Lunch at the Mernda pub

 

Today, Pearlie Shirley and I had a big day out at the end-of-the line northern suburb of Mernda.

Our destination was the Mernda pub. 

Mernda station is brand spanking new; it shouldn’t need an update for quite a number of years. Lifts take passengers up to platforms and bring them down to the concourse. Graffiti has not put in an appearance as yet and I noted the three young lads who arrived at the lift as we did, stepped back to let us enter first. Youth in the outer suburban north sometimes get bad press about their behaviour.  I have a couple of words for that perception: stereotyping and generalization.

The walk to Downtown Mernda takes about twenty minutes, past paddocks bleached by the summer sun with only a few trees scattered about in the paddocks for shade and absolutely no shade along the footpath.

The Mernda pub has a proper title: The Bridge Inn Hotel, has been in the locality in various shapes since the first one was licensed in 1841. The two Willis brothers built the original in 1841 on the site of a low ford across the river.

When I used to drive from Melbourne to visit my aunts in north eastern Victoria, I sometimes drove through Mernda. In those days, before urban sprawl crept out to that area there was the pub and nearby a small bluestone church and open paddocks all about.  How things change!

As we had arrived too early for lunch, we went to the supermarket to see if there might be a coffee shop hidden away there. No such luck. There was however a small caravan masquerading as a coffee kiosk, so we made do with that – there were no other options.

Midday came around and we crossed the road to the hotel; the Willis brothers would not recognise it these days. An elaborate children’s’ playground to amuse the littlies; a modern open area for the lounges. On asking where to eat we were directed to the Sportsman’s Bar. 

I cringed. There would be crowded tables and uncomfortable chairs and huge television screens blaring out sporting events.

I was wrong.

The Sportsman’s Bar was quiet, spacious, uncrowded and today they were serving excellent fish and chips with a drink: lemon, lime and bitters for me; all for the princely sum of $15. I was both gobsmacked and delighted.

We ate our meals in a leisurely manner, had another drink and headed back to the railway station and the return journey home.

                                                           Bridge Inn Hotel, Mernda

Know this…

 How do you recognise a true Melbournian?

You can recognise people who are true Melbournians when you watch people boarding a train; especially at one of the inner-city stations during peak hour.

You recognise the people who, even though they might have come to live in this country later in life, have quickly taken on the Melbourne public transport strategy.

The minute the train doors open enough for them to push through, they rush in without giving any consideration to alighting passengers. Pushing and shoving, without a thought for others they have gained their objective.

Their objective is getting a seat for that long trip to where ever they are going to, in the wilds of outer suburbia. They have quickly learned that self-interest comes first, last and always when it comes to getting a seat on the train.

There are other ways of recognising true Melbournians but this example was the first that came to my mind.

 

Melbourne suburban train

Hotter'n'hotter

The real summer weather – with higher temperatures – has arrived at last. Here in Marvellous Melbourne we are in for a week of temperatures of 30+C.

This is the summer climate we live in and there will people who will relish the idea of really hot weather.  I am just not one of them. People living along the coast and around the Bay will feel the benefit of cool breezes off the water. Those living to the north of the city will not benefit from any cooling breezes. No relief on those flat northern plains, now packed with shoulder to shoulder housing and very little greenery to relieve the heat.

Move out of the city and cross The Great Dividing Range and the true meaning of hotter weather kicks in. Northern Victorian temperatures mean business in the summer time, they’re not for the faint-hearted.  In the far north-west corner of the state, across the Murray River from New South Wales and an hour or so by car from the SA border, Mildura has punishing summer days.

As I write this, I recall years ago, when Marble Bar in Western Australia grabbed attention in a small space in a column in the east coast papers for a recorded a temperature of 50C. I was absolutely disbelieving and could not imagine anywhere in Australia could be as hot as Marble Bar. 

The accuracy of that report might be disputed today, what with the overload of information on the internet. 

However, Marble Bar does have official claim to 160 consecutive days of 37.8C (100F) and above, from 31 October 1923 to 7 April 1924, setting a world record.

And how hot was it in Marble Bar yesterday?  A fairly standard 45.3C…

It makes our weather here seem positively mild and balmy by comparison.  

Marble Bar township                                       courtesy unknown photographer

M Pavillion

Every October, since 2014, an M Pavilion is erected in the Queen Victoria Gardens to coincide with the Melbourne International Festival. 

Last October the fourth in the series appeared but I was unable to visit until the beginning of this month. Pearlie Shirley was on leave for a few days in early January and we met up for a chat and coffee at the M Pavilion.

I liked the idea of the greenery sweeping up the banks at the side, although after three months the vegetation was looking a little neglected and in need of watering and some attention. The interior seating layout limited me to sitting on the lower tier.  Swing seats were suspended from the upper structure and young girls were having the time of their lives, swinging wildly in every direction.

 On one side a caged area, surrounding the seating, provided a great play area for two toddlers who discovered that banging anything against the cage wire resulted in a very satisfying, very loud noise.

The usual coffee and snacks were available and we sat for a while, drinking our tea and coffee and looking about, discussing the pavilion and the people in it. Eventually the two toddlers won the day with their repetitive banging and we moved on to a quieter place.

  

Anyone interested in learning more about the M Pavilion and its benefactor can go this website and learn more.

Thank you Naomi Milgrom, for one more pavilion in the series.

I love them.

International flavour

An international flavour was an added extra at our lunch table today.

The flavour did not arrive on our plates as part of the food order; it was seated at the table. Lady Gallant of Gallant Drive, Mississauga, Ont. is visiting our fair city and what better place to take an international visitor than to dine at the seat of government in this state – Parliament House.

And to the Stranger’s Corridor dining room.

The Strangers Corridor was opened in 1892, as a place where members of parliament could dine with visitors while doing deals and attending to the wants of their more important and influential constituents. As the name suggests the dining room is set in a corridor, albeit a very wide one, with wood panelling, carpet and side alcoves for more private occasions.  

Sounds all very grand doesn’t it?

Lady Gallant didn’t think it was very grand at all. Looking around, she remarked on the scarcity of diners, assuming it was a place neither well patronised nor well advertised. It is not a restaurant vying for a place at the top of the best restaurants in the world and usually attracts members and their invited guests in non-parliamentary sitting days, plus other people in the know.

I chose this venue for one reason in particular; the Stranger’s Corridor dining room is quiet. The floor is carpeted, there are no glass walls and no concrete floor.  Plus it has the aforementioned alcoves; we settled into one of those.  Ideal for three ladies and their accoutrements.

The Old Girl, who arrived from her country seat earlier in the morning, found her way upstairs and we eased ourselves into the comfort of the alcove seats. Seafood linguine was the choice for everyone, and the conversation flowed in a constant stream as you might expect at a table where grandmothers gather and the first topic of conversation is grandchildren. Once the grandchildren were dealt with and it took some time, talk moved onto other happenings, here in Melbourne, in regional Victoria and across the Pacific in Canada.

All this chatter left us without time for coffee.  The Old Girl had a country train to catch at 2.30 so we shouldered out way onto a crowded tram and arriving at Southern Cross station, we walked the long walk to the country train platform and waved The Old Girl goodbye.

These biennial lunches are quite special for us, separated as we are by the Pacific Ocean and half the land mass of Canada.

Alcove for three - Strangers Corridor dining room.

Zinnias

 One of my favorite flowers, though I have had very little success in growing them.

I found these blooms along the way to my Christmas Day lunch and have saved them for the special occasion of appearing in the often difficult Z slot in my blog posting.

Oh happy day, when I found them.

Their bright red cheery countenances made me smile as I walked along the top end, once dubbed the Paris end, of Collins Street. 

I also considered their colour fits well with the traditional Christmas colours; red and green.  

Yelling and Shrieking

Outside in the Equiset garden at the rear of the Gallery, the heat struck me immediately and I when I spotted an empty chair under cover my pace quickened to claim this seat in the shade,  before some-one else spotted it. Once seated, I settled back with a cold drink and watched the kids having the time of their lives.  Much yelling and shrieking filled the air and not one of them seemed to notice the heat in the slightest.

The big attraction was the carwash. Not a proper carwash, with cars, water running over concrete and large piles of soapsuds, but a play area, modelled on a real carwash.  Five bays with a base of hot pink astro-turf and wide white markings invited kids to run and jump and generally have a lot of fun. Each bay, divided by cricket netting and above the play area, hang loops of pink plastic. In the next-door bay are wide straps, suspended from above, hanging down to a height where they can be grabbed, twisted or gathered together.

The fun starts here.

One girl, a little older than most of the children and sturdily built, set herself the difficult task of hauling herself as far up the strap as she can manage. The first couple of attempts failed but undeterred  she eventually pulled herself almost half way up the wide plastic strap.  Her height and sturdy build give her an advantage but with height and sturdiness comes weight, and this was her undoing. She slides down the strap, lets it go and stands grimacing, rubbing her hands together and looking very unhappy.  Wide, hard plastic strips are very unforgiving, hard to manage and cut into hands which are using them as a climbing aid.  The sturdy girl has learned this lesson the hard way. She disappeared into the crowd, still rubbing the palms of her hands to ease the pain.

And finishes here.

Among the tiny ones, the big draw was the bay which dispersed a thin mist of water, wonderfully cooling on a hot day.  Under the watchful eye of parents, they ran through the mist, squealing with delight.  No plastic burns for this lot, they clambered up the speed bumps, lost their balance and rolled down, still squealing. Damp clothes didn't lessen their enthusiasm and in such  heat their clothes would dry out in less time than it takes to tell.

My drink bottle is empty. I tossed it in the recycle bin, walked across the moat bridge, leaving the garden and the sound of happy kids having fun fading to silence, as the door to the gallery closed behind me.

Snooping around in Tigerland

Throwing aside any idea of getting on with de-cluttering the Trash Palace, I take the tram to Richmond and get off at Richmond Station.

On the north side of the railway line, in what was once a garment factory area, many buildings have been converted into upmarket apartments. Not every building has become residential and through the week, especially on a mild, sunny day, workers congregate in a small triangular park between the railway line and the buildings to enjoy some sun in their lunch break.

I walk past and saunter through an area where the original garment factories have been turned into apartments.  This is a part of Melbourne which was settled quite early in the history of the city and was once known as Struggletown.  If there is any struggle today, it might be to find the rent each week for the apartments or to pay off the mortgage on same.

Apartments in one of the old garment factories.

Looking across a high brick fence to the left in this photo I spy what looks like a trio of  enormous shark fins. How scary!

This needs further investigation a few minutes of walking around between buildings and this is what I find.

No sharks at all.  Just three unusual brick sculptures set in a bed of gravel at the back of a group of business suites in another of the old, original buildings. 

After this exploration I move off in search of my original target.  Tigers.  And the reason for the word Tigerland in the post title.

This suburb is home to the Richmond Football Club and they are the Tigers, make no mistake about it.

Footballers are found in various places around town and this one decorates a public convenience in Bridge Road.

As you can see by the look of determination on this chap's face, Richmond players are not men to be trifled with even though it is a long time since they have seen a premiership flag. 

On the north side of the rail line near the station I found this tiger.

When I was working I used the Richmond train line often and for many years I  looked at this fellow who sits on a house wall to the south of the rail line.  Today I walked through the underpass and bagged him, even though he tried to hide in the shadow of a parking sign.

Two tigers in one day.  Good hunting.

International visitors should not be confronted by homelessness.

There has been a surge of disapproval registered in the media recently against the homeless who have set up ‘camp’ outside Flinders Street Station.

A collection of homeless people has gathered in Flinders Street and other nearby streets over some weeks now.  Many people find them a confronting prospect – this rag tag bunch of people, talking loudly to each other, and possibly to you when you pass by, and who knows what they might say.

It’s apparently okay if they set up camp under bridges or in some other part of the city where they are not so obvious, but not outside one of the two main city stations.  People do not need the uncomfortable reminder that not everyone lives the lovely, easy lives most of us are privileged enough to live.

I walked past recently and one woman had set up a ‘kitchen cupboard’ on the footpath by her sleeping bag and other possessions.  Was I impressed?  I was. The few items she had were set out in a neat arrangement that made my untidy kitchen look like some sort of rubbish dump.

Now that Tennis Time is approaching the last thing we (the affronted we) want is for the image of the Most Liveable City in the World (I ask you?) to be tarnished by a pack of homeless people, right there in the city proper, for the entire world to see. 

Steps will be taken.

Homeless person's space outside one of the City Loop stations.