BL> They know enough to pick the best side of Newtown; the little
 BL> enclave between King Street and Wilson Street.

 BG> True, it's a lovely little area now, and even has a couple of
 BG> nice little parks, which is more than I can say for my own
 BG> suburb. So much for modern urban planning. It sucks. 

  What stuns me with new areas, is the way they just clear an block,
bung in a few trees, and leave it to become a desert. Australian soil
is bloody awful! A proper park need a foot of topsoil just to get
going... or 50 years. You end up with houses and neat gardens, and the
local park a brown disaster area!

 BL> Newtown always had that, and it was even better when the trams
 BL> were still running.

 BG> Christ, they stopped around 40 years ago! I can barely remember
 BG> them.

  It was 1960. Newtown was a genuine hub in those days. Buses are not
worth a shit compared to trams. I see empty buses everywhere; trams
were always crowded. They were easy to use and pleasant, and quicker
too.

 BG> They're not all poofters though. The vast majority would be
 BG> trendy, arty types, much the same as most other inner suburbs
 BG> these days. 

  Not all, obviously, but Newtown has as many poofers per square mile
as Oxford Street, and it's increasing. It always was a tolerant place.
The genuine arty type goes for low rent, but poofters are at the top
of disposable income (all men, no kids), and they drive prices up.
Balmain is arty/professional, Glebe is arty, and Newtown is poofter.

 BG> Look at places like Glebe and Woolloomooloo, for example. You
 BG> wouldn't have lived there for quids only a couple of decades
 BG> ago. Balmain too. :) 

  My old stamping grounds... not Woolloomoolloo. I can't even spell
it.

 BL> There's a cunt who throws half-empty cartons of yoghurt on the
 BL> car.

 BG> Could be worse. Might be brake fluid or acetone instead.

  Yair. I had house paint dumped on the old 180B. Fortunately it came
off with turps without taking the lacquer underneath. I don't think
it's personal; they're just cunts.

  I have a lovely true-hoon story....

  My cousin's son and his mate were coming home pissed, walking along
Chapel Road in the gutter at Baulkham Hills where some genius has
installed a string of chicanes to slow traffic.

  The hoon came along in his car and put it sideways through the
chicane as is the wont of hoons, to give Mark and his mate a fright,
but being a hoon he lost it and actually hit Mark's mate at 80K. He
went up the air like a stunt man, bounced over the top of the car and
came down crump, dead.

  The hoon stopped, reversed a bit, and then took off. leaving Mark
with a presumably dead mate at 2 in the morning, knocking on doors no
one opened. The next car stopped, called an Ambulance on the mobile
and the cops, and they took the mate to hospital, still alive with
what they were sure was a broken back - a paraplaegic.

  He was rather sick, trying to vomit a bottle of Jack Daniels and
fiftry middies of VB (or whatever) when the intern told him: "We're
waiting for the X-Ray but I'm pretty sure your back is broken. Be
sick, but if you move a millimetre you'll be a paraplaegic."

  With a remarkable display of mind over matter, the mate held five
gallons of alcohol inside for 4 hours.

  It turns out he was so pissed all he had was cuts and scratches. He
went up in the air at 80K as loose as a goose, and came down as happy
as Larry and skidded a bit. Totally unhurt! They held him till morning
painted him in Betadyne and turned him loose, and I saw him a week 
later going out to get pissed again. Ah, youth!

  But the best part is the heartless hit-and-run hoon.

  At the accident scene was the glass where the mate's boot hit the
side window, and attached to the glass was the rego sticker of the
hoon's father's car! The cops gave him the full 24-hours to report the
accident, and then arrested him at six am (as is the wont of bloody
cops). The hoon had told his father that someone broke in.

  Who said there was no god? And he's a hard bastard with a twisted
sense of humour.

 BL> It's stopped since Jess sits outside watching. I'm training her
 BL> as a watchdog.

 BG> I'd give up, Bob. You tried training her as a bird dog, and she
 BG> stole the Lebbo next door's birds, so god knows what will
 BG> happen if you keep up the watchdog training. Be coming home
 BG> with a few dozen Rolexes and Cartiers, presumably (save one for
 BG> me, BTW). :). 

  (chuckle). I'll stop the cat-dog training at once, in case she
starts being home cats.

Regards,
Bob
 



 
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