make-believe.org

Virginia

It’s probably about the same number of hours I spend negotiating an obstacle course of beggers, drunks, Greenpeace scavengers and other people-who-want-my-money on Brunswick Street most days. I hear you, brother.

Elizabeth

Joseph, you’ve just struck on one of my pet peeves too! So many people have so little idea of their physical space; it drives me crazy and gives me…er…footpath rage. :-) On a different note: Virginia, you’re obviously a VERY compassionate person. And a Greenpeace supporter to boot.

Rick

They do that for the same reason that old folks suddenly realize they aren’t the only ones on the road, and speed up because they are obviously going to slow if you are trying to pass them.

Vince

This ridiculous, outmoded notion of public space really needs to be overhauled, doesn’t it? Gimme a break guys, and chillax!

Small me

Oh, honestly, don’t be so intolerant everyone.

Jackson

In my sleep deprived and near hallucinatory state I see two possible solutions to this grave dilemma that all (four) seem to be confronted with. You(se) could walk behind these apparent squawkers slightly too fast and at an uncomfortable proximity thus reminding them of the footpath economics involved in the supply and demand of public space. Alternatively, you could, as my hippy friend Vince suggests in his interesting neologism, ‘chillax’ and realise that you couldn’t be anywhere else but where you are and that your frustration is merely dukkha resulting from a misunderstanding of the nature of the universe — why not take the time to look around for a change?

Joseph

Jackson, I am going to use toothpicks to keep your eyelids open for three days, and then I am going to make you sit down and start your blog. Speaking of which, Vince, you haven’t updated yours for so long you’ve forgotten your own URL.

An interesting point was made — what is your preferred method for dismissing street hawkers? I have obtained good results from responding in a different language, and also from holding an index finger to my lips in the international sign of shut up. It gives you the couple of seconds of lag you need to get Too Far Away.

I’m not sure whether it is widespread or an idiosyncrasy of Lygon St, but in the last twelve months I’ve noticed the resident junkies bucking the inflatory trend and asking for tiny amounts of money — generally five cents. The first time I was asked I was so perplexed I gave the guy a ten cent piece. He thanked me perfunctorily and made a lewd joke about a nearby girl’s arse. I got cynical on reflection and have reverted to my standard policy. I find it morally troubling though, every time I am asked. Who doesn’t have five cents?