Shakespeare’s Richard III opens with that less than affable Richard muttering those words, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York”. While good old Dick was slyly impressed with his work, this clever little dick is less than impressed by the lack of Sydney’s glorious summers, with the onset of the discontent of winter and so called public transport.
Shakespearean soliloquies allow characters to have an open dialogue with the audience, giving them a glimpse into their thoughts.
Similarly, the nowwearetalking blog gives you a peek into that exciting and arguably wacky world of Peter Habib. So let me indulge you into a bit of my thoughts.
Everyone loves to whinge. Last weekend’s 2020 Summit was proof of that. While people embraced the idea of forward planning to make this country that little extra bonza, there were the traditional knockers who thought otherwise.
It seems if there is a problem out there, and you disagree, then in that proud Australian tradition, you go out and complain.
Working at the big T, let me assure you, people do love to complain. Nothing is more endearing in this great nation of ours than by having a well manicured front lawn, barbeque on the back veranda, a kelpie running around the back yard and, of course, a solid opinion of Telstra.
Sure the former Prime Minister was close to constitutionally declaring cricket as a national sport, but his former cabinet seemingly loved to participate in that other national sport of kicking the boot into the mighty T too.
But you see, there are far more important things to complain about: the weather, for example.
Having put up with Sydney’s Shakespearean-like tempests, let me indulge you in a little bit of a winter’s tale, which will of course reveal some comedy of errors in this little hamlet of Sydney.
OK –the Shakespeare puns were too hard to resist.
But, if you don’t live in Sydney, then let me tell you something: it is raining here. By rain, I mean it is bucketing down. This little harbour city does put on a spectacular thunderstorm show which rivals the fireworks over the Harbour Bridge. But when it comes to rain, it gets serious.
But I’ve whinged about the weather before. No, this time the weather is a mere spear-carrier in this tale. You see, I am about to unleash a good old fashion whinge about Sydney’s public transport.
To be honest, I have no need to frequent Sydney’s buses. I live a leisurely 20 minute stroll from the office and much prefer to keep my somewhat athletic, and arguably masculine, physique in shape by the regular constitution that is walking to and from the office.
However, when it pours, I think it far more prudent to catch the bus into work. Let me give you a glimpse into that bizarre world of catching a bus in Sydney.
Firstly, I am assured by the State Transit Authority of NSW about the importance of hailing a bus. Unfortunately, I am unaware if most of the bus drivers in this city are aware of this importance. Sure I stand at the bus stop, place my hand out to signal the driver. Then begin to wave frantically as the bus speeds past and the driver smirks. Yes, he may find it funny. I however, stand there, dripping wet from the spray of water caused by the bus, muttering obscenities to myself about the brilliant public transport of Sydney.
When I finally manage to get onto a bus, well, I guess it is pleasing to know how eager bus drivers are. Unfortunately, their eagerness usually translate in me falling flat on my face as, somewhat remarkably, the driver is able to take a 16 tonne bus from zero to 50 in seconds.
As astonishing as that may sound, nothing is more bizarre than what greets me next. You see, everyone knows the rancid ‘wet-dog’ smell that seems to waft through public transport on wet days. What I didn’t know of was the apparent lack of water proofing inside a bus.
That’s right, I mean, why bother catching a bus to avoid the rain. Here in Sydney, it actually continues to rain inside the bus. Astonishingly, I saw passengers sitting under wet weather gear, trying to stay dry.
Hamlet may well have claimed there was something wrong in the state of Denmark, however, there seems to be something wrong with the state of our buses. I’m sure riding in a convertible in the rain would result in me becoming less wet than that fateful ride on a bus that day.
Sure, I decided to write that trip off as a random, unique occurrence. That was, until this week when, sure enough, I popped on another bus in the rain and, less astonishingly this time, I once again sat down only to be rained on from the ceiling of the bus.
While something deep inside me wanted to have a classic Macbeth hissy fit, I decided somewhat of a more refined approach and write down my frustrations. After all, if complaining about Telstra is the Aussie thing to do, then surely me, a humble Telstra employee can be granted a slight rant about the state of Sydney’s buses.
Yes, dear old Richard in his moment of need may have cried, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” I will be more content for a decent water-tight bus, thank you.