You're so hot

Well, I just realised that my last entry was prior to the Melbourne Cup and I am pleased to report I picked the winner and made a profit of $42 from the day. Back then it was still Spring and I was all fresh faced. How things have changed, with hairy moustacheness that has evolved rapidly not really suited to the hot dusty winds and flies sweeping in from the parched inland that has taken hold even more rapidly. Both seem to be culminating in tandem, hair bristling in a week which gave us 39C and a shower pretty much pointless apart from dumping some spots of mud on the black paintwork of the Magna.

Mo and I have also been back to Melbourne since the cup, this time to work and spend most of my winnings consoling myself with a beer. And of course, I’ve been taking advantage of the light and balmy evenings with walks and BBQs and the usual encounters with Redbacks and lakes and lookouts and stuff around Canberra.



After what the weatherman calls a stinker of a Friday evening, I decided to escape to the hopefully cooler climes of the coast on Saturday where it was, slightly, cooler but still warm enough to test the waters and find that they were actually quite pleasant. It was a typical coast trip really, a spot of relaxation, a bit of walking and a smidgeon of food. Upon hitting the coast I turned north, for leaky Beetroot sandwiches and books at Tabourie Beach, and then onto fair dinkum Aussie surfing boat lifesaving iron men and women competitions at Mollymook Beach, followed by buckets and spades at Narrawallee.



Beyond here a little further north was the highlight of the day, at Conjola Lake. A place of great natural bounty and beauty, not that you would know it, approaching through Guantanamo campground where stubby coolers and eskies litter the shoreline. But the campground has to end somewhere, and where it does, the winding shallow waters of Conjola Lake mesmerise the eyes and draw in the feet as they head out towards the Tasman Sea.



By now the sun was hot and the storm clouds were gathering inland. Time was getting on but gloriously there was still a fair bit of daylight left. Enough time to grab some tucker and sit in the warmth and light one last time before ascending the mountain home.

From fine fillies to old mares

As October drifts into Movember, all eyes and noses and facial hairs are on Melbourne, with the Spring Racing Festival and the old Cup itself on Tuesday bringing out silver suits and chunky pink ties, pointy shoes, eight inch heels and a few clumps of material and wires and other random bits picked from a hoover bag known quite wonderfully as fascinators. The racegoers and Melbourne are one… all spruced up and immaculate, the façade of sophistication wearing off after a few too many bubbles in the sun and revealing itself as it stutters along sqwawking in broken heels. Whatever form it takes, it is life and soul and noise and the hum that goes into humanity, welcome respite from the can be very beautiful and easy to live that goes into Canberra.

So here I was on Friday night after a work trip, very happy to mull around in the sultry night air, soaking up the love of light evenings and not at all surprised that it is 8:45 in the evening and women everywhere are still shopping for shoes. I meanwhile was eating ice cream on the south bank, while a busker seemed to be on a never-ending acoustically dreamy version of the lambada.



The next day was Derby Day, and a hot one for the many fascinators and hats and scruffed up hairy heads seen milling about Flinders Street Station. I suddenly felt very underdressed in my shorts and T-shirt and sandals, and promptly headed to the ‘coast’, the nearby suburb of Williamstown on Port Phillip Bay, which felt a different world from the hubbub of central Melbourne. It had a more easy going feel about it, much more suited to my shorts and T shirt and sandals taking in the first coffee of the day beside the water.

From here I walked on round the headland, the coastline nothing like the surf beaches of the South Coast but just as many jellyfish!



Back in the city, the Derby passed off without much fuss, more people congregated in Federation Square to protest about persecution of Sri Lankans than watching horses on the big screen. I tried to understand the Victorian TAB system to at least try and make it interesting but couldn’t work it out so gave up and went for a cold pint by the river. It was a good call, and at least I got something for my money that way.

With no afternoon storms appearing, and things seriously hotting up, I decided to spend the last few hours of the day down once again by the water at St Kilda. Here, the ragged edges were starting to show, a day of drinking and gambling starting to alter minds and raise vocals, fascinators slightly askew and hooned up youths frisky on heat. And then came the change, the famous weather change, winds turning southerly, clouds rolling in. Back in town and dresses were now too short (well, for half the population at least) and hats needed tethering down. Melbourne, like the thousands of people now spilling out of Flinders Street looking tired and emotional, was a changed city. The lip gloss had worn off, the suited Prince had become a foul mouthed bogan. But the humanity was still humming, in many senses of the word. Let’s do it all again on Tuesday!