Sometimes, it's just the lines.
The intersections & collisions. The mix of new and old, of sun and shade, of hand-painted and computer-created - and, once in a while, a burst of something organic.
I guess because I've been away recently, the lines of Sydney are fresh to me again…
It's early. But I'm late.
People are off to work, I've got an appointment on the other side of our neighbourhood - but the light is good, and I can't help making myself just that little bit late as I walk.
Everyone else is rushing, but I go in fits and starts - I'm a fast walker any any time, but then I'll stop suddenly when something catches my eye, the shadows mingle, the angles line up, the dog has David Bowie eyes, whatever.
So I'm going at a relatively good pace; except, of course, when I'm not.
And...somehow, I've misjudged it…
A week is a long time in politics, and in life.
This time last week, we were in Canada, it was summer, the days were long - and we knew who was running the country back home in Australia.
Over the course of this week, we've spent 24h in transit, a week trying to adjust our internal clocks (finally with some success overnight); and 5 days watching our parliament being brought to a halt by internal struggles, and the party in charge attempting to choose a new leader - finally with some success overnight…
Surry Hills, my suburb in Sydney, is a bit different to everywhere I've lived before.
The history of this area is much more visible, in the buildings and streets that surround me every day; and being so close to the centre of Sydney means I spend much more of my time walking from place to place, spotting little details that haven't changed in a hundred years or more.
So my mental map of this city, built up over the last five years of living here, is based on these markers, these waypoints - the old church, the loading dock, the grocer - that tell me how far it is home, where to turn, which block this is…
Like a lot of cities, the real estate market in Sydney's inner suburbs seems to live by its own rules.
The character of Surry Hills is changing rapidly. While a lot of the buildings are of a similar style, 100-year-old worker's cottages, their condition veers wildly, from run-down student share houses with tattered flags in the window, to million dollar renovations with sports cars and SUVs parked out front.
This was never more apparent than recently, when the home of Natalie Jean Wood was put up for sale, after she was found to have died in her bed - eight years previously - and never been reported missing, or checked on by family or friends, in that time.
