Cricket Anyone?

 It's that time of year of course. The days are long, the shadows longer, insects hum among the bushes, the sun burns brightly overhead and some poor bastard in a red suit and fake beard is gritting his teeth in what he thinks is a grin as small children torment his last moments before collapsing from heat exhaustion. Yes, it's Summer in Australia. 

And then there's the cricket. I can't emphasise how important the cricket is to me right now. The chirruping little bastard won't let me get any sleep. Having finally managed to evict the pigeons from my apartment (to be fair they just got bored with tormenting me and left of their own accord) I thought I was due a wildlife free week or two. But nooo. Lying in bed the other night I was ready for sleep. I had locked the front door, wept silently in the bathroom for an hour, removed my make up, removed my other make up and sprawled on my bed ready for the little death to come upon me when an unearthly noise jerked me from my incipient slumber. 

I lay there for an hour or two as what appeared to be every insect in creation held a metal concert in my bedroom. Finally I took action. With a hysterical sob I hurled a pillow in the general direction of the noise. Not only did that not help but I then had to get up and fetch my pillow. With a deep sigh I turned on the lamp. The noise stopped. I turned the lamp off, the noise started again. The cricket and I went through this cycle for so long it's a good thing neither of us was epileptic. 

Eventually I accepted I was going to have to do more than just turn a lamp on and off. Turning the lamp on one final time I lurched out of bed and conducted a forensic search of my bedroom. I didn't expect it to take too long. From the noise I expected a six foot long insect with a drum kit. Finally after hours of frantic searching I encountered something tiny crouching on a piece of furniture. I stared, was this tiny shred of existence what I had been searching for? Apparently yes. I had geared myself up for insect slaughter, wreaking a bloody revenge for my lost sleep but I couldn't remain angry at the tiny, cute little insect now staring up at me. Gently I scooped it up, took it out onto the balcony and released it into the wild. By "released it into the wild" I mean I flapped my hand about frantically until air pressure finally dislodged its apparent death grip on my finger.

Pleased with my non-lethal resolution of the problem I went back to my bedroom, turned off my alarm and got ready for work. The next night the little bastard was back. This time he didn't even wait until I was in bed. It was early in the evening and I was engaged in rocking in a foetal position on my couch when the noise started. The light was on, the television was blaring and over it all came the smug metallic grating of a cricket who had worked out that I was too soft hearted to stomp it into mush and was prepared to take full advantage. Once again I escorted the cricket as far as the balcony where he vanished into the night. He didn't come back, instead I lay awake all night waiting for him. Every slight noise had me alert and trembling but the chirrup didn't come. By the time dawn came around I was exhausted, sleepless and slightly hurt. Wasn't my apartment good enough anymore? I prowled around pretending I wasn't looking for him but the cricket didn't show. Finally I went to work with a deep, unresolved sense of loss.

It occurs to me that I must be the only person who has Stockholm Syndrome delivered to him.

Travelling Pathetically - Greenway Edition

 It's finally here! After months, nay years, of local government newsletters giving gushing updates on its progress the Greenway is finally among us. "Please Neil, tell us more," I hear you beg. That is true but it's only fair to point out that I hear a lot of things, in fact the voices in my head rarely shut up.

So what is the Greenway? Well, largely by coincidence the existence of a goods rail line (now repurposed for light rail) the Hawthorn Canal and various other bits of defunct industrial infrastructure had left my local council with a few shreds of undeveloped land too small to build a housing estate on (and already I can hear a property developer saying "hold my beer"). It was decided to develop these into a walking and bike path that would lead from the Cooks River all the way to Iron Cove threading through these tiny bits of wilderness and urban decay. Along the way it would link up with various parks and reserves which represented previous attempts to make a parkland virtue out of a dingy necessity. Now it's ready, six glistening kilometres of shared path that would enable people to travel from river to river without the need to get into a car. As long as you lived within walking distance of the Greenway of course.

The grand opening of the Greenway took place this Sunday and the general public were invited to come and traverse its length. Despite this warning I decided to do so anyway. I would do the thing properly, I would trot down to the Cooks River which oozed noisomely in its bed not too far from the shabby flat I call home. I would cross said river and set foot upon the Greenway and not stop until I had arrived at Iron Cove.

Of course it didn't quite work out like that.  I got to the Cooks River easily enough (it was a little too big to miss) and crossed on a faux rusted bridge. Seriously they built the bridge out of some material that looks like rusted iron so it would appear rustic or possibly unsafe. It has the advantage that when the bridge does rust no one will know until somebody tumbles into the water.

Looks as rustic as hell doesn't it. The non stick surface dates to medieval times

Across this future relic I padded appearing in a park. From here the Greenway would commence its journey towards the Parramatta River. I assume. I say that because I didn't actually find the start. I came out a little far and blundered around suburban streets until I wound up in rough proximity to the Dulwich Hill light rail station. This was useful as you could get onto the Greenway here. Get onto the Greenway I did as did half the population of the Inner West. People, dogs and bicyclists (I suppose technically they're people too) jostled together in a human (and bicyclist) tide. It's the only time I've been on a walking path where I found it necessary to check my blind spot before overtaking a slower walker.  The sun was beating down on us and the glare from the bright white path was almost blinding. Fortunately pedestrian sanity prevailed and before long the path changed to something grey and non reflective. 

 

A rather dazzling path. This is the only time I saw it with so few people

Shielding my eyes against the brilliant footpath I stumbled forward. We were paralleling the light rail line and I knew that at Dulwich Grove station the cutting the line ran through left absolutely no room for a footpath. I was keen to see how the Greenway would solve this problem. So basically it just climbed and I had to cross the road. This is the thing of course. It can't be a completely connected course, roads and buildings have been placed in inconvenient locations. A couple of the bits of the Greenway are simply suburban streets (although they do have trees) but they've done their best and for the most part one can walk along without encountering anything as offensive as a car.

Now that's a slightly less visually painful surface

 At random intervals along the way there were artworks adorning (if that's the right word) the path. I glanced at these as I went along. My opinion was varied but I could fully accept that the council might feel it was a good idea to keep the people who made them off the streets even if that meant buying what they produced afterwards.

Past Dulwich Grove we hit Arlington and Johnson Park. Seizing on the existence of a piece of pre-existing parkland this was where the opening ceremony had taken place most of which fortunately I had missed. Nevertheless there was a human throng thronging vigorously and I had to squeeze my way past while children frolicked and even bicyclists were forced to dismount immediately looking clumsy and ridiculous as they wheeled their steeds through the horde. Somebody had got hold of a microphone. It is axiomatic that the person who winds up with the microphone is the sort of person who shouldn't be allowed near a microphone. It's the political equivalent of karaoke. This person was giving a speech where she extolled the fact that people could now move about without having to use a road. Excuse me? The Greenway is an artificially created path so that humans can get from one place to another. What exactly does she think a road is?

Leaving behind the definitionally confused I continued along the Greenway. Despite its occasional intersecting with more vehicle specific roads they have actually done a good job of burrowing underneath them where space permitted. The tunnels providing another opportunity for local artists to justify their welfare cheques and, according to certain promotional literature, providing a haven for microbats. I didn't see any microbats but it was broad daylight and frankly every living thing had probably fled for the hills at the approach of the seas of humanity (and bicyclists).

Not a microbat in sight but I presume they're very small

The path passed by Waratah Mills which used to be a flour mill and is now apartments. Then onto Lewisham West where there's another park as well as a storm water channel which is the less than impressive start of the Hawthorn Canal. Brightly coloured splashes of graffiti (or possibly another artwork) relieved the grey concrete and probably made it a little more difficult for the channel to be torpedoed by U-boats.

Lewisham West, which also gives you an idea of exactly how close habitation is to the path most of the time

As I put Lewisham West behind me I started to head towards an area where trees could be considered something more than an ambitious nature strip. This was Gadigal Reserve where undeveloped land had delusions of nature. Trees crowded and the canal got a little more serious about its job as well.

Look Ma, trees!

 The trees provided welcome shade from the day which was rather warm and the canal, well it was there. In defiance of probability a couple of waterbirds were picking their way through the shallows probably wondering if anything they caught would be safe to eat.

OK I can probably accept that there might be a microbat or two lurking in this one

There's probably a fair bit more I could tell you but at this point I ran into a music therapist who was disposed to be friendly and spent the rest of the walk chatting to her and not really paying too much attention to my surroundings.  I did stop before I fell into the Parramatta River though.