Category Archives: Around Marrickville

The wolf and honeybee draw near

The Wolf and Honeybee cafe is no longer a promising cloud on the horizon. It’s overhead and looks ready to send the welcome rain to a parched land (well, the land isn’t really parched, but it will be nice to have the cafe open.)

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Another corner shop

Having lived through the excitement of the coming of Revolver to Annandale Street a couple of years back, this blog is having flashbacks as another corner shop is in the process of being transformed just down the road. When we moved here five months or so ago, the shop on the corner of Edgeware Road and Alice Street was boarded up. We heard rumours that it was to be a coffee shop, but the For Sale sign with its annotation Offer Under Consideration made the rumours seem insubstantial. In recent weeks, all that has changed.

It’s still a construction site and the old milk bar signage is still there, but things are happening. Unlike Revolver, which stayed nameless almost until the opening day, this establishment has announced its new identity: The Wolf & Honeybee Cafe Gallery. Unlike Rod and Chie of Revolver, who kept the neighbours informed on progress with a series of charming bulletins on  the old shop’s boarded up windows, the Wolf & Honeybee’s Conal is silent on the street but has a stylish web presence: a web site, an Eatability listing (which is where I got Conal’s name), and a facebook presence that includes photos of the site being cleaned up and, Art Student take note, intimations that they will soon be calling for submissions of artwork. Unlike the northern end of Annandale, this area is well endowed with coffee places: there’s Petty Cash, the Bourke Street Bakery in Mitchell Street, Kellerman’s at the pool, the Bell Jar on Alice Street and any number of chains in the Metro around the corner. Still, it seems there’s always room for more. I’m looking forward to the opening, which they hope will be at the end of the month.

Not the rabbit-proof fence

… although maybe these all got impaled when they tried to get into the property at Easter

Election Horror

When I turned up to cast my vote this morning I saw something I had never seen before. Yes, there was a raffle and a table groaning with baked goods. Yes, there were people in colour coded T-shirts handing out how-to-vote paper. Yes, the cyclone fencing at the front of the primary school was festooned with images of incumbent Carmel Tebbut,  insurgent Fiona Byrne and maybe others whose names I’ve not absorbed. All of this was as it ought to be. And inside the room, there were the usual tables, the usual ridiculously huge sheet of paper for the upper house, the usual cardboard booths, the usual air of muted celebration as we the people (to use an Americanism) exercise our power.

And then there is was: scrawled on the cardboard of the booth where I was to vote was one of those hideous slogans we’ve seen recently in as backdrop to Tony Abbott addressing his bussed-n revolters. I won’t reproduce it – suffice to say it included a hostile pun on the Prime Minister’s first name, a bit of sexist US jail-slang and a pun suggesting another federal parliamentary party leader is a disease.

Who are these people who think it’s OK to write vile graffiti in a polling booth? Isn’t it illegal? What does Tony Abbott think he’s achieving by validating them?

Wall conversation

Here’s a nice non-facebook wall conversation from a neighbouring suburb. If I had Photoshop I would restore YUPPIE in the first image to YOUR, which is what was there the first time I saw this wall.

Someone who felt this message was intended for them struck back:

Then yesterday a third and perhaps even a fourth, dauber chimed in:

Neglected queen

On Wednesday I attended my first ever citizenship ceremony, in a marquee in lovely Enmore Park. After a welcome to country with dance and didj, we had mercifully brief speeches from the local state member, the state member for nearby Canterbury, the local federal member, the local Woolworths manager (who won the brevity medal), an Olympic sportswoman (who quoted bad Henry Lawson), and the Mayor of Marrickville. Then the mayor put on her new chains for the first time – ‘Just a sec,’ she said, ‘I have to get dressed up for this bit.’ The new citizens took the oath and the affirmation of allegiance (the ones with pink name tags had ‘under God’ in their formula, those with orange tags were godless) and each went up to receive a certificate and enjoy a photo op with the mayor. We stood for the national anthem, and it was all over.

And then we found the queen. Unlike God, I don’t recall her being mentioned during the ceremony, but perhaps a photo of our head of state is compulsory for these events. because there she was, sticky-taped to one of the posts of the marquee. This photo doesn’t do justice to the image: the actual pink was much pinker than this, the gold more golden, the blue of her hair much, much bluer. It could have been Dame Edna.

God save her.

Deceptive signs

Our new locality is much richer in street art than our old. Here are a couple of signs that made me look twice, and then a third time.

The first is out the front of a service station in Enmore Road.

It took a third look to realise that the erotic genie is actually pasted onto the bright red container, and that the information inside probably has nothing at all to do with magic or heart-shaped female pudenda.

I was drawn to the cool irony of this one until I realised that it wasn’t intended by the sign creator, but a side effect of the different fading rates of different coloured inks.