The place doesn’t look that different after nearly three years away, partly because I’ve continued the lifestyle I left off at the end of my stay in town – namely, sitting in the shade on a back patio drinking stubbies of beer while the sun sets over a Hills Hoist in the back yard.
I’m supposed to be rehearsing for the gig next Tuesday, but I’ve been too busy (a) sitting and drinking, and (b) taking photographs up and down Sydney Road. So far I’ve spotted the local trugo club and one of those Jennifer Connelly Moreland Whore graffitos.
I have ingratiated myself with my hosts by getting myself trapped in the bathroom, and one of my housemates having to break down the door to get me out, thus injuring his shoulder as well as breaking the door jamb.
I don’t even have time for a proper thinkpiece about what Melbourne means to me today because the battery on my laptop is dying. There was a bit of a nasty surprise when I saw how much prices have gone up since I left, but then I realised this was a symptom of a larger phenomenon. All this time I’ve been carrying in my head an image of Melbourne that was formed when I first moved here in 1994, and everything that has happened since has been compared to this original image.
At least when I’m back in London I can console myself by saying I’m paying pretty much the Melbourne price for everything these days.
