Goat tree

More things I love about Melbourne:

I can be grumpily walking down the road to catch a train yet find myself entranced by a tree that has been 'decorated' by an unknown someone who knows precisely how to make my day.

Speaking of muses ...

... my last post reminded me to spend a little time committing the actions of a mysterious benefactor to (electronic) paper.

But first a little background: My 'regular' readers will know that I am the proud owner of one slightly neglected scooter (it has been downgraded from 'love of my life' to 'weekend fling' since I resumed public transport commuting unfortunately ... it's not you, it's me). When i've finished using it for the day I park the aforementioned scoot on the sidewalk next to my house, bid it goodnight, remind it not to get nicked and then go indoors.

For the last nine months (on and off) however, I have been dancing a curious dance with a complete stranger, in which my unwitting scoot has played a rather pivotal role. Early this year I went out to my scoot in the morning, and saw a 5c coin on the seat. Assuming some community-minded individual had picked it up off the ground and left it there for whoever dropped it, I put it on the ground and carried on my way. The next day it was there on the seat again and I, getting a tad peeved that the community-minded individual clearly thought it was my 5c, put it on the ground again.

The next day, the coin was there again. And it was only then that I looked closer and realised that it was a 10c coin, not the 5c originally left. Being, at the time, on the subsistence wages of a university lecturer, I thought, 'right, finders keepers', popped it in my pocket and forgot about it ... until the next morning when a 5c coin was again sitting on the seat of my scoot.

This routine of 5c and 10c coins turning up on the seat of my scoot continued for a week or so, until I mentioned it to my partner, who pointed out that it wasn't particularly normal for scooters to spontaneously generate Australian currency and offered forth some rather interesting conspiracy theories. Amongst other amusing options, these included the possibility that someone was planning on stealing my bike and was paying it off 5c and 10c at a time.



Whatever the rationale, the money kept coming, and I kept putting it in my pocket. After a few weeks it occurred to me that whoever was doing it might have developed something of a compulsion and might need a hand to break the habit (I could have let them continue indefinitely but there are faster ways for me to get rich quick). I didn't quite know what I would say in a note (humiliating or embarrassing whoever it was was the last thing I wanted to do), so I simply started putting the coins into a glass jar that I left next to my fence. A few would accumulate there over a few days and then kids/misc opportunists would clean it out. I'm not sure exactly what effect this had but after a few weeks more the coins stopped, leaving me a touch sad but with a sense of things being back in their proper place.

I thought that was the end of it but a few weeks later it started again, 5 and 10 cents at a time. It petered out after a week but it still happens every now and then.

After some months of this happening, it's not something I resent in the slightest, rather I love the thought that there is someone mysterious, mad, magical or just interesting who thinks my scooter (or me) is worthy of such affection. My very own scooter fairy. Inspiration and warm fuzzy feelings come from the strangest places ... a cheap scooter parked on sidestreet in Brunswick is one of mine.

A muse appears on the 12.01 Upfield line.

So it's been a fair while since I've written ~ during which time my Masters thesis has been finally finished, printed, bound and lovingly placed on a shelf never to be opened again.

I have also got thoroughly jack of being a university lecturer, so (never one to wallow and whinge more than strictly necessary or pleasurable) I have got a new job that will give me magnificent karma and very little pay. It starts in 6 weeks' time and is part of the reason that I am writing again, as it will involve me becoming 'exclusive' with my first love; public transport.

Yep, me and the Upfield line and the St Kilda Road tram will be becoming intimate over the next while ~ and in my own perverse nerdy way I am looking forward to it.

It's funny how things go full circle really ~ this blog was started way back in the day (May 2004 for anyone who is impressed by such things) as a way to record my observations of the myriad weird and wonderful people that I saw on my daily commute. Somewhere along the way I got a scooter which drastically altered the purpose of the blog, and Blogger got all fancy with photos and video capabilities etc. While multimedia fanciness is a lurvely thing, one of its effects has been to make me a little lazy in the writing department; relying on visual gags and bitchy comments rather than rich description and simple appreciation of difference in all its glory.

So, it seems strangely fitting that, as I am about to re-enter another public transport phase, the most magnificent muse should appear before me on the 12.01 Upfield line on the way into work today.

She got on a stop after I did, which allowed me to fully appreciate her exquisite uniqueness as she walked purposefully in my direction. One might say that her most distinctive feature was an oversize orange felt hat that Robin Hood might wear if he was observing 'take the piss out of your usual headgear day'. But 'distinctive' is a relative term when you consider that this was offset by a muted strawberry bag, and bright yellow leggings overlaid on vivid black and white striped tights. Most people would look seriously silly in this kind of ensemble but she looked fantastic and carried if off beautifully ~ the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous and of some sort of Asian descent (Thai or Burmese at a very uneducated stab) no doubt helped.

Anyhoo ~ she walked purposefully past me and straight out the door of the carriage. I assumed she was heading into the next one but she stopped and stood on the little platform between the carriages as the train rolled along. She was staring out at the world going by and I thought for one horrible moment that she was thinking about jumping off ~ but to my absolute relief and immense pleasure she started singing.

I was one of the few people facing in her direction so I found myself staring, entranced, at this young woman (mid-20s perhaps) standing between two train carriages, singing to herself and the world while looking completely, indisputably happy.

It occured to me while watching her that many people surveying the scene would assume she was in some way imbalanced ~ which tempered my smile just a tad because of the inference that it takes a mental illness to be prepared to express yourself with such simple beauty; honestly and without fear of judgement. If this is truly the case then my worries for the world are even more so after reflecting on this.

The cynic in me checked for the ubiquitous white earphones that seem to come with any commuter under 40 these days but there was nothing, she was just singing to herself and appreciating the view from the slightly gritty perspective of a surburban commuter train. Watching her sing in silence (I couldn't hear anything) was one of those rare experiences that makes you feel all uncool and mushy ~ one of those infectious joy kind of deals.


One of the reasons that I am leaving my current job as a lecturer is that I am finding myself becoming just a touch cynical about it ~ and that's not the kind of person I want to be ~ I want to be the kind of person that is entranced by uninhibited people singing on the train and who finds beauty in the everyday. Unbearably cliched and mushy I know but hey, I guess someone's gotta do it.

Over n' out :-)