“Won’t dish the dirt with the rest of those broads – that’s why the lady is a tramp!”
- Frank Sinatra
Sydney. Even the name of this iconic city brings thoughts of the things I dislike about Australia. “Seednee”. The word conspires against all my attempts to not sound like some suburban bogan standing over a bbq, absentmindedly swiping at flies while sipping on a Toohey’s long neck.
Flying over Sydney, nothing stirs in me. The site of bridge, opera house, sharp buildings and snaking, motionless traffic inspires no emotion to my heart.
The feeling is only compounded by the piece of gaffer tape I can see through my small porthole window, taped over a crack on the wing of Australia’s most famous flying kangaroo.
Back in Melbourne, I breathe a sigh of relief.
(Apologies to my Sydney friends, including you, writer from the big pointy building. Please don’t take this post personally. I just happen to think that Melbourne is better than Sydney.)
One Comment
Ha. Far from it. Each time I’m in Melbourne I wonder why I don’t live there. (But I’ve wondered the same about Paris, Barcelona and London).
I do like Sinny, but I like Melbourne a lot too. Will be there in January, probably hatching plans of relocation that will never come to fruition.