the morning side of the hill...

There is something very special about Townsville at this time of the year. We’ve felt it particularly, coming back after spending so much time on the Tablelands. You start to sense the approach of Christmas in totally different ways from the traditional stories and scenes on cards.
To start with, you’re woken at 5.30 by very bright light – the bright mornings we North Queenslanders, immediately associate with summer holidays and Christmas. Outside it is very hot and muggy – even at this early hour – so walkers try to be home before six-thirty. (I took this pohoto at six o'clock this morning. See why we don’t need daylight saving?)
But I think the most spectacular thing – the thing that really sets NQ apart at this time of the year – is the number of flowering trees. For us, Christmas is heralded by poinciana trees and frangipani in glowing colour, as well as cassias and a host of other brilliant blooms.
I first came to appreciate this when I saw an exhibition of artwork by Brett Whiteley inspired by one of his visits to Far North Queensland. We see scenes like this painting on the left every time we travel between Townsville and the Tablelands. Funny how it sometimes takes an outsider to open our eyes to the beauty in our own backyards.

Urban drama...

OK… I’ve said that this blog is about a writer’s life in the city and the country, but I haven’t actually recorded much detail of my time in the city. I guess that’s because I spend most of my time chained to my desk or hanging out with family.

But yesterday I experienced some urban drama…

I live in the heart of Townsville, which is a growing city, getting busier and more beautiful every day. I have a coffee shop (great takeaway cappuccinos) across the road and a supermarket three hundred metres up the street. In the style of many inner city dwellers, I shop almost every day, just taking one bag and getting what I need in small batches. Apart from my early morning walk, it’s about the only exercise I get – a pleasant enough diversion.

Yesterday afternoon, we were planning for a family barbecue on the rooftop of our apartment block. Elliot had been out to buy beautiful fish and seafood to barbecue and it was my job to get the salad ingredients, plus grapes and chocolate for dessert.

Mission accomplished, I was walking back down the street, my mind in another country (thinking about my WIP). I was aware of a shadow behind me and I assumed the person would pass me, but no…

Without warning, my purse was snatched from my hand.

I confess, I screamed. Passers-by in the peak hour traffic saw what happened. I knew I didn’t have a hope of catching the tall, young male who was racing away in the opposite direction with my purse. And, of course, I thought immediately of all those cards I would have to replace – license, Visa Card, Medicare etc. Not the $50, which was what he wanted.

But those thoughts came and went in a flash. Two young men from Coles were already racing after the robber. A man told me that his wife’s handbag had been stolen by the same fellow an hour earlier. People jumped out of cars to offer witness statements. And two young police officers arrived (one male and one female.)

Long story short, I was very lucky. The guy was caught, I got my purse back. I thanked the young men from Coles who chased him. I gave the police the information they wanted and thanked them. The young man was arrested and driven away in a paddy wagon.

So then afterwards... I was left with a few things to think about. First, it was pointed out very gently by well meaning bystanders that I was partly to blame because I'd been holding my purse so casually in my hand, rather than tucking it away in my shopping bag. So yeah, a measure of guilt set in. And from there, it wasn’t such a great leap of the imagination to understand how other victims can be made to feel guilty, almost as if they invited the crime committed against them – especially women who are raped.

But I felt a degree of compassion for the perpetrator, too. I wondered about the young man. What had driven him to such a desperate act in broad daylight and in peak hour traffic? Two hundred years ago, our ancestors were sent to this country for something as trifling as stealing a loaf of bread.

I know what he did was wrong. Very wrong. And he might be a hardened criminal. And I know justice must be seen to be done…

But I felt sick watching that paddy wagon drive away.

Townsville's Strand

One of my city's biggest attractions is our beautiful Strand and at the moment, for twelve days, ephemeral 'sculptures' are on display for us to enjoy. I thought I'd share some with you. Above is a "postcard" complete with chalk and duster, so that we can write our own message. That's Magnetic Island in the background.


This is one of the sculptures -- a woven boat and in the background, you can see the fishing pier.


I love this chair made from soft coral. Makes me think of Sue Monk Kidd's The Mermaid's Chair.


These are massive lamingtons made by my friend, Townsville artist, Sylvia Ditchburn. For those of you who don't know what lamingtons are, they are an Aussie favourite at any picnic and often sold for fund raisers -- squares of sponge dipped in chocolate and rolled in coconut.




How gorgeous is this driftwood crocodile?



This was Elliot's favourite. Hmmm.... But it is clever, isn't it?


In this photo, you can see the permanent "sculptures" of silver coconuts on the ground -- some of them quite suitable for sitting on. And, in the background, ephemeral box jelly fish. Of course, there are many more sculptures -- about thirty in total, but these were among my favourites.

No Aussie beach is complete without a life guards' lookout -- even if there's no surf because our shores are protected by the Great Barrier Reef.


To put the Strand in perspective, if you turn from your view of Magnetic Island and look behind you, you see Castle Hill, a huge shoulder of pink granite. This photo's perspective hides the suburb of North Ward which sits between the hill and the sea.