I recognise that!
I almost did a double-take when I saw this on the news last night.
Why? Because I recognised it as being this, snapped by me on my phone, and originally used on my blog:
…plus a little bit of this, snapped by me and originally used on the PTUA web site…
It looks like a part of another picture has been added to the very bottom left, but I don’t recognise it.
Most amusing. And not entirely surprising — both pictures are in the top five if you search Google Images for crowded melbourne train.
Glad they found some good pictures to get the message across!
(The first pic has also been used in The Age print edition a few months ago.)
And the story? Well, lots of extra people using public transport is good. But them having to squeeze in because there are hardly any extra services… that’s not so good.
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Ikea part II – Swimming against the tide
My brother-in-law Adrian was telling me some amusing tales of recent trips to Ikea in Richmond. On one, he dared to go on a Sunday, but went early. He described it in surfing terms — moving through the one-way system ahead of the wave, which he could see developing behind him, trying to beat it. At one point he apparently got some prized item on his trolley, and while he wasn’t looking, it disappeared. He had to go back for another, only to get engulfed in the wave.
A couple of months ago during the school holidays we borrowed my sister’s stationwagon, and went into Ikea for a Billy bookcase or two. Weekdays at Ikea are a comparative breeze, even in school holidays — plenty of parking, no waves of crowds pouring through.
I’d checked the stock on the Net in advance. But of course, it only gives you the binary computer view — either if there is stock, or there isn’t. It doesn’t tell you how many are in stock, and by the time we’d got there, had a look through, written down the items we wanted and the aisle and position number, and got down to the warehouse, there were none.
Damn.
On Sunday, I had another chance. An old bookcase was going over to my Dad’s, and I was hopeful of getting the replacement Billys (Billies?) on the same day. But of course, it was Sunday. So I thought maybe I could do a late-afternoon trip, getting there at about 5pm, in time to get what we needed and leave by the closing time of 6pm.
I also looked at alternative products, such as from Freedom, but they had nothing that would really suit, or that I could be sure of getting on the same day. It seemed only Ikea would give me instant bookcase gratification.
The Ikea web site confirmed the big Billy was in stock. I decided to ring up to find out how many they really had. The bloke on the phone said they had 18 in stock. (Why don’t they put that on the web site?)
“So do you think you’ll still have any left over by late-afternoon?”
He dodged the question. “We get really busy on Sundays”, and he said they’d already sold one in the first 90 minutes of trade.
“No promises then?”
“We get really busy on Sundays.”
Nope, no promises. So I amended my plan. Given the departure of the old bookcase, I didn’t want to miss out.
I took us into the valley of death. I took us into Ikea on Sunday afternoon.
The kids and I headed back to Richmond in the borrowed stationwagon. After enduring queues just to get into the carpark, and knowing good spots can’t be had for love nor money, we headed for the middle levels, where there were plenty of spots.
We steeled ourselves and barrelled in, shopping list at the ready. With all the precision of a surgical strike, we headed straight for the warehouse, skipping as much of the store as we could, navigated our way through the crowds and via the shortcuts. By the time we got to aisle 21, position 19 for the Billy, there were about 10 there, I think, so we (with some effort, they’re damn heavy) lifted what we needed onto a trolley: a big Billy, a medium-sized Billy, and a spare big Billy shelf. (Eagle-eyed kids pointed out the first one I picked up was lacking the Technical-Lego-like do-hickies for holding it up.)
The essentials obtained, Isaac minded the trolley while Jeremy and I did a quick sub-mission raid back to the children’s section to get the kiddy cups and plates my sister asked for. (I figured it was a reasonable exchange for the borrowing of the car.) This took us back along the one-way system, against the tide of people coming in. But Jeremy cleverly figured out a way of taking a shortcut to head back with the tide along the middle rung of the S-shaped lower level.
Up the stairs to the children’s section, then back down to the warehouse. Done — all products on the trolley, and we joined the hordes heading for the cash registers. When we’d got through that, we had some 50 cent ice-creams to prepare ourselves for the next stage: getting it home.
The kids minded the trolley at the loading bay (which judging from the announcements, at least three gits had decided to use for their own personal parking spaces) and I went back to the car, only to join a long line of people trying to leave the carpark.
Eventually I made my way out and got the car into the loading bay, and we heaved the Billys into the back. We had to re-arrange the seats a bit, as inevitably, 2 metre high Billys come in 2 metre long Billy boxes. But it eventually worked, and we got it all home.
A bookcase 2 metres high by 80 centimetres long holds a lot of books, so they’re made pretty tough, and very heavy. We initially left the bigger heavier of the two boxes in the entrance hall at home. I discovered this was a bad idea, by tripping over it not once, but twice — the second time with a bowl in my hand, which fell to the floor and shattered. Most spectacular.
After much swearing, and having learnt my lesson, it got moved out of the way, until everything could be built.
Which it all has been, and apart from one of my nails getting hammered into slightly the wrong part (tiny amount of damage, in an obscure spot), it all worked out fine.
Gillis Lundgren, I salute you.
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Ikea part I – McFurniture?
I’ve had something of a fascination with Ikea’s furniture ever since my teenage years when my friend Konrad moved to his new place in St Kilda and showed me the bedroom desk he’d got. It was a huge pine modular setup, full of useful drawers and shelves for his various gadgets and papers.
Somewhere I got hold of an Ikea catalogue and started plotting out my own modular Ikea bedroom desk layout, but it never actually happened. In fact it wasn’t until years later that I actually got to step inside one of these wondrous Swedish furniture stores, probably at Moorabbin when I was living with my mum in nearby Hampton.
By the early-90s I was living in Hawthorn, and there were a few trips on the train to the Nunawading Ikea, often coming back with flat-packed chairs in boxes on a luggage trolley we had. Some of those chairs are still going strong, in my kitchen, though if I can find the right Allen key, they do need a little tightening.
Alas, the suburban Ikea stores have closed. Given I’ve spent most of my time living in the southeast, Moorabbin was particularly handy, and most of our family woe rue the day that it finally shut up shop. No more nipping up the road for a quick Billy and a $5 pack of a hundred tealights — now it necessitates a trip to Richmond (which I’ll blog about another day).
(Ikea are building a store at Springvale, expected to open next year.)
Ikea, being the worldwide collosus that it is, comes in for some flak, of course. Some people like to paint it as McFurniture, though I’m inclined to think that it’s not quite that bad… though there could be a link. It could well be recycled flat-pack cardboard that goes into McNuggets — that would explain a lot.
I still like the idea of modular furniture. I like that with the established lines, you always know what you’re getting — which is quite McDonald’s-like, I suppose. So I can measure up a space, and work out how many Billy bookshelves I need to buy, knowing that they look okay, they’re reasonable quality, and that if I want another to match, or I want some extra shelves or whatever at some stage in the future, I’ll still be able to get them.
But yes, there are niggling doubts. Is it plantation timber? Perhaps not. Is it slave labour? One thing’s for sure — it seems like none of it is manufactured locally. Just about every item has come a long way to be here.
PS. Article on Ikea’s sustainability practices: Uber-efficient IKEA has more in store. Ikea official web site: Corporate responsibility.
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Eat, or drive?
The other week I wrote: Personally, I’d rather eat than drive any day.
Evidently not everybody agrees: Pensioner Josephine Simsa says she would rather not eat than give up her car and her treasured independence.
She doesn’t mean it literally of course, but the article goes on to describe how she specifically shops for cheap food so she can keep her car running.
I find that interesting, particularly for someone who lives in Albert Park, which has some of the best public transport in Melbourne. But only, of course, if all your trips are into the CBD, St Kilda, or other places easily reached on the tram. It’s not so good if you have relatives in Dingley and friends in Warrandyte.
On a related note, many are now talking about the value of “walkability” of a suburb, which has come into prominence with resources like WalkScore. My suburb, Bentleigh, gets a score of 58 62 out of 100 — though at present it doesn’t find a lot of the nearby shops and facilities because it has limited data for cities outside North America.
Ultimately it’s likely that unless you live in a high density area, you’ll have to resort to methods other than walking to get to the things you need, and where you need to be. That’s Walkscore’s downfall — it doesn’t measure proximity to usable public transport.
Also related, an interesting discussion on the Freakonomics blog, looking at the future of suburbia. This quote caught my eye, which probably applies just as much to Australian cities as US ones:
High oil prices and the imperative to address global climate change will help spur denser residential development along transit corridors outside of cities. We’d see more of it today, if supply kept up with demand. Chris Leinberger estimates that walkable suburban communities served by transit today command anywhere from a 40 percent to 200 percent price premium over conventional drivable suburban development.
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Vroom
I just bought a car. Well, subject to a mechanic giving it a going-over.
Holden Astra CD TS, 2000 hatchback “Olympic edition”. Which means it’s from two Olympics ago, and that it has a few little extras like fog lights. Silver, electric windows, airbags, ABS, CD player, alloy wheels (like I care), remote locking.
Perhaps not the ultimate in motoring, but a nice little car that’ll cut my petrol consumption by about a quarter, and heaps nicer (and zoomier) than the old beast, if a little less roomy inside. And at a price which is reasonable given how little driving I do.
After signing the paperwork and leaving, some other people were looking at it, a tad disappointed. Seems I beat them to it by mere minutes.
Will probably pick it up next week. Pics later.
The only catch is no trade-in. Anybody want to buy a 15-year-old Magna?
PS. 5-door, manual, from a dealer.
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Some things never change II
Where is that damn train?
Flinders Street Station, 1920s (or maybe 30s?)
(From the Public Record Office Victoria)
Flinders Street Station, 2007
Yeah the angles don’t match, but I reckon it’s not bad given that I took the new picture last year, before seeing the older one.
AND it’s exactly the same platforms in shot. AND in both there’s a train on platform 9.
(As far as I can tell, the old picture, being from before 1955, is out of copyright. Anybody in the know — and a few who have that knowledge lurk here, I know it — care to confirm or deny that, before I get into trouble?)
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Race
Race is a funny thing. I think gradually (at least in the bit of society I inhabit) attitudes are changing.
It seems common for people of my parents’ generation to refer to someone’s race. It’s not necessarily anything negative, just a reference. That Jewish man. The Chinese doctor. The Indian lady.
When I talk about people, it doesn’t usually come up, unless it’s specifically relevant. Perhaps I think about it when picturing the person, but normally it doesn’t seem necessary to verbalise it, unless perhaps someone has to be positively identified.
It doesn’t seem like my kids mention such characteristics much — maybe they don’t even think about it at all. At school, there’s just always been a mix of races. It’s just not relevant most of the time. Which is the way it should be.
As noted by a memorable letter in the Age that I linked to back in 2004:
If your reporter visited any state school in Melbourne, she would find children of all faiths (including Catholics) actually engaged in growing up together where learning “how to pronounce each others’ names” is not a bizarre entertainment but a fact of everyday life.
Within our state schools, interacting with children of other faiths and cultures is not a public relations exercise. It’s not even some kind of multicultural ideal – it’s a lived experience.
– Hugh McGinlay, The Age 10/4/2003
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Some things never change
Some things never change.
Colliers International researchers found that in December last year, house prices for suburbs near trains and trams hit an average of $526,000 – with top rail suburb prices soaring by up to 57 per cent in the year.
– Herald Sun, 24/7/2008
(See also a similar article on The Brisbane Times web site, 10/8/2008)
Now compare to this…
…Bentleigh will take its proper place among the southern suburbs. Caulfield and Brighton are spreading out to Bentleigh, and it is only natural that the development of the suburb will be most marked on the main roads close to the station, the very position occupied by WARD’S ESTATE. When the railway is electrified Bentleigh will be only 25 minutes’ run from the city.
– advert in The Argus, 7/2/1920.
In some ways, attitudes haven’t changed much in the last 90-odd years.
I found the Argus article via the National Library of Australia’s newspaper digitising project. They’ve got a search facility running, which is very neat. Some things aren’t in the system yet, but there’s quite a bit that is.
So far I haven’t found any trace of my family, even though on my Dad’s side they’ve been in Australia for over a century. But I did find plenty of old ads for Hattams, the menswear shop I used to work for, which has been around at various locations since 1879. I’ll have to print some out and drop them past.
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