows no-one and meets a handsome local). The story where man moves to small town...

Yesterday I lived the dream. We fitted our new kids bike seat to the back of Andy's bike and as a family, we caught the train to the beach and cycled up and down the esplanade. Bec, Ned & Gus joined us and we kept cycling past Fort Glanville and the surf club before returning to Noonies for mediocre milkshakes.  But the outlook was great: beautiful ocean with the sheen of a sunny day and wave crests formed by the wind. Next time, we plan to get off the train even further north. I love the peninsula, it's quaint and slightly dated. Whilst Andy and the kid got their playground fix, I went and got our caffeine fix. After getting takeaway coffees, I visited the supermarket to get biscuits. Sitting outside were two "disaffected youths"-that being the term if I was an out of touch sub editor or the like. I've got "disaffected youths" on my mind, ever since reading "Girl" and it's sequel "Dream School" by Blake Nelson, who also au...

I recall 1980s as two stages. Edgier part of the decade, when post punk music emerged; ABC "Sweet and Sour" and a local girl could be seen wearing fingerless gloves and black and red glamour flannel shirts with fluffed up fringe; later 80s, shoulder pads; every guy in primary school with mullet. I got caught up in 1983 last night, when I read the Jimmy Barnes biography. I know.... I was surprised to discover something like nine solo albums be incredibly successful, I've never rated his music, always imagined his fans would be like the girl from primary school that wore acid wash jeans and a Ford windbreaker every day. But thanks to this biography I paid too much for (cost per book brought down by all the $3 books I'd bought the previous day at the Lions Book Mart), I have become a big supporter.  At Semaphore Music Festival, I bought two Cold Chisel albums, an Icehouse album, Dragon and Split Enz. My friend only approved the latter; associating the audiences of th...

Sometimes the trouble about having a good life, is the fear it will end. And then the lesson you recall is that you can only make the most of it, that's the only real protection against risk. So I've had a perfect long weekend, since returning from Melbourne, making the most of "work hard/play hard" mantra (and next week will be hard...including a specialist appointment to see if the kid has a heart murmur and how serious it is). This has included hanging out with Pete and Cato on Friday afternoon at the Port train museum (I would say the highlight was the TWO train trips that we took around the grounds, sitting in small carriages, reminding Cato not to stick his arms out of the carriage, being whisked past old buildings and carriages and working yards and seeing distant scapes). It was enjoyable to be able to entertain my son but also have an adult conversation at the same time, albeit on child rearing issues and thus not that entertaining. He did point out the awful...

It's been 8 years since I've been to this festival. hard to believe. Last time was just before I was due to leave town, go travelling, go changing and all that. Just as I'd settled in. My friend Brig said it will all still be here... but Jen disputes that. So this time round, I did have a moment of absolute antsiness towards the crowds. It was suggested that 30,000 attend, more than all the people that lived in my home town. All gathered together in the size of football grounds. The angst was partly at my own foolishness for abandoning the writers tent for a quest for coffee, that caused me to push past people to gain any momentum and almost lose all grasp of what the day was about: community, neighbourhood, helping less advantaged people. Listening to the music, enjoying the crowds, discovering something unexpected. As a visitor, there was the sense of envy for the people actively involved in creating it: I didn't just want to be a purveyor, I wanted...