Do people who live in countries that drive on the left side of the road automatically walk on the left? And does the reverse apply for those who live in countries that drive on the
wrong right side of the road? And is that why people kept walking into me on my city walk today?
I was back in the Big Smoke to do the hospital run for a friend and while I waited I took myself off to a different part of the city.
Warning: This is another ‘I am not a tourist’ excursion so there will be no photos. Well, maybe one. If you’re lucky.
I didn’t walk any great distance today because I was wearing my holy socks. No, they do not help me walk on water! What are you talking about? Oh.
Take 2: I didn’t walk any great distance today because I was wearing my holey socks.
Kids, spelling is important.
Lygon Street – known as Little Italy – is the mecca for Italian food and good coffee. Well, one of the meccas. There’s one thing to be said about this city – you can always get a good coffee pretty much wherever you go.
It was too early for the restaurant spruikers to be out so I had a peaceful walk down the street.
One of the last truly independent bookshops is on this street. Overheard inside:
Father to Young Son: You don’t need a bookmark. Just bend the page over. That’s what everyone else does.
Some people have no business having books. Or children.
I went to Brunetti’s café for coffee and cake. It’s almost illegal not to go to Brunetti’s if you’re in Lygon Street. Unless you’re a student at the nearby university. Then it’s a) boring to go all the time and b) you can’t afford it anyway.
From Lygon Street I headed into the city proper. This is where I encountered the walking directional problem. Maybe we need arrows on the footpath to show tourists where to walk.
For a little while, I followed a small group of four women and one man. The women were carrying music stands but only the man carried what looked like an instrument case (but I can’t say what the instrument was).
“Singers,” I thought.
“Or harmonica players,” said Musician Me.
“They could have them in their handbags. Or piccolos. Tin whistles.”
Sometimes I worry about Musician Me.
“They could be a Kazoo Orchestra,” said Always-Takes-Things-Too-Far Me.
Actually, when you think about it, there are all sorts of instruments you could hide about your person or in a small bag.
Ooh! There could be a Hidden Orchestra! No, listen, stay with me. Picture this:
One of the world’s great concert halls. On the stage are the seats and music stands of a great orchestra. As the lights go down, musicians in all their penguin-suited finery walk in and sit down. The audience is confused. Where are the instruments?? The conductor walks on to hesitant applause. She steps up to the podium, raises her hands and, as one, the musicians reveal from about their persons, small instruments – harmonicas, mouth harps, maracas, etc – and start to play.
I’m claiming copyright so no stealing the idea.
It was another warm Spring day but there was no lying in the sunshine today. I got my first quota of sunburn for the season last week so I was avoiding the UV. But a walk is always an endless source of writer’s fodder, eh?
And one last observation for the day:
It is very hard to watch a friend struggle against enormous odds and know there is nothing you can do to make it all right.