Field notes-1

Just for the hell of it, I’m presenting field notes from a recent, midweek nightshift. Usually I’ll bring home such notes from which to fashion a post. But tonight I couldn’t be bothered, so it’s up to you whether you want to read on or not. No offence, I’m just tired. It’s nothing special, just field notes...

A window seat in MacDonalds, City, 1.00 am :

Front seat at the parade of the obese.... over the P.A - Craig David ‘I’m walking away - from trouble-in-my-life’....a middle -aged woman, small, page-boy haircut, Balmain red, well-dressed bag-lady, whiling away the wee hours of the night, incongruously wearing prostitute-red lipstick, is she pregnant ?....Lumbering Islander guy drifts out of Underground bar across street, in for a big Mac....A working girl from Platinum Club next door chats to bouncer, ‘Whata ya doing outside ?’, he challenges, good-naturedly. ‘Just getting a Maccas’, she responds.....Twenty taxis wait, seemingly forever, drivers lounge against cabs, chatting, smoking, looking around, for them there’s nothing to see they haven’t seen before,....Byran Adams comes on, ‘Look into my eyes’, Bryan Adams shits me, mate of mine went to school with him in North Vancouver, reckons biggest junkie in town then, I doubt it somehow....A nutter strides past in shorts, it’s freezing outside, T-shirt and runners, madness in his eyes, skips across road, avoiding rain puddles, earlier deluge...The road glistens, hisses with every passing car, sporadic, mainly cabs, empty, looking at each other, what the fuck we doing out here.....A group of South Asians, Pakis, Indians, clean-cut, wander in from wherever, stacking shelves at Woolies ?, reconfiguring computer system networks so office jockeys can hit the ground running later in morning....Young, sharp, Chinese and Japanese students, speak broken English, expensive runners, flashing phones, amble by, do they ever sleep ?...It’s the parade of the insomniacs.... A bouncer from Platinum escorts a stripper to the cab rank, pony-tail and crisp white shirt and tie....Bar staff head home after staffies, sports bags over shoulders.....I should be down at Fairfax, waiting for night shift, but it’s much warmer here.....There’s trouble at Underground, Islander nightclub, no, just the bro’s mucking around, jostling, argy-bargy on footpath....A couple of young guys with skateboards, shake hands and part at the corner, one an Asian off to his City high-rise, the other a skippy to Mums in the suburbs, maybe kitchen staff....The guy behind me, a grifter, I’ve seen him at the Talbot, drinks coffee doing the crossword, gets up periodically, walks outside, spits in the gutter, he’s got Maccas reflux, I know how he feels.....Two pubs still operating at this hour, 1.13 am.....Dishevelled, middle-aged blokes, businessmen wander in from strip club, famished, I smell gut beer odour from here, the worms are biting....City of Sydney street cleaners, pavement sprayers, garbage collectors, wander in for morning tea, burgers, chips and coffee.....Another familiar face from the Talbot glides by my window endlessly, back and forward, gait of a rape victim, nice shirt, clean jacket, all supplied by donations.....A wasted skinny skippy, middle-aged, gaunt, white Koori, staggers back, then forward, eyes blasted, mouth open, looks at front door, makes for it, slams into pillar, recoils, no pain....Two schoolgirls, make-up, one in uniform, comes from direction of strip club, half dozen cops at coffee bar look once, no comment.....Two young Asian lovers, designer trackpant-suits, snuggle on a single stool....Crowded House, ‘Stormy Weather - everywhere you go’....A garbage bin overflows, eyes everywhere, barely open, vacant, staring.... I should go home but it’s strangely comforting here, surrounded by people, half-wasted, harmless, looking for a smile, some friendliness, some warmth.....David Bowie, ‘Changes’.....the screeching of brake pads down to the metal heralds the arrival of a garbage truck, putrescent waste, worst of all, stinks to high heaven, stops on the crossing, overflowing bin is slam-dunked, emptied, slammed back.....A screaming fire truck tears past....A Paki security bloke, I ask him if he’s busy, he has a 36 storey office tower without lights due to earlier storm....Ruddy faces, middle-eastern, heavy growths....clean shaven junior chefs, exploited, underpaid kids, long hours, no social lives... Dyed-haired Asian girls stroll in.....Schoolgirls wander around, changing seats, eye shadow, earings, bleached blonde pony-tails, trouble, barely 16.....An old fella, asleep in doorway next to strip club, buried under pretty patchwork doona.....Buggar this, time for bed.

Comments

[Dirk Thruster]

What's Balmain Red?
P.S. You spend way too much time in Macca's.

[adrian]

This is a term I coined some years ago. Balmain red is a particular tone of hair colouring which is actually darker, like auburn or dark red bordering on deep orange. If I had a copy of Ikens colour chart I could nail it for you.

Where once our mothers went for the blue rinse to hide the onset of greying, in recent years some women have gone for this colouring. It is pecular to a certain enlightened woman, typified by a Left wing bent, and predominates amoungst elites, for want of a better term.

While not so popular these days, the fashion has been around for some ten years and sprung out of the Balmain peninsula. Indeed, driving through the City on peak-hour, one knew where the Balmain buses originated by the number of red-haired commuters waiting at that bus stop.