Cemeteries

Those who know of my predilection for cemetery picnics are either fellow enthusiasts or mystified nay-sayers - very rarely does the suggestion of feasting amongst the tombstones provoke apathy. But really, what could be nicer? A calm idyll in the centre of the city, dotted with sun-dappled groves of evergreens and lawn, and all around you the solemn yet peaceful air of eternal rest (or eterno riposo). If I were one of the formerly mobile, I'd be thrilled to have a bit of lively company six feet over. I've never felt disrespectful or sacrilegious in my appreciation of the plots and their permanent tenants - in fact I'm pleased to integrate them back into the community, albeit briefly. A man occasionally practices trumpet in one of its rotundas; many more use its main road as a pleasant shortcut to the university. The cemetery is dead; long live the cemetery.

Supermarkets

Approximately 2 weeks' worth of anticipation was rewarded with a recent visit to the Piedemonte's Supermarket cafe. With its soothing wood-panelled interiors, erratic chorus of register beeps, and a spectacular vista over the catwalk aisles below, it was easy to imagine that this mezzanine was indeed what heaven really looked like. The combination of hysteria and free rum-balls made for lively conversation, interrupted frequently by bouts of anecdotes and sympathy. A strict no-photography rule was outlined by a low-key but insistent store manager, but this merely fuelled the illicit enjoyment of our everyday surrounds. Service was excellent, atmosphere defiantly of another era, and all in all, the 30-odd minutes we spent were 30 odd minutes.

Trees

Not since a bothersome plague of anxiety attacks in my early 20s have I had the feeling that trees are watching me. A few days ago, over dinner preparations at my father's house, I looked up at the autumnal branches all stretched and still, and it struck me suddenly that trees were alive: not walking, but very much breathing, growing, and feeling. I had to interrupt the flow of talk as a blunt sensation of eeriness folded itself into my brain. I remembered how creepy I used to think nature was, with its non-mammal ways of enlarging slowly in one fixed spot, and the way that some trees looked like frozen explosions, while others hung limp, and yet others were stark, strong shields. A silent band of aliens watching me. I've since reacquainted myself with them, but every now and then there is this residual twinge of disturbing uncertainty. I suppose I'm a bit addicted to anthropomorphism, but I'm including the picture above as the tree in question really did look out of breath, as though it were briefly leaning on the brickwork for support before resuming its activities.

Trolleys

Runaway supermarket trolleys are a well-documented phenomenon. But it recently struck me that significantly more have appeared around inner Melbourne over the last few months. I've started photographing them whenever I've got my trusty digital friend at hand, and the numbers are racking up fast (witness these two charming examples discussing life near Royal Park). As I continue to wander the streets I've also noticed they're not going anywhere. I've passed several that are now as much a fixture of the landscape as fire-hydrants, lamp posts, and old vomit. Is there a fanatical, rebel group at work, a la the Gnome Liberation Front? Or do I simply have too much time on my hands? Either way, there's a whole lot of dollar coins begging to be retrieved.