Homeless

Backhousia myrtifolia, at LonePine sanctuary


Gums at UQ Ferry Wharf, on a foggy morning


UQ Ferry Wharf


Ferry Map

Weekends are purgatory. I am without a home.
The river is always beautiful but it is not enough.

Cup day

Against the light. Lorikeet feeding in a flame tree.


Banyan near the Goodwill Bridge

Cup day and maths department party. Before the party I went to some good exhibitions at the QUT art gallery: William Robinson and some lithographs with lovely colour and feeling, and an exhibition called "Replant" where several artists were gathered together on the Daly River to draw, etch, paint, photograph plants.
Some lovely things of Fiona Hall, in particular, Green Ant Nest and Water lilies by Marita Sambono.

(I included the photo of the Banyan, because its structure reminded me of Gaudi and the Sagrada Familia.)

More chirpy

Pandanus. Gorge Walk, North Stradbroke Island.


Casuarinas. Gorge Walk, North Stradbroke Island.


Pathway. Gorge Walk, North Stradbroke Island.


Pathway. Gorge Walk, North Stradbroke Island.

On Sunday, I took myself off to Cleveland to get to Stradbroke Island. The train journey was long & tedious (nearly an hour, with the train stopping all stations), and by the time I found myself at the busstop, I was starting to wonder why I had come. But there was a sign at the busstop which gave a telephone number and advertised a free bus service to the Stradbroke flyer.

Well, the next departure for Stradbroke Island was in roughly an hour, but the bus came by and picked me up and it was a pleasant wait at the down-at-heel ferry service. It had already that island air where people busy themselves with island things and tourists are necessary nuisances. No information needs to be given: the locals know and the tourists will find out as the island time and processes take them in hand. (I'll go again, but probably not by train.)

Blue

Jacarandas

These are georgeous but I am pretty blue.

Fremantle Prison

Cell painting by an Aboriginal prisoner


Prison Yard surveillance post for warder (prison officer)

I thought it was just going to be one of those tours of nineteenth century horror. But this prison was used up until 1991 as a maximum security prison. At this time there were two prisoners to a cell sharing a tiny bucket to defecate and pee in, which was theoretically emptied once a day. The prison was finally closed because of these conditions. The story ended up being one of 20th century horror.

The last prisoner to be lashed by the cat of nine-tails was in 1943, received 25 lashes as part of his sentence. He had the first 17 before the doctor intervened and the salt was rubbed into his back and being taken to the infirmary. He received the remaining 8 three weeks later. (The possibility of being sentenced to be flogged remained on the books till 1993)

But the worst was the boredom of one's day, out in the yard with temperatures over 50 degrees celsius in the summer. It's a wonder that there was only the one riot (on January 4, 1988). A yard where rape, bashings and murder were commonplace. A terrible terrible place.

Water: Brisbane to Perth

Somewhere over the south west of WA


Over Central Australia


Watercourses in the desert


Mountains and water tracks in Central Australia


Somewhere in Queensland

Flying from Brisbane to Perth, yesterday, I looked out the window the whole way. And everywhere there were signs of water, or where it had been.

These are just some of the photos I took: All poor quality, but of a breathtaking landscape.

St John's Cathedral, Brisbane

The front of St John's (taken late in the afternoon and a very poor photo)


West wall (I think)


Coburn in a side chapel


John Olsen in the same side chapel (west side)


One of the lovely and various cushions on the pews at the front: there must have been hundreds


The little side-chapel for mothers

At the worst of being unable to walk, I took a taxi to St John's which I had noticed in the twilight, and loved its fairytale exterior, and had determined to get a better look at. So I took myself there on a Saturday, to find myself in the midst of an Indian-Anglican wedding. They let me in and after the ceremony I wandered around and took a few photos.

The exterior stonework is that lovely pink / blue rock that Brisbane seems to specialise in when it comes to cut stone, and the front seems to have towers straight out of Perrault's fairy tales.

The interior has all the variety of a well-loved church, well-endowed and full of extraneous beauties: a little chapel for mothers, looking very Greek-influenced, a side chapel with a Coburn wall hanging and what looked like it might have been a variation by John Olsen on his 'Five Bells'. There was a flag in that chapel too, so I wondered if the chapel might have had some military significance.

The interior of the side aisles(almost brick work) was golden, and not particularly impressive. But what was lovely was the sense of accretion over time. (Even if it does truly anger me that the state, supposedly secular, government is contributing millions to some new towers.)