When we were house-hunting a couple of years back, we looked at a house in Jones Street, Brunswick. It was advertised for a song, it looked neat enough from the outside, and our stomachs churned as we entered. It stank. Real bad. It was a mess. The estate agent — from Lewis — looked aptly embarrassed, poor fella. He didn’t even attempt to talk it up. For reasons we couldn’t discern, the house had two kitchens. They weren’t Kosher or Halal, let me tell you. One had a tap that didn’t so much drip as dribble stuff. Worse: the dank, sour-smelling concrete yard was overcrowded with pigeons, rabbits and flies, and no doubt rats—it was a vermin concentration camp. (more…)
I had the good fortune recently to meet an urban planning graduate from RMIT, Ben Nicholson. I had the further good fortune to read his elegant thesis about Melbourne’s ‘groofs’. Urban rooftop gardens reduce our environmental footprint in so many ways, but more than that, they’re bringing new ecologies, aesthetics and social behaviours into cities. They’re even reducing urban management problems. And they’re profitable! Not so much in Melbourne: we’re woefuly behind the rest of the world in the green roofs movement. (more…)
I’m not a dobber. I don’t believe in dobbing. Not really. But I just rang the police to dob in a motorist. (more…)
(And is there any other precinct in Sydney Road, Brunswick?)
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Can you guess what these are? A hint: they’re not marital aids. They are in fact the one device. This device is very interesting in light of the argument that currrent water restrictions, which target individuals (residents), are systemically unfair. (more…)
Behold the cup and saucer, from St Vinnies, nine bucks. (more…)
Coburg has been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder by its retailers, who are recommending her transformation into something “Bright and Inviting, Happy and Alive, Confident, Joyous & Attractive, [has] Pizzazz & [is] Entertaining.” (more…)
From the Vulgar Press:
Over the course of three decades, 3RRR-FM has become an indispensable part of Melbourne’s cultural fabric, a vital hub of the city’s renowned music and arts scenes and an independent voice among a chorus of repetition.
But it wasn’t always so. Born in 1976, the product of an experiment in public radio just as the DIY spirit of punk music was hitting the streets, much of Triple R’s existence was fraught and surrounded by chaos. (more…)
It’s only a short tram-ride, or a place to go in your lunchbreak. The 96 will take you straight there, or else you can get of the Sydney Road tram and walk from the Vic Market. (more…)
Here’s a thing. Moreland Energy Foundation is offering free Home Energy workshops. Did I mention free? Only for Moreland residents, but. You can go to an organised one or they can come to your home to give them. Attendees “also receive a FREE energy retrofit kit valued at over $50!!” I’m not sure what the kits consist of, so I’ve emailed the foundation to ask, and will update you. (more…)
is a gift voucher for an hour’s massage at Fitzroy Holistic Health. Someone gave it to me about a year ago and, despite only excellent experiences at FHH, I now go to osteopath Steven Sexton, who works from Wilson Street, Brunswick. He is the God of Massage.
So if anyone visiting this site would like to have this, worth around 60 bucks I reckon, just comment below and I’ll send you an email to get postal details, and I’ll pop it in the mail for you.
UPDATE: As with other posts, within moments of me putting this up Bane of Malakas was loitering with intent. (Bane, you must be on RSS feed, or else hitting ‘refresh’ all day. Get a job you bludger.) But I take it from his comment below he doesn’t want the voucher. Instead, he suggests a competition for the foulest commentary. I suggest a competition for the best suggestion for a competition. (Really, the suggestion can be totally lame. Or you can just say why you really really want it. A sob story. Anything. I just want to give away the voucher.) If no-one comments within the next coupla days, I’ll donate this voucher as a givaway for this event.
The other hot, airless day my little one and I decided to go to a public swimming pool. We looked at the Moreland City Council website and I was surprised to learn there are two public pools in Coburg. We settled on Coburg Olympic Pool in Murray Road. As ever, it was a toss between the car and public transport. (more…)
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The Age reported this morning that there are plans to make a huge stretch of Sydney Road, from the Parkville border right up to Bell Street, one giant boulevard-mall:
In his first speech as mayor in December, Cr O’Brien outlined the virtues of the new car-free mall. “Visualise in your mind these surroundings,” he said.
“Off Bell Street your journey commences by parking at the rear of the shopping strip. You take a leisurely walk, bike or tram journey down Sydney Road amongst a canopy of trees stretching as long as the eye can see, with widened and paved footpaths, observing a relaxed community sitting around coffee tables chatting … in a calming environment. (more…)
Tough-on-crime serial dobber Bane of Malakas just emailed me. He alerted me to a blog on the site of a happening Melbourne music magazine, Mess+Noise. There, PaulsGrandfather writes:
“It is not anyone’s ‘right’ to water their concrete driveways. Or to take 20 minute showers. Or to hose down their windows.”
Hear, hear — naturally. Same, of course, with big urban 4WDs. Toorak tractors should be outlawed, for sure, and we should treat the ‘rights’ rhetoric coming from the motoring community car lobby with the tar-and-feathering it deserves. It’s no-one’s ‘right’ to warm the planet for the sake of Big Ego. But listen up: here’s PaulsGrandfather’s answer to water-crime: (more…)
Next week, on the 11th at lunchtime, is the vigil for David Hicks. While we campaign for his return, it’s worthwhile also thinking about some Moreland victims of the Howard government’s war on terror campaign.
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Troy: 9386 7995 Ginger: 0419 559 376 Vegemite: 0400 604 923
Doof, doof, doof, doof, maaate. In Coburg, the hoon capital of Straya, it’s a civic right to burn as much fossil fuel and rubber as your hotted-up Commodore permits. It’s a rite of passage to sign the bitumen with your circle-work. The chicks, they love it. Water restrictions can kiss my skid marks. Mate, I got mag wheels and spoilers to hose.
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