Sorry to keep you waiting for so long since the last leg. People kept asking me for a light. Long story.
You didn’t get mugged or nuthin’, did you? Good. Let’s get moving then.
It’s slicker than I remember… (2011)
Elizabeth Shopping Centre! I can remember when it was John Martin’s instead of Myer, but alas, John Martin’s went belly up at the end of the 1990s. They were one of the better employers in retail, too.
Of course, they’re all up against the wall now, about to be shot to bits by online sales.
(Dear upper management; it’s service provision that’s the issue, not the employees, nor the things you’ve been obsessively tweak-and-squeezing for the last decade).
How this place has changed… It’s all so shiny.
I can remember an episode here once after work, in ’97 or ’98, when public smoking restrictions were first being implemented. In the thickest, most nasally affected Strine, Miss Bogan announced to all and sundry, ‘The Sissem wun stomme frumm smokin’ wereawanna [fark fark fark!]’. And it didn’t, or at least it didn’t for as long as I watched her light up and puff her fumes indoors.
Who says you can’t fight The Sissem?
Never saw her again, mind you. Maybe she’s hidden in an abandoned bank somewhere, pickled in a barrel. Continue reading
Okay, I’m back. You didn’t get into any trouble since I left you last time?
Maybe you did… Stiff bickies. It’s Elizabeth. Let the tour continue.
High Voltage! (2011)
And some people leave their kids playing next to this…
I could hear something arcing while I was taking this photo. And I could have sworn the sound was closer to the gate than anything else.
Anyway, this being bogan territory, if you’re going to continue this tour of the way I used to walk home from work, maybe you’d like to pop in some earphones and strut to something suitably ridiculous. High Voltage!
Something I don’t think I’ve emphasised, or affirmed enough, is my grounding in the working class. Possibly with the exception of the years of my youth between 1988-1991 (a period of relative comfort ultimately conspired against by family break-up and the effects of high interest rates), I couldn’t in any way be reasonably accused of having had a middle class lifestyle.
I’m not ashamed of this.
To convey a little bit about myself to you, in this respect, allow me take you on the first stage of a photographic tour of a portion of my own working class history.
Out back of the Exide factory, Elizabeth West (2011).