like a shag on a rock

is how the saying goes. An explanation here - if you scroll down a bit.
Or in this case like a shag on a pontoon.
The Cormorant, or shag, spreads its wings and cools its pits.
I wish this were socially acceptable behaviour for humans in this humidity.

And I did indeed feel a bit shag-like as I put my knitting down and crouched down to photograph it against the view.Another day at the office.
No, I'm not a fisherperson, I was taking a break from the darkness of the theatre opposite. I particularly like the texture of the weathered timbers along the wharves and thought it
made a nice foil to the black garter stitch.

It's an area which was known as the Hungry Mile back in the '30s, an area rich with history, but which is now basically the tjushed-up playground of the rich, with all the fabulous old wharf buildings mostly refurbished into Primo Real Estate with only the merest nod to its narrative. It's inevitable I suppose, but part of me thinks it's a shame that there's not a more democratic access to the harbour side. But then those vaguely socialist sentiments are probably genetic, which brings me to:

Installment #1
in the Seven Rivetingly Random Factoids about me.

My grandfather was a card-carrying member of the communist party in the 1950s, so it's a good thing the long arm of McCarthyism didn't reach as far as Newcastle (a tiny little town in Australia), and as far as I know Arthur Miller did not write a play about witchcrafting Plumbers set amidst the blue-collar burghers of Newcastle either, which come to think of it, could be hilarious.

Hooray for readers who've made it this far! You deserve a vessel wednesday. Thinking back to my delicious pho bo on Monday night, I hit upon the jar of dried Vietnamese rice stick noodles which are so diaphanous and delicate, and here they are:

As always, hardcore enthusiasts can see more glimpses here.


Blogger UNIFORM Studio said...

I like that super long building in the background. And I'm glad to see you're still keeping up on the vessel wednesday...it sort of got away from me.

13 December 2007 at 1:14 am  
Blogger Michele said...

such an interesting post! great shag photo, didn't realize they did this. you know me, always up for bird info. (yes fed my magpies this morning).

and then so interesting about your grandfather. not everyone can make such a claim. mine escaped from a country under a regime and refused to speak about it. but i bet both our grandfather's had more in common than they might think.

i love your noodle photos and have looked and looked at them on flickr this morning. just haven't commented yet.

13 December 2007 at 7:19 am  
Blogger Michele said...

opps, sorry about the misplaced ' - should have proofread.

13 December 2007 at 7:20 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

great shag... i particularly like the description of the noodles - diaphanous. what a fabulous word. (i am going to try and make it word of the week and squeeze it into conversation somewhere. hee hee.) and i need to sort out my blogger setup... kirsten @ assemblage

13 December 2007 at 12:53 pm  
Blogger shula said...

My grandparents were too. In the 40s and 50s. I remember there was this thing where they wrapped their books in brown paper.

13 December 2007 at 3:38 pm  
Blogger Heather Moore said...

It's been about as long as that blue scarf since I checked in here, but as things are slowing down I have time to read blogs again. Great to catch up in a whizz-bang tour, mostly enjoying the very sophisticated palette of photos you post.
btw: ululate is that olooloolooo sound that Zulu women make in a sound of celebration. It is a kind of high-pitched undulation of sound, I guess.

18 December 2007 at 5:58 pm  
Anonymous sahara said...

Gosh, your blog is such a respite for me, in stark contrast from the visual assault that is the gargantuan shopping mall New York City has become. There's so much that is BLINKING and MOVING over here, it's a good thing I'm not photosensitive.

I wonder how much it would be to express mail me to Sydney? I'd find a nice vessel for myself, of course.

19 December 2007 at 1:11 pm  
Anonymous Ali said...

My great granny was a communist from the age of 19 till she died. Her husband was a Presbyterian elder and a Mason.

I miss working down near the water - I used to work on one of the renovated wharfs in Pyrmont. And yes, very chi-chi and playground of the rich. But they can't charge you for looking

21 December 2007 at 11:15 pm  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home