Tipping over or taking a fall

I am not sure at exactly what age you cease to trip over and instead take a fall.

We'd earlier visited the recently renovated recreation area when the spa was filled with four young people, with a small boom box playing, loud enough but annoyingly so. The views of the city were terrific. 

I went up on my own to take photos with my camera and two of the young men were lounging beside the pool. Truly, I didn't take much notice.

This step is quite obvious in this photo but in full sun without the riser being shaded, it wasn't to me and down I went, breaking my fall with my hands, one slightly bruised. More alarmingly I had my camera in one hand and my phone in the other and they shot towards the pool. There was no need to quickly jump up as my phone and camera stopped short of the edge of the pool and so no need to swim. I assessed damage to myself  and one of the young men called out to see if I was ok and needed help.

I slowly picked myself up and took a panning video that did not work out, and fortunately photos too. 

When I told R about my misfortune, he remarked that he didn't see that step up either when we were both there and only realised there was a step when I stepped up. 

The hotel lifts were displaying a notice that the recreation area would be closed the following week for builder rectifications. Once home, I informed the hotel of my incident, and included this hotel. The hotel responded with an apology and the step would be investigated. 

One of our favourite hotels and where the red patch is beside the hotel is a lovely decked area. Unfortunately it is also down the hill, near where we ate at the Italian restaurant I mentioned in my last Sydney post. 

High rise towers are not necessary to have a high density population. The are low to medium rise. 

The iconic King's Cross tower apartment with the iconic Coca Cola sign at its base. Nice views from the building, I am sure but it comes with water leaks galore and you can hear neighbour relieving themselves while in your apartment. 

Looking down at Woolloomooloo. 

Hyde Park.

The war memorial, again.

Diagonally opposite our hotel on the corner of Liverpool Street and Wentworth Avenue. I might quite like to live there.

I am not sure as I don't think I've checked if Griffiths Teas still exists.

Looking down from the pool to the spa.

Even if the step was in full sunlight, I am not sure how I missed it. 

Alert: photo of a stitched old man neck

Such a large safety margin was taken and I was given the all clear for melanoma at the Alfred Hospital. My GP will remove the stitches next week. There isn't a visible Herman Munster bolt. Thanks JayCee for kicking that off. It looks more like a zip. 

I did have a forty minute wait at the hospital for the final sign off before I could leave. We needed stuffs in Prahran I messaged R to go by himself.  Straight after sending the text, I was seen and I was free to leave and I caught the same tram as R was on to travel to Prahran. 

Bandages off, I can wash my hair after a week. I rinse my hair when I shower and use shampoo once a week. I just have to be careful with the wound. Pat not rub. 

In one curtained off area in the room was man with a nice voice, there with his wife I assume. He was once an outdoor worker in Queensland, the absolutely best area in Australia for contracting a skin cancer, and he had, and his prognosis after surgery was not as good as mine. He will be going down bit of a road.

In the other area was a woman with I guess her daughter. She to be sixty plus. She was having bandaging removed and was constantly seeking reassuring that her wound wasn't bleeding. She was quite funny and she her nurse had great repartee. The day before she had been supervising school exams and one student asked what happened to her, so I guess her bandaging was quite visible. She replied to the student, 'I was in a fight'.

One issue with our public health system is that the surgeon who cut my neck open and inserted the invisible bolt never got to see the results of her surgery and I couldn't thank her for her 'invisible' stitching.

The Australian sun is a killer. 

Pretty it ain't, but potentially life saving surgery. Click here if you want to view the not so nice wound. 

Sydney Day 6

No one can visit Sydney and not catch the ferry to Manly. Well, we can't. 

We walked through Hyde Park to catch a tram from Town Hall to Circular Quay. 

A path to nowhere. 

Gosh, R snapped a photo of a tram. Note the 'third rail' in the centre of the tracks where in most of George Street, the tram picks up power from the rail and not overhead wires. It was argued that overhead wires were ugly, but this surface power pick up system has not been reliable and when in thirty years the trams have to be replaced, the government will be on the back foot so far as purchase price, as it will need to buy the trams from the same manufacturer. 

We have made the ferry trip to Manly countless time, but every time we forget the ferry leaves from Wharf 3. 

These new ferries are faster than the old by about five minutes but are much smaller and less stable when near the harbour heads. I think at least the mega popular 11.00am Sunday service to Manly is run by one of the old larger ferries. Dr Catherine Hamlin as the ferry is named was a marvellous women who helped so many woman in Africa with obstetric fistula. 

The coathanger looking good.

I am pleased with this photo of the Opera House. 

Admiralty House is our Governor General's Sydney home, he being the King's Australian representative in Australia. Nice lawn. I wouldn't mind living there.

Zooming across the harbour.

The controversial Blues Point Tower behind and under the bridge blending it to its surroundings. 

Here we are at Manly. We brunched at Fusion Point, as is our want. 

It was a woman in this case, and I removed the photo before this because of the woman in a g string, or thong if you like. Before you ask, I don't want to see men wearing them on the beach either. Tantalising underwear can be good, but exposing the desired is not.

Looking north. 

Shark mouths? We returned to the Quay and trains weren't running between the Quay and Central. Replacement bus to Museum Station was indicated, but then a 333 bus arrived to take us closer to our hotel with a slight downhill walk rather than an uphill walk. 

Are we supposed to stop and admire this public art?

A neatly trimmed flowering hedge and I should know the name of the plant but it won't come to me. 

I no longer write a holiday point diary about we what have done. I rely on a combination of photo dates and Google Maps Timeline history, and all indicate once we back at our hotel, I did nothing in the afternoon while R rested. Maybe that was the day I took some view photos and refuse to admit I took a fall. This post is long enough already, so there will be a separate post about old man falling flat on his face.

So this Saturday was my birthday and it was arranged to meet Victor and C for dinner at Bill and Toni's Italian restaurant down the hill in East Sydney? Darlinghurst?

I think we all managed to get words in over dinner and it was a fun night. I think I chose a pizza but the food mattered not so much when in good company.

It was lively outside in Stanley Street. I didn't notice at the time that this woman was in my photo, but I rather like the result.  

I kind of recognise some faces in this photo at the restaurant, but I can't really name anyone.

To get to the restaurant was an easy and steep downhill walk. But what comes down, must go up! C walked up the the gentler hill of Riley Street to his bus stop and we were quickly back at our hotel. Logic denies this but it easier to walk up this less steep hill for a bit further and to a slightly higher elevation than the steep street we used to walk down. 

I didn't see it coming

If you have nothing ready to post, just steal from someone else who has stolen from someone else. 

I don't think trains running on streets is so unusual in the US. It is rare here but we Victorians do have one country town where trains run down the main street. 

It seems Germany does too, an historic steam train, no less. It is quite a big beast and the excuse that 'I didn't see it coming', sounds flimsy. 'Sorry, I am an incredibly stupid person and a very poor driver', might be more appropriate. 

For some reason the video is quite dark. Here is a photo. 

And there have been others.

Sydney Day 5

City of Sydney is led by Lord Mayor Clover Moore who has been quite a success. I suppose you could describe her as populist green leaning and gay friendly. This is Clover. 

City of Sydney uses this brilliant public seat design. The bench is as comfortable as a wooden seat can be and can only be described as modern and elegant. Praise to the seat designer and Clover for choosing wisely.

While it is just a couple of hundred metres away from where we usually stay, we had never visited Sydney Museum. It's free and a nice place. It is nothing on the scale of Melbourne's Museum but big is not always better. This photo is looking down from the top gallery.  

Filled with diffused natural looking light. 

One stunning lamp.

I don't know if they are a taxidermy work or models but the bird display was brilliant. I will return in the future just to see the bird display at a very slow pace. 

The crocodile looks hungry. Trivia: Australia doesn't have alligators but it does have an Alligator River.

We passed by huge historic photo panels in College Street. If I cared a bit, I would identify the locations for you. I don't. 

Bloomin' jacarandas. 

While R rested, I took a trip on the 389 bus to Bondi Junction. The 389 used to follow the whole of the old Bondi via Bellevue Hill tram route but has now been truncated to Bondi Junction. It was a good trip, twisting and turning, climbing and descending but I caught the more direct 333 bus back. It was horrible and I'm sure it took longer, with a new driver taking over at the Waverley bus depot who faffed around for about five minutes. Cap off, put in backpack. Cap back on. Adjust this, adjust that. Slow right down as you approach green light to ensure it turns red as you arrive. I called R along the way, expecting him to missing me terribly. Nope! Here he was outside a cafe, scoffing his face while I starved to death. 

More Riley Street jacarandas.

Look, an ashtray. We had a drink at a pub before we went for dinner. I didn't see anyone smoking but apparently you can. How extraordinary is smoking indoors. Not permitted in my state. 

We walked to the pretentiously named World Square, with me remembering it as being a big hole in the ground for so many years. We pondered over the menu at an Indian restaurant for a while until we found this, a plate each. The bottom dish were Indian sweets.  It was just the most perfect meal. I went light on the roti. I know how filling it can be. 

Some old dude cropped out of the photo. The last time? we were in Sydney, this restaurant had just moved across the road from its former location. It had yet to obtain its liquour license 😒. No problem this time. 

We trudged up the Liverpool Street hill back to our hotel and took a rest photo stop at the war memorial. 

A wander along Fitzroy Street, St Kilda

I didn't wander too far, like a about 300 metres. Seaside St Kilda has undergone gentrification, almost complete now. In the 60s into the 90s it had a sleazy feel about but it was always interesting. 

A few photos. This one is on the corner of Acland Street. R has been inside once, with some charity matter...cooking food. It is pleasant to look at. 

On first glance this might look like the same building, or a pair but it isn't and is next door. 
The trees are in leaf, because it is spring here, except it wasn't. These were taken late summer.

The 'gay community' has a strong connection to The Prince but that has kind of passed. Neverthless, you are bound to find interesting characters in the public bar of The Prince. An upper level once hosted the drag show venue Pokeys, a gay Sunday night must but it's only a memory now. Long after Pokeys closed, sadly the dyke owner died in a house fire as she attempted to save her dogs. 

I put the name of this rather nice building into Google Translate and it came back as Arabic, meaning embedding. I am unsure about that. 

This three storey massive home is a bit hidden. 

A side view in Mary Street.

It goes back forever, with land behind the rear extension. I believe the house was once owned by the comedian and tv presenter Steve Vizard, a rather interesting person who was a high achiever but also someone in financial botheration with authorities.