Featured Article

Human Connections and lots of Swearing!

4 August 2026 | Life-Style

After weeks by the beach I’m super calm, overly meditated and ready for some city energy. Transition is a funny thing and I quite like that small window where I arrive in Melbourne’s mayhem in my own little private bubble of quiet, distanced observation of the human race.

Melbourne’s seasonal weather tousle is taking place. It’s touching winter, but mild temperatures stubbornly persist and sunlight refuses to be intimidated by cloud cover. People move with purpose and I dodge the phone addicts who refuse to look up from their screens. I drink amazing coffee in packed cafes full of smartly dressed, grey haired women and men wearing peaked caps, smart suits and overcoats. A fashionista nod to the Peaky Blinders. The comparison stops there.

After a few hours of cruising bookshops, walking laneways and soaking in city energy I wait at the tram stop to take me back to my city flat. Flashing signs give tram updates. The no 67 is due in 7 minutes, not long to wait. A busker hits the high notes on the street corner and soon he’s joined by a group of kids- all studs and attitude. Teenagers scouring the city for their identity. Green hair, pierced nipples and noses, carting huge plastic bags full of stuff. They’re loud, ratty, loose and join in the singing. I move a little further up the platform as my tram arrives. Unusually, there are plenty of seats and I settle into the front of the tram with my shopping and handbag on the seat next to me. Opposite sits a well dressed older man reading. He gives a slight nod to acknowledge my arrival. A fellow member of the older person’s tribe. The doors close and as we’re just about to head off. Suddenly,  the doors open again and  a streak of sunlight catches the glint of metal, green hair and a cacophony of sounds is unleashed. ” Fuck we made it. Nearly didn’t. Did ya get me fuckin’ drink ya idiot………”

Enormous bags are hoisted along the tram floor. Bodies bend, twist, move. They are on the floor, swinging off the handrails, doing pushups, falling over each other. Voices shout, swear and curse. She is cursing a friend who is selfish and demanding. He has his own preoccupations and yells “Yeh, Fuckin friends. She’s a C…” I sit and try not to react to this insanity. In the maelstrom I make out there are only 2 of them. She with green hair, pasty, rake thin with face piercings. I pretend not to stare but my monkey brain wonders how on earth she manages to eat a pie with all that nose and lip furniture. He has pin wheel eye balls and unruly hair, sweat dripping down his face as he unloads layers of clothing into his oversized plastic bags. Reduced to a ripped t-shirt with nipple rings protruding, he smiles at me and says ” Ah sorry for the language but that feels fuckin’ brilliant.” She is in her own world of wardrobe rejigging and supplements her t-shirt with a leopard print short cardigan. ” Does that look awright?”  He stops moving for a moment and offers his bandana to complete the look. ” Fuckin’ ace Ren. Ya look fuckin’ ace.”