My life is ground down and worn down and solid as the sandstone tunnels that the tram passes through. For years, the tunnels were almost forgotten. For years, nothing travelled along the rails and then someone had inspiration enough to put through a light rail and call it a tram.
There is a stop down the end of the street where I’m staying. The trams come every 15 minutes or so, make their way around the waterfront and through the old tunnels into Chinatown and Paddy’s Markets.
As for the thoughts I was having about my own life, I am pocked and gouged and streaked like the sandstone but I think I also have the warmth and solidity and beauty of those tunnels and staircases. Maybe I am just as difficult form some people to walk on as well. A little hard perhaps. The thing is, the rock is not the only texture. I have carpets and mats and wall hangings as well. I have soft cushions in my personality where people can rest awhile.
3 days in the City and my own inability to leave the house kicks in. I don’t have a label on and it no longer matters. I shall get out a little, maybe even later today. In earlier years, it was a sorrowing thing for me. These days, it simply is. I know that I am not always able to mix in the world as most people do. No matter. The tram will pass this way, some time soon.
ABOVE : GEORGE READY SENIOR IN THE 1880s. MY GREAT GRANDFATHER IN HIS SYDNEY TRAMWAYS UNIFORM.
ABOVE 2: THE BELLS. POPPA BELL ( 2nd FROM LEFT) BECAME A TRAM CONDUCTOR AND SIGNALS CONTROLLER.
ABOVE RIGHT. THE ANNANDALE TRAM STOP WITH HOMELESS PERSON’S TENT IN BACKGROUND.
IZZY FOREAL TRAVELLING INTO THE CITY.
Seems to me the standard has risen dramatically. some top shots around now.