62 Queens Street

Grand Victorian building, dwarfed by surrounding office blocks. It is hidden in plain sight when walking along pedestrianised, Queen Street Mall from George to Albert streets.

The following description appears on Remax website.

62 Queen Street is a 3 storey heritage commercial building that was constructed c1883 for Colonial Mutual Life Assurance Society.

Designed in the Gothic Style by one of Brisbane’s foremost Architects of the time Richard Gailey, the property is a fine example of commercial buildings during Brisbane’s transition as a former penal settlement.

The second picture circa 1895, shows the narrow building with spire, flag pole, attic rooms and chimneys.

Presumably, they were removed at the same time the original Brisbane Town Hall was demolished

View from eleven

Eleven floors up, looking north west.

View from the kitchen link, between meeting room and breakout space.

Colleagues wander in and out, to refuel or to linger.

A place to rest my eyes from the intensity of the computer screen, work space, and phone.

Almost Christmas

Thursday evening, time to rest from the struggles and strains of the day. A position of relaxation or exhaustion? You can never really tell from his facial expression.

Faithfully, annually, midway through the second week of December, he emerges from his glittery hibernation. To be dusted off, plumped up and positioned on a shelf.

A gift from Angela, dinner-lady-cook, over two decades ago, I wonder how she fares. In the land of Brexiteers and discontent, I often wonder how many former colleagues fare.

Memories of Weston-super-Mud

FAT man photos recently posted images of Weston-super-Mare. They reminded me of the last time I was there, fourteen years ago.

A day trip from Worcester, with my husband, late Mother and Step-Father no.2 (SF2). In my memory it remains a sunny and happy day, filled with colour.

This is even taking into consideration, the annoyingly loud deh-deh-di-deh and blarb noises from SF2’s traffic light and speed camera warning device; allllll the way there and alllll the way back. Oh, and the electric wheelchair running out of juice, and a proliferation of disabled-toilets that were moonlighting as furniture storerooms and changing rooms. Much to the chagrin of my Mother.

I have been to Weston two or three times. The first when around nine or ten years old, in the 1970s. Foggy memories of a postcard from the time. Winter Gardens backdrop to a long pool, flanked by flower draped arcades.

I imagine we would have made this journey by train or coach from Birmingham. One of the first holidays with Mother, Brothers, and Step-Father no.1 (SF1). I vaguely remember staying in a bed and breakfast and visiting a family who lived on a caravan park. I distinctly remember sketching an older boy reclining on a bed.

The beach, made up of sand then mud seems to go out for miles, towards the elusive sea. Within the family the beachside town was known fondly as Weston-super-Mud.

The second time was on the way to somewhere else, in the 1980s with Richard, my late best friend. Of that day, memories of cold wind and rain remain.

Saturday reflection

There are so many harsh ‘modern’ buildings around. We are softening our bleak suburban views with plants.

This rather bizarre picture is a reflection in an orange glass topped table of next door neighbour’s townhouse backdrop, and burgeoning philodendron xanadu green wall, in front.

Scarce resource

Pouring down, hitting ground; transmutating.

Seeps slowly underground, no abating.

Gradually following gravity’s pull,

Channelled torrents churn to violently mull.

Cascading courses entwine, clashing. This

Roaring deluge crashes with a hiss.

Omnidirectional mist, high and low.

Fleetingly dancing, riding to and fro,

On gentle cavern’s zephyr, in the dark;

No living creature to watch or to hark.

Droplets traverse the void of chasm, old.

Catching hold, dingle dangle, dripping cold.

Rivulets forming, trickling, finding pass,

Slowly towards the edge, achieving mass.

Flowing from upon high to splash below.

Tinkling then momentary ripples show,

Moving across slow ebbing surface, creep.

Joining still amorphic pool, running deep.

Birdseye view

Even though this kookaburra occasionally slid backwards, it had determination. It’s chosen perch, the edge of the 21st floor glass balustrade, facing north.

He, like the patrons of the Terrace, Emporium Hotel, Brisbane was there for the view.

Albert Street Uniting Church, Brisbane

Designed by Australian architect and artist, George Henry Male Addison (1857-1922), Albert Street Uniting Church was completed in 1889.

The warmth of the terracotta bricks of this Victorian Gothic Revival church contrasts beautifully against the blue sky, reflected in the glazed building behind.

Situated near a busy intersection where Roma Street meets Ann Street. It shares a link to the past under City Hall’s watchful eye, located diagonally across King George’s Square.

Jacarandas

Late afternoon in Morningside.

Yellow and purple-blue jacarandas

Stand, in contest on Kates Street.

Puffed up in show of flower bells,

Attracting bees to plunder, and

Springtime passers by, to wonder

At the temporary beauty beheld.