The rain splattered against the skylight in my bathroom so I knew it was raining.
Raining!
Deep happiness.
I walk into my bedroom to get changed and I can hear this weird rushing sound.
I check to see if the overhead fan is on… or maybe the reverse cycle air-conditioning.
No.
What is that weird sound?
It’s coming from outside.
I check through the blind.
Oh.
It’s the rain.
The pouring rain.
I’d forgotten what pouring rain sounded like.
Later…
The train was packed at a quarter to eight.
Standing room only.
And when we got to Perth Station the train disgorged its damp and steaming passengers into a mass of humanity.
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Does this happen anywhere else in the world?
I have only seen it in Perth.
In London, in Washington DC, in New York, in Paris – much larger populations – the commuters flow like a river, a babbling brook.
But in Perth no – every morning – a huge swell of people trying to get on the escalator.
And here’s why.
No-one stands to the left.
There is no fast moving lane to the right.
Crazy town.
It’s the same on the roads, but don’t get me started.
I would love it if someone could stand there – some official in a high viz vest and just educate my fellow commuters.
Stand to left, walk to the right.
It’s a simple message.
And couldn’t we have some posters in the trains or something?
btw... short skirt + Vespa = a lot of leg = judiciously cropped photo
That’s me on the back of a Vespa about to scoot through the streets of Perth with TFB.
You don’t know TFB?
Let me just say that the T stands for The and the F stands for Fabulous.
’nuff said.
We are co-training a course and after today’s sessions we decamped with participants of said sessions for a quiet Sav Blanc (the only kind to have on a Wednesday evening) to the Grosvenor on Hay St.
A surprisingly full bar on a Wednesday night we discovered!
Anyhoo, said Sav Blancs consumed, TFB offered me a lift to the station on the back of her little green Vespa – Gecko.
How could I refuse?
An invitation is issued and turns out... I'm just a girl who can't say no... to a Vespa.
The city is different on the back of a scooter.
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Less inside of manky, not cleaned often enough, car… and more… cement dust, exhaust fumes, still night air.
It looks different.
You notice the inside of restaurants, the people on the pavement, the hotels and the parks.
TFB drives me down to City West train station.
I swing my leg over the seat, flashing the control tops of my 50 denier tights, and slide off the helmet.
“You’re a pretty good pillion”, says TFB.
Yeah.
I still got it.
The legacy of a mis-spent youth… well… a boyfriend with a motorbike anyway.
I walk up to the platform feeling good and resolve to buy an apartment in the city… and a lime green Vespa.
