Ive titled it Provincial
Photograph by Frances Monaghan
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march 2013
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oct 31 2010
Had a dream last night I was strapped into an airline seat having a panic attack because I couldn’t breathe. Which brings to mind thoughts of the comments on articles in the paper lately about the decline in tourism….along the lines of why would UK people want to spend 24 hours in a plane to come to a place that has no people, no culture, and no possibility of quick trips to Europe to stock up on wine, cheese and practice French or German. Huh?
Yes we have great beaches but so does South Africa apparently. Heh.
Well I have heard comments over the years that it aint so great over there, there.
For example, was horrified to learn that in mid winter in London the sun doesnt rise till 8am and sets at 4…how depressing? Even if all your interiors are painted red and you have colorful carpets on the floorboards. At least here in midwinter the sun at worst struggles up at 7.30 and sets at 5.10. That’s a benefit of one and a half hours more sunlight. I read in a guidebook years ago that actually Melbourne has the same weather as London for six months of the year….Hello…but this southern hemisphere light is completely different, which is why all those clothes in sludge brown, moss green and aubergine look so wrong here/ Tasmania…well that’s another story.
What else have I heard? That people in London don’t visit each other because its such a struggle to get from one end of it to another via public transport. A famous actor said that so it must be true, although I have my doubts.
I guess the thought of a wider world and millions more people to look at can seem rather attractive, but there is the problem of not being able to afford to live there once you have paid the exorbitant price of the airline fuel.
Then again immigrants don’t seem to mind. -
heard on the tram, saturday grand prix weekend
guy
i stabbed a guy in the eye once (downplaying it…very casual like)
girl
where
guy
st kilda
girl
why
guy
he was giving me the shits
girl in a validating kinda way
oh well i guess he knew that was coming
guy
silence
girl
how old are you
guy
34
girl
im 28 cos i skipped two grades of school cos im smart but im sticking with 30 i like that story better
guy
silence
girl
hey do you want to come to adelaide with me if i pay for the ticket?
guy
ive got fines in south australia
girl
thats ok my cousin can get you out of trouble he’s a (initials of something)
thats what he’s for… you want to be dead.(rhetorical flourish).id rather be done for shoplifting than on the dole there you are outside a shop with vcr’s in your hand …its over
guy
silence
the guy is actually looking a little uncomfortable at this stage, they both look like they are on drugs but the girl is dressed in a black jersey long dress with her hair up and silver earrings on.
they then start chatting about mutual acquaintances…jason is seeing gabby…guy grunts…
i had to get off the tram unfort, but the guy knew i was listening as was everyone else on the tram. did he have a knife? was he stupid enough to go to adelaide with her? did she really skip two grades of school? -
from 2010
There are three ways to say my name, five if you factor the silent g in the middle, and it all goes back to an Irish grandfather on my paternal side. Don’t get me started on the maternal side, I dont want to quibble, this post is about St Patricks Day and what it means to be a member of the Australian diaspora.
So- Irish, if I didnt have any other reference points beyond the family? Its gambling and horses and melancholy and a weird reverence for the grave, the grave, and the sea and sailors and did you know that remnants of the Spanish Armada washed up on the Irish shore and thats where uncle So and So gets his coloring. Its cops and the DLP and Catholics not welcome here signs in the window. Its violins and music and keeping yourself to yourself, its shame about being desperate and hungry enough to leave the mother country (is that an English phrase?) and shame that those who didnt had it so much worse.
Its remembering the shell shocked unhappy teeenage migrants from Northern Ireland in the sixties, then later the serial returners in the 80’s, off every second year back home, who just couldnt get used to cities with only a 200 year history and such blazing sun in summer. (Of course there are exceptions, but this are my memories)
And finally its Indian ladies asking me where I come from, unsatisfied with the answer ‘Australia’, and asking me what I know of my people’s history. I usually end up repeating what Ive read and heard about Ireland, but its second and third hand. Its not my experience. I guess they really dont want to know that cultural roots change over time. But they did, they do and they will. Happy St Patricks Day,sure I want to know how things are in Glocca Morra, but I still call Australia home. -
photograph by Frances Monaghan
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photograph by Frances Monaghan 2010
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picture by Frances Monaghan 2007
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photograph by Frances Monaghan 2007