Camp Cove again, swimming amongst the stink boats and detritus. The beach was full of people, not the least bit pasty and gormless after the cold winter months but strutting about brown, epilated and carefree as if we were in the middle of summer or as though they had all returned from the Greek Islands. The water was numbingly cold, just the way I like it on a day of 31 degree heat.
Rufus contemplating the sea and all three of us enjoying our day in the sun.
We took our classes out to Cockatoo Island. Thanks to the Biennale of Sydney for the free ferry! The churlish boat crew appeared somewhat piqued by the early morning attendees (we took the first scheduled ferry) and we were told emphatically that the boat was strictly for patrons of the ‘art show’. I guess our horde of migrants and misfits mismatched their expectations of what art viewers would be (dressed in black, nursing lattés and perhaps not so enthusiastically early). “If youse getton ya havta gettoff n’ look at the art.” the ferry hand snarled. Despite being a despicably gormless and albino coloured juvenile, he conceded to allowing one of the students to take the forbidden round trip as she had left her mobile phone back at Circular Quay. Once ashore we headed straight for the barbecue area set behind the row of empty tents that flapped in the icy wind. Maybe it was a defence mechanism that kicked into action after dealing with the ferry crew or my nature of being generally contrary but as I was handed a brochure on the Biennale by one of the staff I responded with “Fuck art, we’re here to barbecue.” He replied with “Yeah, I know how you feel.”
Of course, we had a wonderful time. One of the children brought a football which makes even a simple dribble a suspenseful game of chance (yes, who’d have thought you can’t catch a ball with your face?). After gorging on steak, sausage, salad, bread, chips, jelly and cake I took the group for a walk around the island and showed them works that I thought they would like. Finally we got to spend a few minutes with William Kentridge’s installation, a musical and magical piece that’s set in a dark and cavernous space.
I’m not sure if ‘revolutions that turn’ was a great theme. It’s not something that resonates with Sydney-siders. More on this later…
