the ’sham

In this episode, I liase with my neighbour Luciana about our real estate agents, sit on the front porch like a vechietto (that’s Italian for (”little old man”), and go for a walk along the Petersham/Lewisham border with Lisa Kelly. You can download it here. [7mb, 7 min, mp3]

In a serendipitous turn of events, Lisa Kelly got in touch recently, wanting to hang out over the Easter weekend. We met up on Sunday (April 8th 2007). She said she wanted to “go for a walk”. Neither of us mentioned our border walk of one year ago. She said she wanted to go to Lewisham, she’d never been there before. So we headed in that direction.

There was no anxiety about leaving the ’sham this time, instead we hooked around the back of Petersham primary school and plunged down into Lewisham. It was quieter than Petersham. Certainly, there are fewer planes going overhead. We stopped and spoke to a gorgeous old Portuguese woman after spying her excellent pumpkin patch. Her husband, she told us, is the farmer. He had trained his pumpkins to climb up old floorboard planks onto the roof of his garage, after which they trailed along this overhead trellis thing and drooped their orange-fleshy fruits below. One was so huge it had to be held up with a kind of sling made from an old hessian bag. It’s shape was like a teardrop, and I wondered whether the gravity had done that.

On the far side of Lewisham, we encountered the silo apartments, which are a re-development not dissimilar to the Newtown ones, hollowed out old wheat silos with flats inside. There seemed to be a sort of common room thing provided for the flats which was cool, we thought, although it looked empty and unused. We tut-tutted about the big expanse of land alongside the silos which was not being used to grow vegies. Just some decorative expensive looking plants.

On the way home we stopped to check out the secret future site of our Petersham community gardens. Oh yes, it’s gonna be fun.

The original blog entry upon which this podcast is based is located here.

Tully and I spotted this poster on the street. Then today, this came thru from the bowlo:

Dear Friends, Neighbours and Members,

A quick reminder that the Petersham Bowling and Community Club is hosting an open forum for the public and members this Sunday 23rd July from 2pm. (meeting to start at 2:30pm)

The Board has called this meeting to allow all local residents to inform themselves about the current circumstances of the Club and the various strategies being investigated to sustain us (the Club) into the future.

Current strategies under review include:

* Amalgamation with another bowling club.
* Leasing of the lower green for development of a childcare centre, and subsequent upgrading of the upper green and clubhouse.
* Possible affiliation with Marrickville Council. (Only in preliminary discussions at the moment)

All are welcome, so please forward this invitation to anyone who may have an interest in the future of our Club and our neighbourhood.

Sausage Sizzle from 2pm!

Petersham Bowling Club
77 Brighton Street Petersham NSW 2049 P: 9569 4639

Finally, the moons line up and I’m in the right place at the right time. Manuel only comes in on Tuesdays to the travel agency. The girl at the desk says he’s definitely the right person to talk to if I want to hear a Portuguese story. Manuel is attending to what looks like an old and loyal customer. I wait for a little while, thumbing through the package tours to New Zealand and Tasmania. These tours seems uniquely unappealing to me. Thousands of dollars blown in a fortnight where your every move is circumscribed. And what’s more, you have to pay a “singles supplement” as a punishment for not having a travelling companion!

Manuel waves me over. “So, why me?” he teases. “Why me?” And before I can answer, he launches into a long joke about a famous football player who also asks “Why me?”, when there’s a stadium full of eighty thousand fans, not to mention twenty two footballers and two referees. I wont spoil it by revealing the punchline. If you pass by on a Tuesday you might be able to hear it for yourself.
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With a slight shudder, I carried my body across the intersection of Livingstone and Frazer, and into Marrickville. I looked up and saw one of those white stripes left in the sky by an aeroplane. There was a stillness in the air, and the light seemed sharply focussed. The day was warm, I was out of the house by ten. I hate to say it, but it felt good to leave Petersham.
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On Friday morning, I knocked on Luciana’s door. I had two things in mind. First, to debrief about the real estate visit. And second, to get her to help me carry the bench from our balcony at the back of the building, out to the front porch. That way, we can sit out there in the morning and drink our coffee. This serves three purposes. First, we catch the morning sun. At this time of year in Sydney, the air is cool, and to spend time in the sunshine is a pleasure. All humidity has disappeared. Second, we get to check out the neighbourhood - we become local “vecchietti” ( little old men and women who sit on their front porches and watch the world go by). And third, by occupying the porch, we send a message to would-be burglars that this place is not empty - so they better not try any shenanigans on us.

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