The Monochrome set. Quirky 80’s experiemental band.
Dear reader it’s time now for some school holiday specials. Yes indeed, the eternal hazy lazy comfort zone of nothing really matters cept keeping the little darlings fed and trying to stop the hole in your pocket getting larger and larger. So in the spirit of school holidays, laugh with us as we present in the spirit of Blyton and E.E Nesbit the first of our holiday specials; “the Monochrome set”.
Sunbury. A funky Festival
It all began about ten years ago. WE lived on the hill then. On the hill was the prized locale in town. And perhaps because of the location, elevated and remote to the frail and infirm, we weren’t entirely aware of an encroaching tide. A tide that insidiously, bit by bit, was to stifle the very life blood of the community.
Because the hill was quite steep, the only folk we espied for our quaint un-renovated neo-Georgian villa were the hale and the hearty. Those possessed with enough “VIM” to make it up from the shops some 200 meters below us. Consequently when you engaged in conversation, as we were wont to do with passer-bys it would be in the spirit of a congratulatory salutation, for having made the ascent wth bags of shopping. Or just an exultant brief encounter as one imagines treckers do in the slopes of Everest before making the final assault. And thus, a camaraderie ensued amongst those hapless enough to live on the flat, and those exalted types who lived “on the hill”.
Castlemaine, a less than funky festival. A sort of hybrid between a Sunday Art show and Test pattern.
The children were younger then, so the interaction was usually between their peers and their parents. That was ten years ago. And as the cliche goes, times have changed.
Castlemaine has become Tapestry Workshop. When Art becomes Death.
Now, I live in the bottom of the hill, on the “non-Paris end”, opposite the station. The conversation is non existent. When i greet a passerby with a friendly Hullo, I receive a mute stare. It has all the trappings of suburbanism. When I cross to the “other side”, I’m assailed by people intent on being busy when they have nothing much to do. They’re incredibly busy going to the library, attending U3A meetings, discovering pilates, and seeing the doctor en masse. They book out entire cafes that used to be full of gamboling shrieking children. All erased by this grim set determinist clique of indulgents. Worse still, they’re ostentatiously materialistic. They drive brand new cars and throw their weight about by demonstrating the pile that bought back in 72 was sold for several million. They’re defined by a choice of clothing that divides into two sub types, a sort of folk rock Stevie Nicks amalgam or a beaux arts black and designer glasses wearing uniform. The town is being taken over. During the recent festival, they took it over in its entirety. It’s a sort of dystopian post zombie take-over, and now we’re aware of it, it’s almost too late.
They hang around in cliques, they pretend to be terribly interested in art and literature, and some of them even get involved in local issues that affect them directly. But you wont find em at the local footy club, the cricket or netball, cos they’re busy attending gallery openings book readings and natural healing, tantric, iridology, wholistic mind body spirit classes. There’s a palpable scent of assertive wowserism in the air.
These are not the standard bearers of their generation, the heavy drinkers the poets, the dreamers and the rat bags. They lived life fully, burnt the candle at both ends and are DEAD. These are the survivors who dipped their toes into the waters, and opted for security. Now, retired they’re descending on provincial Victoria like locusts, and sucking the life out of local communities, replacing it (South Park-like ) with the choking, nacreous ooze of SMUG
Exercise is good for the body and soul. But I’d prefer death to doing it like this.
They are the early baby boomers. They’re flooding out town turning what was once vibrant into a monochrome haze. And now, in their twilight, buying up what’s left of affordable housing. They’ve reaped full the benefit of living an annointed life of free education,cheap housing and they’re now closing in, laying siege to my town. It would be uncharitable to think of them as the most preened self indulgent generation in history. They talked of the environment and equality, yet on their watch closed it all down. And now, coiffured and caparisoned, they’ve descended on Castlemaine. And they’re here to stay. Their crime? Taking themselves very seriously.
Grey skies envelop all. The bells will not ring. Until, that happy day, when they follow the course of their generation’s trailblazers and they’re all DEAD.
The End.