Thought Provoking

That evening Farky bounced into the Velosophy office, where The VeloDrone and Belle et Bonne were working late.

Farky! cried Belle et Bonne. You're back! How did you like the Zoo?

A mixed bag, sniffed Farky. But overall I think it did me good. I now understand more about happiness as it relates to my own species.

Good, said The VeloDrone. Where's that article you promised?

Problem, said Farky. I can't write. Perhaps I could dictate it to one of you.

Of course you can Farky, said Belle et Bonne. Fire away.

Farky began:

There are two kinds of dog. One has never been inside a Zoo. The other has. I am of the latter kind. I was happy before I entered the Zoo. At the Zoo I was forced into bad behaviour. I stole a hat, and later, a pie. Outside the Zoo I met Horatio. He was named after someone in CSI. He is the wrong colour. He will never see the inside of a Zoo. He understood that I was better than him. He didn't know about the hat, or the pie.

Where is this going? asked The VeloDrone. And I hope you haven't forgotten the bicycle.

What bicycle? said Farky.

There has to be a bicycle in it, said Belle et Bonne. Had you forgotten?

No, no, said Farky. I haven't finished:

This made me wonder about the nature of dog happiness. I had not liked the Zoo. I would have preferred to have ridden a bicycle around the outer perimeter. I would have begun at the entrance, cycled through the Botanic Park following the zoo walls, crossed the Hackney Bridge and returned via the Linear Park river trail. From there I might have heard the gibbons calling. Finally I would have returned to the entrance past the speaking posts that beg for money. Of course I would have felt no obligation to give the Zoo any money. However, as I cannot ride a bicycle, none of this is ever likely to happen.

That's brilliant Farky, said Belle et Bonne. So thought-provoking!

Not bad at all, said the Velodrone.

Thanks, said Farquhar MacTaggart.

My Camera

I have a new camera. It's not replacing an old camera. Until now, I've never had a camera of my own.

It's in a box, a little cardboard box, with the top torn off. It has a special cable, that likes to stay curled up.

The cable is like me. I like to stay curled up. But I wanted the camera. So I have to change my modus operandi.

My modus operandi, before I had the camera, was simple. I looked at things, and turned them into sentences.

Now, if I've remembered to take my camera with me, I look at things, such as

a row of bicycles outside a shop
a row of wooden ducks
an Edwardian gentleman speaking to a lady through a listening tube, painted on a fence.
a smiling plaster chef outside an antique shop, holding up a sign
yellow, blue and red-and-white posts along a linear park trail
water spreading over sand
and yachts at the end of pathways through the dunes

...with a view to what they'll look like in a frame.

That is fine, it's good to see things differently. But what I must get over is regret.

As yet, this hasn't worked out very well.

Part of a Longer Walk

.....a bend in the Linear Park Trail. Here the river widens out and becomes coastal. The water reflects the flat sky. Horses graze on the grass plain right down to the water's edge, wearing coats which are green, purple, navy and sky blue.

Under the last bridge is a seascape and boat. We're walking towards the sea.

The sun is a hazy white disc behind grey knitted clouds. The river is brown with white patches. Pacific black ducks, ibis, herons and grebes appear and disappear. If the river is heading for the sea you wouldn't know it. The wind blows its ripples back the other way.

A bicycle comes up behind us. Ding. We meet people with dogs.

It's a Dutch landscape although I've never been to Holland. I have always thought this, about here.

We cross the road to the sand hills. We look left and right. We are looking for jetties. Jetties mean kiosks and kiosks mean snacks. But the jetties are too far away.

The sand is white, littered with weed. At the edge of the sea it dips suddenly and the sea is foreshortened and deep. It looks like a theatre set, with the waves moving sideways on pulleys.

We turn south. A seaweed ball follows us, blown by the wind. I turn around quickly and it stops.

Another Walk

It is Saturday afternoon. We're walking along that section of the Linear Park between the St Peters Billabong and the University Footbridge. It is cloudy, hopeful. The trees are tall, or the path is low. Anyway, there's not too much sky.

The river is on our left. It is glossy dark brown and reflects a cliff. A white drain pipe runs down the cliff and disappears into the water, where it becomes a reflection of itself disappearing under the cliff in the opposite direction. A motionless scum floats on the surface of the water. Reeds collapsing at the edge. Orange flowers.

How are your new shoes? They hurt a bit. Do you have a bandaid? Yes, I do.

There is a smell of something. Ducks, the Zoo, sewage. Cyclists pass. Ibis, moorhen. Angry black swans.

Before we reach the Footbridge we drop something into a bin.

At the Art Gallery Coffee Shop the sun comes out. And now we are in. The interior glass superimposes ladies eating coffee and cake over a series of Margaret Prestons. Still lifes. Patterned bowls of Australian flowers. The yellow leaves from the trees in front of the gabled Curator's Lodge drift across the conversation. She loves glass.

We walk back the same way. How is it? Alright now.