geelong

One of two alarms goes off at 4:48. I climb down from the loft bed, no lie-in, contemplating the day ahead. I must be out the door at 5:29 to catch the 5:43. The dog gets plonked out into the dark in his padded jacket to brave the elements for the next 14 hours; the cat curls up again on a chair.

A couple of wonky lights illuminate Platform One supplemented by the citrus glow of tradies’ lemon, lime and orange fluoro jackets, some fleeced, some nylon, some immaculate, some grimed with brick-dust, trench-dirt. A plumber’s apprentice scoots up the platform on his long-board, a weedy young bloke arrives on his BMX. 

 

On the train the elder tradies nod off, the young blokes game on their smartphones, the middle-aged look at the photos in the small paper. Tradie reading is a broadsheet-free zone. An hour from now the 6:42 will be a tradie-free zone, all suits and skirts.

At 6:42 I’m in an empty carriage heading through the dark to Newport. My MM colleague Sasha picks me up at seven. Our Adelaide colleague Cathy occupies the front passenger seat. We’re on our way to the Geelong Conference Centre. Cathy will present an MM focus module while Sasha and I observe, assist, notate. On Monday we fly this module solo as a duet in Bendigo.

The conference centre hides in a still hollow of Geelong’s huge Eastern Park. I’ve been here 21 ago as principal of Berengarra at its two-day staff conference. My lover Carol sneaks into my room late at night; we skinny-dip in the courtyard pool, fuck riotously. She’s gone at dawn.

After the show Cathy goes direct to the airport, Sasha and I to MM’s Collingwood office. Gridlocked for an hour on Elliot Avenue through Royal Park, I see her feisty for the first time. At the office we assemble the electronic wherewithal to do our Bendigo gig, load the hire car. Sasha drives home.

In the dark at the other end of a long day I trudge up Peel Street. Despair as two 86 trams roll by along Smith Street. A third is not far behind, but I run onto Parliament’s Platform 4 to see the arse-end of the 6:27 Lilydale. The wind gushes up the tunnel when the 6:41 arrives, but I’ve had the wind up for a while now. I’m dead hungry.

Finally I’m home at a quarter to eight. A long day ends with the discovery of dinner in a chilly bag at my front door. My good woman has left a tuna and rice curry for me during the day. She’s an angel.

Rock on.