The Secret Garden

Up the hill from Bromley Rd

Past the seedy-looking Homebase pond

A house with a whole garden of sunflowers

Taller than a person

The sunflowers as high as an elephant’s eye...

Thick green stems and bright yellow faces

Further up the hill

The park

The largest green space in all of Lewisham

Complete with

A mansion

Ancient woodland

And well-kept grass for playing golf

Around the corner

Tucked away

A secret garden

With raised beds

Filled to the brim and bursting

Enough to make Sondheim’s witch in the woods

Cackle with delight

Parsley, peppers, cabbages and celery

Pumpkin and pansies and artichokes and chives

Thistles and tomatoes and cauliflower and mint

A sensory delight

The traffic builds on Bromley Rd. 

Sunday in the Park

It is 8 degrees (46 fahrenheit)
And the sky is blue
And the sun is shining
And you jog to the park
And there are kids playing soccer
And rugby
There are other people running
You smile at each other in runner code
It's (relatively) warm! The sun is shining!
We're running without thermals on!
We can RUN without fear of slipping!

People are walking their dogs
And the dogs are ecstatic
The grass has become muddy
The dogs' legs and bellies are covered in mud
The kids who have been playing sport
Are covered in mud
Across London tonight
There will be washing machines full of muddy clothes and towels

There is a solitary patch of snow left in the grass
A man is stomping in it
Perhaps he is reliving his childhood
Perhaps he is cleaning his black shoes
Perhaps he just likes snow

It is a little blustery
But the sky is blue
The grass is green
The sun is warm
And it is delicious

The end.

Go West

Imagine Two-years-ago-me
Sitting in her room
In suburban Sydney
Wishing hoping for something different
And following Amy Krouse Rosenthal
And being inspired by what she had to say
Her interactive works of art
And flashmobs and acts of kindness and moments centered around
The Bean, Chicago.
And finding
Today Me
Sitting on the grass opposite
The Bean, Chicago
And feeling like
Oh. My. Goodness. Look where we have come!

And sitting in the public park
On a glorious late summer's day
And people watching
There's a family on a picnic blanket
Mom and two sons
All reading books,
There's a grown-up mother and daughter
Just lounging on the grass
Looking up at the sky, the clouds, the shimmer of trees
The mother has white hair and permanent wrinkles around her mouth
The daughter has brown hair and similar, though less pronounced wrinkles,
And every so often the daughter turns her head to her mother.
There's a mother and baby,
The baby is old enough to sit up on her own, but not yet old enough to be forming words
She can hear the band in the distance, but can't quite figure out where the sound is coming from.
The music excites her and she points to the sky and smiles and exclaims,
"Oh!"
She toddles around on the grass, smiles shyly at strangers who smile at her, and occasionally stops to bop along to the distant music-
She is distracted by another baby, a boy a few months older than her,
He is oblivious to her existence but she smiles and waves at him anyway,
"Look at us! We. Are. So. Clever!"

And then finding Today-Me
Sitting in a car
With a patient, loving boy
Driving across the vastness that is America
And seeing all the corn and soybeans and giant billboards
And literally driving into the most glorious of sunsets
Where the sun is an impossible giant orange ball

And suddenly you are in Colorado
And there are mountains in the west
And the streets are wide
And the sky is so incredibly blue
And bands are playing in the small parks
And the lady who sells chocolate honey at the farmer's market is an actual witch
Who knows how to brew concoctions that taste like heaven
And the man from the winery is willing with his samples
And the fruit tastes so good you can't believe you ever lived without it
And you breathe in the warm dry air
And you wonder
What is next on the adventure?

The end.

A Weekend in anoTHEr Country

In the morning you go out to meet another Aussie-expat and you go to a lovely Australian/New-Zealander cafe called Flat White and enjoy your renewed-found love of coffee. You make a note-to-self to find an alternative to espresso, as even four sugars per tiny cup seems excessive - though it is down from five. You enjoy delicious toast with homemade hummus and fresh avocado. It is the best hummus you have had in ages but you spend the rest of the day paranoid you reek of garlic. Afterwards you walk through beautiful St James's Park to the War Rooms. There are ducks and geese and swans and a woman is hand-feeding them over the fence. You think she is a bit mad, but realize that these birds are probably rather used to people hand-feeding them. 

The Churchill War Rooms are bizzare. They are secret bunkers for the British War Cabinet during The War. Small and slightly claustrophobic and when the war ended the people literally turned off the lights, walked out, closed the door, and didn't come back for decades. Now the rooms and corridors and bunkers are a museum and you can walk through and see exactly how it all was over seventy years ago. Imagine being in the rooms Back Then. The rooms would have been smokey because everybody smoked back then, and above you the world was falling apart and you didn't know if when you left work for the day (or night) if your house or even your street was still going to be there when you did. No one except the government was allowed to know that you worked there because it was Top Secret. If you were a secretary you had a special gas mask that allowed you keep talking on the telephone even during a gas attack. The War Stops For Nobody.  

You walk back to Soho to the Soho Theatre Bar to mingle with other drama students. You are late, but it seems you haven't missed much except a free drink. A casting director is giving a talk. She says things you have mostly heard before, but you're feeling light and inspired and you scribble down some of her points and feel a sense of renewed enthusiasm. Then you wander around the room and meet some of the other actors. They are all graduating this year too, ready to go out into the Big Wide World and try their luck at this acting thing. Will all this time and money and effort be worth it?

You meet a girl with Scandinavian/American heritage. She wants to move to New York and live the life of a starving actor. She knows it's a bit weird to want that life, but you understand what she means. It's New York. And then you meet a boy who gives you the feeling that he is on the cusp of something brilliant, but you're not quite sure what it is, but you're sure he is destined for great things. And then you meet another girl who is interested in verbatim theatre and using theatre to make a positive difference to the world. And it is nice to meet someone as excited and passionate as you about the possibility of theatre. 

You head home on the tube. And you get home and you make chickpea patties, which you haven't made in the longest time, and you make a big batch of quinoa and steam some spinach. And you spread a little beetroot dip from yesterday's cooking adventures on the chickpea patties, and you pour out a little sweet chilli sauce. And you sit at your desk to do some work and you breathe and smile and know that you have had a most wonderful day. 

The end.

Anything Can Happen

Imagine that as a child you watched Mary Poppins on repeat and there are countless million times you have watched Mary float down from the sky and dish out coloured spoonfuls of goodness and hold the beak of her umbrella and say that will be quite enough of that thank you! And as that little child you wished and prayed that Mary would one day actually fly into your world. And then imagine one day you are living in a place you have never lived before and one morning you go out for a jog. And you are in the park and next to the playground you spy a statue of Mary Poppins. And there she is with her feet in perfect first position and her umbrella held above her head and the familiarity of her makes you gasp. And even more surprising is the discovery that P.L. Travers (who wrote the original books upon which the movie was based) once lived just a short jog from your house. And the person who unveiled the statue six years ago is your aunty. And it is surprising. And it is lovely. And your inner six year old says that is too cool. Mary Poppins lives at my park. 

  

A Midsummer Night's Dream

I just returned from a most delightful evening at the theatre. And by theatre I mean the outdoor amphitheatre at Centennial Park. The production was A Midsummer Night’s Dream staged by Wild Rumpus Productions. The audience sat beneath the trees with picnic rugs and hampers full of food. We had Mersey Valley cheddar and Jalsberg and dips and berries and fresh bread and wine and juice and olives and eggplant and semi-dried tomatoes and fresh tomatoes. Is it obvious that we feasted? And as the sun set to the west, the players gathered around us to tell the story of lusting lovers and impish elves and fairies. No set, no props, beautiful simple costumes, simple lighting, and some wonderful good old-fashioned story telling. This was Shakespeare at it’s best. Wild Rumpus Productions claims in the program notes to create performances “that are bold, irreverant and of the highest professional standard,” and that they did. Young and old, from the four-year-old pink fairy sitting behind us, to the oldest grown-ups were all kept entertained with spirited and playful performances that bought the Shakespeare text to life. Can life get any better than this? Sydney on a beautiful clear night, summer fruits coming into season, wonderful friends, fabulous food, and a night out at theatre. My Oberon! What visions have I seen! And thankfully, not a dream, but the stuff that dreams are made of. Wonderful.  

Wild Rumpus' production of A Midsummer Night's Dream is running until 28 Nov, every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at 7.30pm. Highly, highly recommended! Tickets can be booked here. 

The Best Things

In the past 7 days I have had several beautiful, inspiring, and exciting experiences...

On Monday I went down to Canberra (the above image is actually a photo of the air con and personal light on the bus!) to visit my good friend Susie La Q and her boyfriend Ryan, and after a delicious lunch in the CBD, we headed off to the Australian War Memorial. Even though I have been to the memorial countless times, each visit is an emotional, confronting, and inspiring. It is a beautifully designed space, and the exhibits never fail to move me. It seems that the more I learn about conflict around the world, the less I understand it. At closing time, the crowds are ushered towards the exit, and we were privileged to witness the “closing ceremony”, a simple service at the Pool of Reflection. A different soldier is remembered each day, his story read out to the crowd, and at the conclusion, a moment of silence followed by a lone musician playing The Lament on the bagpipes. Looking around the crowd, a multicultural mix of tourists from all around the world, I couldn’t help but wonder, what is the point of all this conflict? I am standing with people whose nations at one time or another Australia has most likely been at war with. And for what? Has it made the world a better place? Or does it just make people more mistrusting of each other? 

On Tuesday Susie and I visited Floriade. If you ignored the carnival rides and Easter Show-like stalls, you could almost believe you were stepping into an Impressionist painting. The rainbow of colours of poppies and irises and English daisies and chrysanthemums, the light green of the weeping willows dotting the perimeter of the lake was breath-taking (I love how in the photo below, the image has pixelated and it looks like a painting). The gnome knoll was a surprise highlight, with a myriad of brightly and imaginatively painted gnomes grinning up at intrigued passers-by. Thank you to Susie La Q and Ryan (and Sulley!) for a lovely couple of days! 

On Thursday I took Phoebe and her friend Sara (aged 7 and 8 respectively) to the Rock’s Discovery Museum for a school holiday program called HMS Discovery. Each “sailor” was given a passport, and the embarkation point, Plymouth, was stamped onto the yellow page. The year is 1792. Captain Natalie (not quite historically correct having a female captain, but we’re willing to be a little more open minded these days) reads her crew of 10 sailors, ranging in age from about 5 to 11, a letter from Captain Arthur Phillip to King George, requesting supplies for the colony of NSW. A projected image on the wall behind the ship tells us we are at the Plymouth dock. Over the (anachronistic) loudspeaker we hear sounds of a busy wharf - sailors stomping up an down the gangplank, cows and pigs mooing and oinking, the horns of the ships.

The crew were briefed on how to run a ship by playing Captain’s Coming, and were quickly inducted into the technicalities of port, starboard, bow, and stern, climbing the rigging, sewing the sail, and scrubbing the deck. The crew assembled in the Plymouth Storehouse, and were ordered to load the ship. Sacks of tools, timber, flour, and sugar, heavy chests with currency, a large sack of mail and cages of animals were quickly despatched onto the ship by the willing crew. Once all were aboard, the gangplank was removed, the ropes were thrown in, and the sail let down. 

The ship was off! The image on the wall changed to  a painting of a ship at sea, and the sounds of the ocean could be heard all around. The eagle eyed crew quickly spotted that the ship was overrun with rats, and spent time running around the ship throwing fat black squeaky rats overboard. Each sailor took turns in the important tasks of furling and unfurling the sail, throwing the ropes, and steering the ship. As evidenced by the sound effects, and a new image on the screen, the ship sailed into a storm, and the crew tied themselves to the railings to avoid being flung overboard by the rollicking sea - thankfully everyone knew how to tie a reef knot! They charted their way down around South America and found themselves in Rio de Janeiro. The crew avoided scurvy by eating lemons, limes, and bananas, and dancing to the music of Rio de Janeiro. But the stop was only a short one, as there was still a long voyage ahead. 

Finally, after 8 long months at sea, the crew could hear seagulls, which meant land was at last nearby! The distinct sounds of the NSW bush could at last be heard - cackling kookaburras and lilting lyre birds. The image on the wall transformed into Sydney Cove, and the crew rejoiced at having made the long voyage successfully. The cargo was unloaded into the Sydney storehouse, and all sailors were given a new Sydney Cove stamp in their passports. A most wonderful way to spend an hour in the school holidays... now I need to find a version for adults! 

The War Memorial visit re-inspired me to keep learning about conflicts around the world, and after a delightful couple of hours in the City of Sydney Library on Tuesday afternoon, I have a new stack of books on Afghanistan to keep me busy for a while. Yesterday I finished reading Three Cups of Tea, a powerful book about the importance of providing education in Central Asia. Once again, the more I learn, the more I want to know, and the less I seem to understand... the contradictory joy of learning!

So a very busy and wonderful week, with much to inspire me! And the best part, all of these activities were free! WIN! 

Rookwood

When one thinks of moments of beauty, inspiration, and excitement, a cemetery is probably not on the list of things that spring to mind. Let us travel back to the Victorian era... First of all, death was considered in an entirely different way to the way we view it today. It was much more out in the open, publicly discussed, shared, and mourned. Concurrently in this period, we see the development of public green spaces - large beautifully designed parks and public spaces for people to enjoy fresh air, sunshine, and be close to nature. Central Park, Hyde Park (both in London and Sydney), and the Sydney Royal Botanic Gardens, are beautiful examples of such parks. 

These two notions came together in the form of the necropolis, or “city of the dead” (from the Latin words “necro” for dead body and “polis” for city), a large open space that was at once a park and a cemetery, or as it was referred to by our Victorian counterparts, a garden cemetery. A space for people to come and bury their dead, mourn the loss of their loved ones, and be in a beautiful environment. In Sydney, we are home to one of the the largest necropolis’ in the world, and what is considered to be one of the best examples of a Victorian necropolis in the world, Rookwood Necropolis (a tiny portion of which is pictured above, picture is from the Rookwood website). Located between Lidcome and Strathfield in Sydney’s west, Rookwood comprises 700 acres of burial grounds, featuring beautiful gardens, architecture, and the names of over 800,000 people who are interred within the grounds. 

Arriving at Rookwood on the free shuttle from Lidcombe Station for the Open Day yesterday was entirely bizzare. There were bands playing music, sausage sizzles and Devonshire tea stalls, face painting for the kids, and people everywhere. People of all ages and backgrounds were wandering around the grounds, looking at headstones, listening to volunteer tour guides share the histories of the cemetery and some of its more infamous inhabitants, and looking for graves of relatives and ancestors. If there is one thing that unites humanity, it’s death. No matter where we are born, under what circumstances we live, what we do, at some point or other, we will all no longer be living. 

Due to the sheer size of the place, I unfortunately missed the talks I was hoping to attend - behind the scenes at the crematorium, and the history of embalming, but it was rather incredible to just wander through the grounds for an hour and a half. I felt that the original designers of Rookwood would have been proudly watching over the creation yesterday. Their ideal of the garden cemetery was not realised in the nineteenth century owing to poor burial practices, issues with sewerage, and poor management, but today Rookwood is an eerily beautiful place. It is steeped in history, and captures the ethos of a time gone by. 

Is it morbid to enjoy learning about the history of death? Or is it just a natural part of living? I find it fascinating, and I think we could do well to take a note from our Victorian forebears and bring the discussion of death back into a more public domain. Tours are run by the Friends of Rookwood (a volunteer organisation that works to promote the “social, historical, and cultural values” and preservation of the site), on the first Sunday of the month. It would be great to go back and experience it again. 

It's Only For Now

The only constant is change. Around this time a year ago I thought I was getting married and moving into my own apartment with my (now ex) beloved. Around this time two years ago I was hanging out at summer camp and getting ready to walk the Camino. Around this time three years ago I was despairing that I would ever meet a single straight guy who loves theatre (ok, some things may never change...). Despite many amazing things happening in my life right now, of late I have been feeling uninspired and tired. I have to trust that this feeling will change. 

And so, in an attempt to remain positive and be kind to myself, I have compiled a list of things, in no particular order, that inspire me... 

meditation. musicals. running. listening to Seth Rudetsky. watching Seth Rudetsky. reading a good novel or short story. listening to classic fm. watching a movie musical. dancing. writing. spending time with beautiful people. being kind to myself. eating dark chocolate. reading superforest. spending an afternoon in a library. going to a talk and getting fired up. candles. having a good sing. sitting in bed and listening to the neighbour practise their violin. listening to musicaltalk. journalling. colouring in. sitting in the sun on a bright blue sky and reading a good book. learning. buck’s rock. the idea of living on an organic theatre farm. travel. the camino. eating beautiful food. cooking beautiful food. Eveleigh Farmer’s Markets. sustainability. possibility. falling in crush. superforest. reading old diaries. watching musicals on youtube. going to good theatre. creating theatre. performing. playbill.com. 

As they say in Avenue Q, “Everything in life is only for now! Life may be scary, but it’s only temporary...” This too shall pass, and soon I will have the energy to go out and conquer the world!

Goose Gazing

Back in the 19th century, before carbon footprints and climate change and “going green” had entered the lexicon, some enlightened beings living in large cities saw that their metropolises were polluted, grimy, dank places in need of fresh air. They campaigned for the preservation, and in many cases, the creation, of green spaces within the city that would act as literal and metaphorical lungs within the industrialised environment. As a result, we have such fabulous places in the world as New York’s Central Park, Sydney’s Hyde Park, and up the road from Hyde Park, Victoria Park. Man made oases in the middle of concrete and tar landscapes with pretty water features, trees, grass, and wild life. I’m fortunate to work just a 5 minute stroll from Victoria Park, and on Friday afternoon I found myself, along with two colleagues, sitting by the water’s edge goose gazing. Yes, this entire blog post is not really about lush green spaces, it’s about a goose. A lovely white goose that captivated my attention throughout my lunch break with his glorious goose-ness. When we arrived at the park, the goose was swimming in the water. Just gliding along, not worrying about the other birds, seagulls and ibis’s and ducks, enjoying the cool of the water. Soon he waddled up onto the bank and proceeded to dine on all the bugs in the grass. He would rip and tear at the grass, gobble the bugs and leaves down, and rip and tear some more. After a hearty lunch, he plonked himself down in the sun, craned his neck so that his head could rest on his own back, and promptly fell asleep. He was a gorgeous bird, and it was all I could do to stop myself from marching down the hill and giving him a hug. So thank you enlightened beings of the mid-19th century. Your efforts are much appreciated by tired office workers in need of a little inspiration on their Friday afternoon lunch breaks in the middle of a busy city.