Working in my studio
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Where are the groovy intellectuals on the Central Coast?
There was a time when I only wanted to live in the groovy, hip, cool inner-city (i.e. Newtown, Paddington, Darlinghurst, Glebe, Surry Hills etc) or on the beautiful Northern Beaches (where I grew up). Then reality kicked in and I succumbed to real estate prices, interest rates and the need to have a back yard for the dog. So I became one of the thousands of refugees who've emigrated to the Central Coast in search of affordable housing (preferably close to the beach). I still have a $500 a week mortgage but, hey, I've got a backyard and a studio!
I'm more or less coping with the three hours or more a day spent sitting on the train, and I suppose I've adjusted to the fact that my beloved Sydney is now 70 km away and that fact that drivers around here don't give way at terminating intersections. But there is one aspect of life up here that has me scratching my head. Where are all the interesting people?
Now I've never been much of a socialite and I generally prefer my own company to that of others (with the possible exception of my dog). But I did have a vague notion of where, in Sydney, one might hang out in order to have a chance of having a chat with some groovy (or at least literate) persons.
Like the time I was sipping a quiet cappucino at a certain Darlinghurst cafe frequented by students of the National Art School and spied, at the next table, one notable radio personality and ex-member of the Doug Anthony All Stars who stood, in what I perceived to be a most gentlemanly manner, when a colleague arrived and joined him. Of course, I pretended not to recognize him (one of the fundamental rules of etiquette being that one pretends not to notice celebrities, since sycophancy on such occasions tends to undermines one's own air of importance). Or the time, when attending an exhibition opening in Paddington, I dropped my hat and Martin Sharpe gallantly picked it up and handed it to me.
But no, I don't mean to drop names. My point is that I prefer the company of people who've read the odd book or two, who can engage in conversation without inevitably turning to the subject of cricket and/or football and, in Sydney, I've got a vague idea of where I might find such conversations.
But the Central Coast is an alien landscape. The topography may be stunning and the climate mild but I haven't stumbled across anything which I could describe as stimulating company since I landed here. Yet I know that there must be some interesting people around here somewhere! I just can't find them. I believe that Bill Leak lives around here somewhere. I sent him a friend request on Facebook but, sadly, he did not reply (I feel utterly dejected).
Now if I could just work out which pub is the best watering hole for us artsy-political-argumentative types...
I'm more or less coping with the three hours or more a day spent sitting on the train, and I suppose I've adjusted to the fact that my beloved Sydney is now 70 km away and that fact that drivers around here don't give way at terminating intersections. But there is one aspect of life up here that has me scratching my head. Where are all the interesting people?
Now I've never been much of a socialite and I generally prefer my own company to that of others (with the possible exception of my dog). But I did have a vague notion of where, in Sydney, one might hang out in order to have a chance of having a chat with some groovy (or at least literate) persons.
Like the time I was sipping a quiet cappucino at a certain Darlinghurst cafe frequented by students of the National Art School and spied, at the next table, one notable radio personality and ex-member of the Doug Anthony All Stars who stood, in what I perceived to be a most gentlemanly manner, when a colleague arrived and joined him. Of course, I pretended not to recognize him (one of the fundamental rules of etiquette being that one pretends not to notice celebrities, since sycophancy on such occasions tends to undermines one's own air of importance). Or the time, when attending an exhibition opening in Paddington, I dropped my hat and Martin Sharpe gallantly picked it up and handed it to me.
But no, I don't mean to drop names. My point is that I prefer the company of people who've read the odd book or two, who can engage in conversation without inevitably turning to the subject of cricket and/or football and, in Sydney, I've got a vague idea of where I might find such conversations.
But the Central Coast is an alien landscape. The topography may be stunning and the climate mild but I haven't stumbled across anything which I could describe as stimulating company since I landed here. Yet I know that there must be some interesting people around here somewhere! I just can't find them. I believe that Bill Leak lives around here somewhere. I sent him a friend request on Facebook but, sadly, he did not reply (I feel utterly dejected).
Now if I could just work out which pub is the best watering hole for us artsy-political-argumentative types...
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