No Night Sweats N o  N i g h t  S w e a t s No Night Sweats
Sydney's Post-Punk Bands
I Like Music
Slapp Happy are Terrific
A List of CDs
Text is What I Write
Crime Fiction is Silly
[ Why A Duck? ]

So, I'm sitting at home and thinking to myself 'Christ, is this what my life has come down to - watching golf on TV on a Sunday afternoon'. I mean, golf is such an intrinsically awfull pastime. I remember the 3 games I've ever played with a mixture of revulsion and awe (at the ability of someone to convince me to drag around the bag of sticks all day). 

At least the TV golf had an interesting hazard - a viaduct crossing one of the main fairways. Not particularly scenic, mind you, but then all of the links can't be on the Scottish coastline, can they? It gave a pleasant industrial air to the event. Maybe they should build an international course across from the Wollongong steelworks - that'd show the world what we're made of. 

Unfortunately, the golfing viaduct was pretty unspectacular - thin concrete pillars holding up a boxy cross bar that looked like it could be knocked down in a high wind. They could have at least designed one to match the Roman splendour of the one that carries beautifull Segovia's water supply (and still does after 1000 years or more). After spending 5 days in this small Spanish town we were constantly drawn back to viewing it because we were so goddamned bored. 

Or, better still, they could have asked the NSW Department of Water to design another just like the one in Annadale that seepingly, oozingly carries sewerage across a road and a couple of small parks - ah the sepia coloured memories just keep on comin'...

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