Wednesday, October 24, 2007


A heads up from dumbo feather took me to the Slow Guide to Melbourne.

This is a concept right up my alley (or being a Melbournian perhaps that should be laneway as that is where the cosmopolitan culture is based in at the minute…or maybe that was so last year because we’ve segued now to rooftops in the city thanks to the generosity of companies that would like people to continue smoking…but I digress). I love slow. There are times I wish I had the ultimate sensory recorder but until such a devise can capture not just sight and sound but also humidity and smell – the job will be left to the vagaries of the human brain to recall it.

Last Friday, I left my office in the CBD to early evening on the streets. Chestnuts were unseasonably being roasted; buskers competed on each corner creating a soundscape cushioned by the sound of chatter on the tightly packed pavement, with the percussion of trams in the background. My skin felt of summer and whispered the promise of languid nights, scantily dressed, sipping cool drinks with friends. Bundling these senses together they could be tagged life, hope or even promise.

In 2 blocks to the tram stop I was more stimulated than I had been all day.

Slow for me is about soaking it up, tapping into each sense and storing it away for a rainy day.

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