Back  in the 19th century, before carbon footprints and climate change and “going green” had entered the lexicon, some enlightened beings living in large cities saw that their metropolises were polluted, grimy, dank places in need of fresh air. They campaigned for the preservation, and in many cases, the creation, of green spaces within the city that would act as literal and metaphorical lungs within the industrialised environment. As a result, we have such fabulous places in the world as New York’s Central Park, Sydney’s Hyde Park, and up the road from Hyde Park, Victoria Park. Man made oases in the middle of concrete and tar  landscapes with pretty water features, trees, grass, and wild life.

I’m fortunate to work just a 5 minute stroll from Victoria Park, and on Friday afternoon I found myself, along with two colleagues, sitting by the water’s edge goose gazing. Yes, this entire blog post is not really about lush green spaces, it’s about a goose. A lovely white goose that captivated my attention throughout my lunch break with his glorious goose-ness. When we arrived at the park, the goose was swimming in the water. Just gliding along, not worrying about the other birds, seagulls and ibis’s and ducks, enjoying the cool of the water. Soon he waddled up onto the bank and proceeded to dine on all the bugs in the grass. He would rip and tear at the grass, gobble the bugs and leaves down, and rip and tear some more. After a hearty lunch, he plonked himself down in the sun, craned his neck so that his head could rest on his own back, and promptly fell asleep. He was a gorgeous bird, and it was all I could do to stop myself from marching down the hill and giving him a hug.

So thank you enlightened beings of the mid-19th century. Your efforts are much appreciated by tired office workers in need of a little inspiration on their Friday afternoon lunch breaks in the middle of a busy city. 

In honour of International Women's Day, which passed by very quietly yesterday (at least in my part of the world), I would like to say thank you to all the amazing, beautiful, talented, inspiring, courageous, forward-thinking, dedicated, loving, strong, independent, generous, spirited women in my life. There are many, but here's a short list (in order of my stream of
consciousness)... 

Mum, Abuela, Meg, Vicky, every single tita and aunty, Anita, Phoebe, Rachel, Flea, Flick, Mrs  Gibbons, Mrs Lukey, Mrs Martinotes, Miss Lorshy, Mrs Stevenson, Mrs Cullen, Mrs McAndrew, Lisa, Ms Paris, Miss Boyle, Ms Davis, Mrs Phelan, Mrs Hand, Mrs Stewart, Mrs Lowe, Miss Simone, Dana-Lee, Kirstin, Catilin, Bridget, Ella,  Elizabeth, Rae, Hannah, Sophie, Trish, Amy, Gina, Laura, Ilse, Megan, Carmel, Kristin, Orange, Joce, Rochelle,  Bernadette Peters, Julie Andrews, Doris Day, Barbara Streisand, Debbie Reynolds, Marni Nixon, Judy Garland, Idina Menzel, Caroline O'Connor, Kristin Chenoweth, Drew  Barrymore, Oprah, Doreen Virtue, Mary Poppins, Maria, Shirley MacLaine,  Rachel Griffiths, Ariel, Judy from Meditation, all the women in meditation, Ali Smith, Virginia Woolf, Gertrude Stein, Louisa May Alcott, Elizabeth Gilbert, Barbara Kingsolver, Alanis Morriset, and Tori  Amos.

To all the women whose  names I have inadvertantly omitted, you're in there too. 

Thank you. 

One of the history courses I took at university, Researching and Writing History, required us to research the history of a building. Being obsessed with theatre, I chose the university's black box theatre, Studio One. 

The history was subsequently included in a submission to help save the theatre from demolition, and was included in Origins, the newsletter of the UNSW Archives.