My Street

Some bloggers who I don’t know at all, and whose blogs I found through I can't remember what meandering path of links, have been showing each other pictures of the streets where they live. I thought I’d take the opportunity to show you mine too.


Eyre Street is not an obviously beautiful street. Not like the last place where we lived, which was just off Alexandra Avenue on the bank of the Yarra. But Eyre Street has a charmingly unassuming air of, oh, say, 15 to 20 years ago. I know that I've mentioned before how Townsville is remarkably like how I remember Brisbane from the days of my childhood, and Eyre Street captures that vibe perfectly. It's all to do with the daggyness, the buffalo grass, the general lack of landscaping or renovations of any kind. Eyre Street is not pretending to be in Tuscany or in London or East Berlin or the future. It's not even pretending to be in the past, despite the impression that it creates. Children happily ride their bikes up and down it. A game of cricket would not be unheard of. Though there have been some new apartment blocks put up, and some fairly recently at that, Eyre Street has not lost itself to pretension, and remains as wide, dry and cracked as the desert salt lake from which it takes its name.


The streets of South Yarra were charming, yes, but with a most self-conscious bow in the direction of England. Eyre Street, on the other hand, is nothing but Townsville.