But, the road will do ...

To counterpoint the glums of winter is to propose its greys with a burst of laughter. And, as the gerrymander upon June emotions is in effect with the solstice approaching I found myself wandering around a favourite suburban haunt known as Yarraville. Located six kilometres (about four miles) from the Melbourne CBD, Yarraville is one of the oldest suburbs of Melbourne once rich with a working class ethos. Yarraville adjoins the western bank of the Maribyrnong River (considered to be Melbourne's second river after the better known, 'Yarra'), and thus being a 'western suburb' the place had for a very long time an odium attached. First settled in the 1860s, Heavy and Light Industries soon formed taking advantage of the River access, which too became a cesspit for all kinds of waste often giving rise to conspicuous miasmas and not a few dead bodies. With Industry came the need for Workers and most were housed in the suburb, often in atrocious housing supplemented by the neglect induced by dissolute poverty. In the mid to later part of the 19th Century a railway to Williamstown and later to Geelong was built passing through Yarraville which became a major Siding servicing both Passengers and Goods. Up until the middle part of the 20th Century the Yards at Yarraville was one of the busiest and these days you can see small reminders of the once huge bluestone cobbled Yards (now used as Car Park with the sharpest of Ticket Inspectors who will nab you a minute your overstay your limit).

As alluded, Yarraville had a rather shady reputation due to its rough n' tumble working class origins and was not considered a place to visit, let alone reside. This changed as those Heavy and Light Industries slowly dissipated through the latter part of the 20th Century (ruined by the lowering of Tariffs and the blind adherence to Free Trade as insisted upon by some of the biggest Industrialised Nations' hypocrites you could imagine). Yarraville slowly became 'yuppified' with a resulting increase in house prices and general demeanour of the suburb. Professionals and 'young things on an upward slather' moved in raising the suburb's profile but pricing out the old workers and their descendants, let alone first home buyers seeking a parcel of inner suburban Melbourne. To the point that Yarraville is not only aesthetically beautiful (a good thing) but it has one of the highest per capita income levels tied in no small measure to one of highest levels of home ownership in Melbourne. From what I can gather, average house prices are now well in excess of $600,000 - not a bad effort for a 5.6 sq. kms (2.2 sq. miles) suburb that was once considered a rickety slum of cheap and poorly maintained residential housing!

The hub of today's Yarraville (and its roughly 13,000 Residents plus interlopers such as me who plod about its parts) centres on its small but comely Shopping Village. Amongst the numerous shops and restaurants is home of the Sun Theatre (one of the few remaining independent and art deco theatres left in Melbourne). There is also the Sun Bookshop next door to the theatre - my favourite Bookshop in Melbourne - which has claimed most of my income over the past decade or so. As a rule, if I am not otherwise engaged or employed on nefarious activities (like trying to grapple with conundrums of illogic, counting the traffic passing in front of my home, murdering weeds that dare grow or mock the funny hats that people in winter wear as they head for the nearby Bus Stop), I like to visit Yarraville's 'Under the Sea Fish n Chip' shop. Although occupying a slither of space they produce, in my opinion, the best takeaway seafood meals in Australia! Their chips are scrumptious and the lads who serve you very friendly. I just roll up, as is my wont, and I don't even have to state my order - 'Salmon, Salad and Chips with a Creamy Soda' - it's a nod, and 'Hiya Plod, been at the Bookshop have ya?', and some minutes later I troop out with the alluring aroma of 'fresh everything' enticing my mouth to wolf down the lot in haste. I usually end up plonking myself in the small park not far from the railway station and amidst 'squeals of lavish delights' I have my 'Fish n Chips' as I escape into in a state of seafood heaven. Usually, after finishing my delicious meal, and with enormous threat to my debt levels, I am lured by a complete lack of self control back again into the Bookshop or a lovely Coffee as one of the Cafes. Fortunately, I always wear a backpack (now also loaded with the camera and tripod) that I inevitably end up filling with an armful and more of books. I must their best purchaser of Poetry books - well according to be Credit Card statement I must be as line after line shows, 'Sun Bookshop' as a debit!

One of the grandest old buildings in Yarraville and directly opposite the railway station (itself opened in 1872) is the former St. George's Theatre (originally known as St. George?s Hall & Picture Palace). Constructed in 1891 it was used as a theatre until 1905 whereupon its licence was cancelled and the premises became a rather unobtrusive Meeting Hall until 1910. From around 1911 until 1958 it became a Picture Theatre, in the days when most suburbs had their own one screen (usually) Cinema. In 1958, after many years of losing money, the Cinema closed whereupon it reverted in 1960 to a Ballroom Dancing venue and school and it is the ballroom dancing that I recall from my childhood days. With the advent of the modern world and its various trinkets and insincerities, the ballroom could not hold the attention of sufficient numbers to warrant its continuance, finally being sold in 2004 to a consortium of Property Developers. After much wrangling, approval by the Local Council was given to redevelop the site into medium density townhouses and apartments though with the proviso the facade of the building, with its St. George's Theatre frontispiece, be preserved. The development is nearing completion. Beneath the old facade, I came across some advisory signs to pedestrians who may 'stray' near the building, and for reasons I can't understand I find the signs in the photograph along with its graffiti absolutely and absurdly funny. Trying to photograph the signs I could not stop shaking with self induced laughter, particularly as so many pedestrians, dutifully obeyed the sign in a partial manner. They'd walk on the road instead of the opposite footpath (the opposite footpath a wiser choice I would have thought) and this made me crack up. It is really ridiculous why I find this funny but gosh it provided an antidote to the dreary pastel skies and chill air. Even now, as I write, I am laughing again but why I cannot seriously explain. Perhaps, I am having a Monty Python moment or it could because I am listening to a song by 'The Cowsills' called 'The rain, the park and other things' which is an excess of the 1960s and much sweeter than the White Chocolate I am gorging on at the moment. Though with the song it could be the words, "...I long to fly with her for sheer reality is just a dream to me..." that is what is causing me to buckle over in intense giggles.

So, the best antidote to winter is to laugh for no logical reason. Winter won't go away but it'll seem brighter!