Saturday, December 03, 2005


she is a mess
A varitable jumble of chair legs, fire hydrants and items for sale in various states of distress. Cheap dollar shops interspursed with high-end fashion stores and dirty looking souvlaki shops planted next to sit down cafes outfitted in chrome benchtops and sturdy looking stools.
This is the end of Chapel that makes the most sense.
It's the end that's real.
The other end of Chapel, (the Toorak end) is like you'd imagine Hollywood to be - polystyrene people drinking their de-caf skinny lattes while rifling delicately through their Dolce & Gabanna handbags for another fag.
Real people do not survive in the Toorak end of Chapel - they are eaten up by foam of vapid conversation and drown in the fluff of commercialism at its very worst.
I like the messy, cluttered end. I like the side of Chapel that forgot to comb her hair today. The side of Chapel that refuses to admit with any certainty exactly who she is. The side that yawns her good mornings while still rubbing sleep from her eyes.
So, you find yourself trying to discover her secret - this antipodean strip.
Moving from store to store, and person to person, you walk away with more questions than with what you came with.