Should we swab his armpit?

It has been stated by persons who have read about our hobby that the titles of these blog entries are somewhat obscure. What would an outsider make of the title - Should we swab his arm pit? - which links to information about outercourse and bagpipe playing. That to me is part of the attraction to this hobby, the opportunity to document for posterity some of the conversations, anecdotes and experiences we've shared in a manner that will bring a smile to my face in years to come. There is also the distinct possibility that we could get into trouble if I were to be too explicit about our conversations and activities. The odd obscure reference therefore not only acts as an in joke, but is also serves to protect us from the crazy fucks who might misconstrue this to be some breach of their skewed version of professional ethics or public decency. If you are curious - just ask - Should we swab his arm pit? - has a quite an amusing story behind it.

After the last blog entry, it is pretty evident a world of words and pictures has opened up for me. Like it didn't take long enough to get these things on line already, now I've got to mess around with uploading pictures as well.



From the very first adventure we've been asking for Pepsi, and as you can see above, we've finally worn them down. It's not often that a restaurant will allow you to BYO soft drink, but our persistence and loyalty to Papa Gino's allows you to break some of the rules some of the time.

On the 25/8/06 we left Papa Gino's at 9:28pm, getting to the Official Start at 10:16 after a Pineapple (rated at 5.5/10) and Pistachio (rated at 6/10) from Casa Del Gelato. Along the way some comments and strange looks were given by passers by, it was afterall a chilly evening and ice-creams and torches in hand we could be quite a curiosity to those not of our ilk. We didn't get to the Official Finish until 12:32, then finally ended up at Troika (referenced in he's the kinda guy who follows an M86 protocol) at 12:51.

On the way to our official starting point we made our way through Mid City Arcade to take a closer look at Hobby Japan - as the arcade was closed last time we passed. As a follow up to my observations about the cultural significance of anime, a conversation with someone who knows a bit about the topic suggests that these figurines have a very small cult-like following in Japan, but cultures outside of Japan see these things as being representative of Japanese culture. You will rarely find anyone with Japanese heritage inside this kind of shop.

Just near our official start on the corner of Bourke and Swanston St we were reminising about Old Fun Shop in the Tivoli Arcade, when we encountered this group of larikins making their own fun.




The Tivoli Arcade Breakdancing Crew (not their official competition name) certainly had those at the adjacent tram superstop gawking in admiration. No matter where, each thoroughfare or precinct we encounter, belongs to us, in our minds at least, and the TABC were happy to oblige by posing for the above photo.


Off Bourke St is Royal Lane - where the City of Melbourne car fleet is parked and where they fill up their tanks at a very conveniently located petrol pump. Fuck knows how they get a tanker in to fill the tanks. One lady had to do a 6 point turn to get out of the dead end she found herself in just as we were departing. I think she feared our torches would be used as weapons to gain entry to her vehicle, and she couldn't get out of there quick enough. Along these lines, during Are you Guys sponsored by the RACV, another lady appeared to fear getting whacked in the face with a MagLite as she approached ShinyShiny, but he was only trying to get something out of his bag.

Moving along to Russell St we spent a few minutes investigating the sculpture made up of pipes and large horns - pretty piss poor and will probably be consigned to the tip in the not too distant future. Off Russell St is Portland Lane - where a sleeping vagrant was attentive but quiet - pretending to sleep and probably ready to fend off potential attackers. What a way to live, hungry, cold, and most of the time, in fear. Poor bastard. Russell St is, generally speaking a bit of a dive, the pinnies, smack dealers, and a few cheap restaurants. Quite a contrast to Little Collins and Flinders Lane between Russell and Swanston. Cafes and bars are a dime a dozen and fashion shops entice customers with their extravagant window displays - like this one:



Council House 2 on Little Collins has been given a Six Star Green rating. The highest rating possible. One of the reasons for this is the presence of giant comdoms on the side of the building, which are used to cool water which then assists in cooling the building. On the inside, the front desk has been designed so there is no visible flat surface on which security staff can rest a coffee cup. Aparently Artist David Emery built this in the shape of a walnut pod, the wooden slats from old elm trees cut down in Swan Street. Not sure how friendly that is to the staff - like so many modern things - looks interesting but the key purpose is compromised as a result.

Adjacent to Council House 2 is Rainbow Lane, where we observed a man walking to the end of the alley before acting very strangely. We thought he might have been preparing to shoot up, but we moved on before witnessing exactly what he was up to. We did however capture this wonderful poster:



Off Little Collins St is the wonderful Baptist Place, which extends to the rear of the Baptists Church on Collins St. Urban Seed, Cafe Credo and a Needle Exchange operate from here, and the walls of the lane are filled with fantastic murals warning about the dangers of overdose. This was undoubtedly the highlight of the evening, and I'm tempted now to go on one of the City Walks as a an excuse to get a second look with a guided tour. Not far from here - heading back up to Russell St along Little Collins we were again reminded of the difference between the haves and the have nots as a scraggly old man entered into a tirade against some scanntily clad girls walking on the opposide side of the road - the pinnacle of this tirade being "Your guts will flop out".


The Old Scots Church on the corner of Russell and Collins gave us reason to consider the impact of religion on architecture. It would interesting to plot the percieved level of architectural beauty alongside the relevance of religion in Australian society since colonisation/invasion. I'm sure it will be a linear relationship with about as much validity as this reason as to why global warming is occuring. A similar relationship probably exists with between the level of religous observene and happness. I imagine that people were probably happer when there was less to worry about. What with mobile phones, i Pods and the variety of cheese on supermarket shelves it is no wonder people give up and are sleeping homeless in the street or choose to commit suicide. But back to Scots Church, which is by the way Presbyterian. If you have ever wondered what it is that these folk believe in, then check out their official website. Aparently the bible is the word of god in written form. But which bible I ask myself?

The stretch of Collins St between Swanston and Russell is quite pretty, what with Scots Church, Georges, Baptist Church, Pleasant House, Clyde House, the Antheneum and the Town Hall - there is little to complain about architecturally.

At some point we found ourselves in the region of the City Square. Some stupid fucks couldn't wait to reimagine and reconstruct the City Square, given the public outrage which met its first iteration, with it recently being replaced with a hotel, smaller public space and much smaller water feature. Both ShinyShiny and I have positive recollections of lounging around, reading the paper, watching people and drinking milkshakes in its inital configuration, something that I can't imagine doing in the current space. It is however, a travesty that it was ever created, particularly when you consider what was there previously. It is also damn lucky that the Regent Theatre still stands, as this was scheduled for demolision as part of the creation of the city square. Here are two pics of what could have been lost as part of that process.





Back on City Square, which commemorates the Victorians of the year in much the same way as the stars on Hollywood Boulevard, with commemorative plaques embedded in the bluestone of City Square. There are however ony 12 years featured, with 1997 being the last year recognised with a plaque. Interestingly, the information about who has been recogised by this award is sketchy and incomplete - Wikipedia for example having an incomplete list. If anyone who knows more about this - you can edit the page and improve its accuracy. Alternatively, you could make it up, maybe even nominate Mr S. Russell as the winner for 1993. Organisers of this award probably deserve a BIG TICK for their half arsed efforts.

Moving on to Flinders lane and some of the lanes that branch off, we were fortunate to see and hear the laneway commission No Answer. ShinyShiny demonstrated his approval by testing the effectiveness of his MagLight against a piece of glass. Back to my introductory remarks, I must add that the glass was part of an door dumped in the laneway and had already sustained some damage. Fine upstanding citizens like ourselves would never do anything as anti-social as smashing someones window. We leave that to the anarchists.



On our way back up Swanston St, we again left a calling card at an ANZ tellar machine. Toto and the Mufti were placed in all sorts of obscure places. We tried Eurotrash for a hot beverage to end the evening, but instead settled for coffee/hot chocolate and some Jagermeister at Troika. Conversation was as usual tangential and included some comments about men and their fondness for jugs and how alcohol can make a kindergarten teacher swear like a crazy man on Little Collins St. Another storey about Nidal was offered, this time the pistachio and foundoulis eating imbecile wanted another lift home after a small session with Darren at the flats. Our taxes pay for this drug induced coma - fucking brilliant!