I feel I must come out and confess. Some of you may be shocked to learn this so I apologise in advance, but the truth needs to be told. I’m bi-coastal 😳 This thought occurred to me on a recent trip away. Waiting for a train at Helensvale station in Queensland I started to reflect on the Australian cities I’d spent time living in. Which of the cities, Melbourne, Sydney or Brisbane, did I hold closest to my heart ❤️ I wasn’t sure.
Every place had its fair share of ups and downs, romance and laughter. In Sydney, where I grew up, I recall many good times as a teenager wandering the streets around Glebe and Paddington with schoolmates. Long hair, a cheesecloth shirt and cut-off jeans were my attire. I also remember a strange battle in my 30s in Darlinghurst with an indigenous man over rubbish. For some inexplicable reason, he refused to place his daily rubbish in the bins in the back laneway, instead depositing it undercover at night directly beneath my open kitchen window. By the end of the week, the rubbish was piled high and in the summer months stinking to high heaven. Once I discovered it was him dumping his household waste under my window, I promptly returned it and placed it under his kitchen window several doors down. This dance went back and forth for months until he finally caught me, arms full of his rubbish…and he wasn’t impressed. “What the fuck are youse doin’ mate?” He shouted, agitated. “What do you mean? It’s your rubbish, put it outback like everyone else does,” I demanded. “You know what you are…you’re a bloody racist,” he screamed. Racist! Me? He’s got to be joking! Doing my best Bette Davis impersonation, I dramatically walked over to him and said, “Now listen up mister! I’m no damn racist! Put your goddamn rubbish out the back where it damn well belongs. You little punk!” And I dumped all the rubbish at his feet and I left triumphant! When I looked back, I glimpsed him standing in a pile of his own crap! He was not a happy chappy. But I was…and that’s all that mattered.
I jettisoned into Brisbane in the late 80s, during the Fitzgerald Inquiry into police corruption, and stayed through the early 90s, eventually leaving for London. I have fond memories of working at Expo 88 and late-night summertime parties in Brisvegas, the weather a smouldering 38 degrees at midnight. I don’t think I’ve sweated in any other city as much as I did living in Brisbane. The sensual feeling of sweat running over my nipples became my horny friend. Sweating profusely and chatting at parties was something I learned to enjoy. The erotic combination of chilled champagne, sweat, erect nipples and heat made for some interesting if somewhat slurred conversations. “I’m going to take dis…this city by storm,” I recall telling someone on the opening night of a show I directed. “Juusst…juss you waaait and ski…see!” And I gave it a red hot crack too, often appearing in the arts section and social pages of the Brisbane newspapers. Heat, sweat, art, parties, newspaper clippings, youth and champagne are what I remember most about living in Brisbane. Time moved slowly there during the day but when the sun went down, lively conversations about theatre made the heat and sweat bearable.
Melbourne is a different kettle of fish altogether compared to the other two cities. For every sunny day in Melbourne, a lousy day followed. Melbourne can be a defiant mistress or a kind-hearted lady. It depends on her mood. At one point 5 years in, I got depressed, and I found myself standing on the road island on busy Dandenong Road, trucks speeding by, staring at the bleak winter sky, not knowing how I got there! “You numbskull! Something is seriously wrong,” I remember thinking that winter of my discontent. A black rain cloud had formed around me and I couldn’t break free. At that moment I decided to see a therapist and over time I managed to turn things around in Melbourne and let the sunshine on me again. 🌞Many happy days and opening nights followed. Happiness didn’t come easy. It required effort and dedication and a will to grow and succeed. Thankfully I kissed those dark days goodbye and I’m here to write about it.
But which Australian city wins my heart? The truth is Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane have all taught me lessons. Lessons of survival I didn’t even know I needed. Looking back in 2023, I’m grateful for all the good times I’ve had in each city and I’ve worked hard to be thankful for all the painful life lessons as well. No point in feeling otherwise.
Sitting on the Cleveland line train heading towards my sister’s place in Victoria Point I had the realisation I’m not bi-coastal at all, in fact, I’m tri-coastal. All three Australian cities hold a place in my heart. And the good times I had in each city outweighs the bad. And that dear reader is the end of my story…for now!
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