For today’s strategic planning session, we booked the executive boardroom at Rydges North Sydney. This was our view. Remember, this is the middle of winter in Sydney. Hello, London. 😉
Quiet after the Storm
The worst storm in 40 years, someone said. An elderly couple dead after their car was washed off a bridge. A ship run aground.
Tattered umbrellas litter the streets like so many dead jellyfish. Like this one on Victoria Street, Potts Point last night, blood-red under the sodium lamps.
Stay at home, it may last a while, they’re telling us. Severe weather warning… flash flooding… hazardous winds… damaging surf… gale warning for coastal waters and closed waters. Yeah, I get the picture.
Right now there’s no real wind, though. There’s just the gentle sound of steady rain. And that always provides such a quiet, contemplative mood — even if it is only 13C outside. It’s perfect for cups of tea, re-stacking papers, reading… writing… apparently even relaxing is allowed on a long weekend.
Last night we all knew it was a bad storm, but we still went out. That’s amazing. Our trust in electric trains, the internal combustion engine and the electricity grid is such that mere Primal Nature in All Her Fury is no match.
Our salmon was perfectly grilled, the chilli sauce on our lamb was phenomenal. The wines, from both McLaren Vale and Victoria, were well-blended, subtle. Later, the performer was more than adequately entertaining. The front bar was rowdy but welcoming at the same time. There were smiles, laughter. And then a cheerful Pakistani lad drove me home in some sort of heated pod with chairs for a little over $20.
Outside, the stormed raged on. We were all but oblivious as our urban lives continued unabated.
Ah yes! I love being Homo sapiens! Mammals rock.
The Yellow Line
I took this photograph at Stanmore railway station the other day. It was warmer then.
It’s the little details which matter…
This cheap but moderately decorative light fitting in an inner-city toilet symbolises the difference between a well-run business and a bad one.
This toilet is in a restaurant — a Thai restaurant on George Street, Sydney, called Crocodile Senior. No website, but great food, fast and efficient service and Thai pop music DVDs on screen. Nicely fitted out too.
Many restaurant toilets seem to come from a forgotten land. Bare bulbs hang from dust-covered fittings. Soiled paper towels overflow the rarely-emptied bin — when towels haven’t run out, that is. There’s a brown stain under every tap — and yes, that is urine you can smell. As you dry your hands on the back of your pants, you wonder where else they’re skimping on the cleanliness.
Did that kitchenhand actually wash his hands after he took a slash?
Green salad, anyone?
You finish your meal. It tasted OK, and next morning you’re moderately certain that your upset stomach is about the eight glasses of red you downed, not the chicken. But Doubt niggles at the back of your mind, and that restaurant drops silently off your list.
Crocodile Senior’s toilet, on the other hand, is fresh and clean. The flowers are artificial, but their colours are bright and there’s no layer of dust. This cheap light fitting creates a little bit of sparkle that helps convey the message: this is a nice place to be.
So many businesses seem to be like the Toilets from a Forgotten Land.
Some businesses piss away three days deciding the colour of the stationery, and $200k fitting out the spectacularly fashionable foyer. The salesman — sorry, “Business Development Manager” — has a PowerPoint presentation with 3D animation and sound effects. But the back office staff struggle because the computers are riddled with spyware and no-one’s paying attention. The driver reckons the truck really should be serviced, but nothing gets done and of course it breaks down the very day of The Important Delivery.
It’s like the slum-lord’s apartment, where wallpaper literally papers over the structural cracks. It’s the aged whore, well past her use-by date, whose sedimentary layers of pancake make-up distract you from the fissures and pustules beneath.
Sooner or later, there’s going to be leakage. And it won’t be pretty.
Fogbound Sydney
This morning Sydney was fog-bound, and The Other Andrew captured a great moment on pixels. By the time I got to the city, while it was still only about 16C, the sun had burnt off most of the cloud. This is all that remained.
Market Row for my birthday!
I was very pleased to receive a framed print of this image from ’Pong for my birthday yesterday. There was also a lengthy dinner at Fifi’s Lebanese restaurant and then The Duke Hotel — and that’s why there’s very little to say today.