Unfinished Melbourne: Day 1

Soundtrack: “Hong Kong Garden” Siouxsie and the Banshees

New trip, 5 days in Melbourne to shop, eat things, and most importantly, see Massive Attack.

An early morning, and much inclement weather on my drive to the airport (the airline sent an email the night before advising of possible delays). It took some time to find a parking spot some distance from the shuttle bus, and I was a little damp by the time I got to the stop. After checking in and security, I settled in for an expensive coffee and breakfast based on a croissant (in the same way movies are based on a true story — Paris has ruined me when it comes to croissants).

Early flight, and compared to other flights was generally uneventful. My in-flight reading was an old anthology of Australian sf, She’s Fantastical edited by Lucy Sussex and Judith Raphael Buckrich. It kind of hurts to describe a book I bought and first read when it came out as old, but it was 30 years ago so I guess that counts. Was sad to scan the contents and see the names of several amazing writers who left us in the last few years: Phillipa Maddern, Leanne Frahm, Tess Williams. The contents still stand up generally as awesome works, some are as confronting as they were 30 years ago, while the excerpt from M Barnard Eldershaw’s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow (first published in 1947) describes an Australia still relevant today, ironically highlighting contradictions still alive and well in the regressed minds of conservatives today. If you stumble across a copy of She’s Fantastical somewhere in the used market, it’s worth checking out.

It’s kind of sad to read a landmark work from the 1990s, breaking ground for women writers, and realise that we’re still dealing with this same shit today in 2026. As a card carrying Gen-X, I remember the 90s as a time of hope, we had strong, powerful, and incredible women representation in writing and music, visible (but sadly not completely proportional) with hope that we were getting somewhere. Maybe we did make some progress, as there are women among the best-selling and highest earning musicians and writers today (even with not counting the TERFs in that), but outside of that I’m not sure. Did we win, or at least make things a little better? Maybe we were hoping for a trickle-down thing, that we hoped any progress in the arts would trickle down to healthcare, politics, business, overall representation, and equality. Maybe someday the problems of the world will be solved by a white guy sitting in a coffeeshop in a Melbourne laneway, but that ain’t today.

Flight got in early, and with no suitcase just cabin case, I was out and on a Skybus in no time. Not wanting to try checking in early, I stopped for lunch at the Mercato on Collins St, which was a little busier this time. Decided on the calamari and a slightly alcoholic ginger beer, as it was at least after midday in Melbourne if not in Perth. The calamari was a little disappointing, overcooked and a little chewy, the ginger beer was fine.

Checked in at my usual apartment hotel, was even recognised by the front desk staff as I was only here a few months ago. Sadly one of the lifts is out of service temporarily, so it’s a bit more interesting to use, especially at main check in times.
I’d promised to bring cheese to dinner so went to the Queen Victoria Markets and tried to do some wallet damage in the dairy corner. If I ever get rich the signs will be a lot of empty shelves here and a run on local stocks of Eno and other anti-heartburn remedies. Came away sigh some aged cheddar, a delightfully creamy looking brie, and mild irish blue. Also stopped for a canolli, because we all know to leave the gun and take the cannoli. Tiramisu filling, creamy coffee goodness contained in a crunchy deep fried hug. So good.

Feeling nostalgic I headed to where Heartland Records, Melbourne’s goth/industrial/metal record store, used to be, just across the road. I’d googled that they were still open after all these years, but couldn’t see the shop. I did find a bookshop that specialises in BiPOC works and writers, so while I’m kinda keeping an eye on luggage weight did come away with a book because places like this are good things that should be supported.

Turns out that Heartland Records moved about 13 years ago, to around the corner and up the road a little. The store is actually bigger than it was, a good thing as there’s little sadder than going to an old and treasured place and finding it’s only half its previous size. Had a little chat with the staff, an opinionated Gen-X guy semi-sterotype, and a high school grrl studying sound production (her class have been invited to check out Massive Attack’s set-up ahead of Tuesday’s gig and hopefully we convinced her she should go). Left with a lighter wallet and a selection of CDs including plugging some gaps in my Massive Attack collection, a The Church bootleg, and a PWEI album with their cover of Sigue Sigue Sputnick’s “Love Missile F1-11” which I didn’t know existed and now can’t wait to hear, for better or worse.

Suitably stocked with loot, I headed back to the hotel for a break where I should have consumed more water than I did.
Dinner was enjoying the hospitality of the wonderful LS and JW, with another couple, JR and TC. All are long time members of the Victorian sf/gaming community, so the conversation went in many directions. JW has a solid collection of whisky, and makes a mean stew, and much of both were consumed, in addition to LS’s wonderful choko and melon salad (with a hint of chilli and lime), and the cheese. There was also a delicious peach crumble. A wonderful evening in a house of many CDs, books, and whiskies. As you read on you’ll understand why some details of the evening are a little hard to recall in the sober light of day, but JW curated an incredible musical soundtrack including some Siouxsie and the Banshees, along with much wit and conversation (I’m priding myself that when asked if I had any food allergies or intolerances, I replied “I have no dietary requirements and my intolerances are limited to human behaviours”. Oscar Wilde eat your heart out. As bookish people I can remember being shown a number of old books, library discards, whose owners had created hand drawn covers for, old Penguins from the 1930s and 1940s printed in England that somehow ended up in Melbourne.

I brought along a little sample of the Cooley I picked up in Dublin last year, and there was a Loch Lomond (14 year old Sauternes cask), Kilchoman (original cask strength, a solid one note of peat), Port Dundas (Signatory 24 yo, light and sweet), Kilkerran (16 yo bold and maritime), Springbank (10 yo, just gorgeous), Redbreast (10 yo distillery only release, delicious — remind me to rant about this later*), Metaxa (12 stars, Greek spirit, unusual, I think if you have to claim your product is 12 stars you’re really trying something on, TC couldn’t finish his), Rittenhouse (straight rye, spicy and soapy), Armagnac (1988, interesting fruity spirit), and “to finish” Booker’s bourbon (63.30% but I believe we were beyond feeling it). There may have been second serves of these as JW and I ended up talking until after 3am, stuff about music, like those bands that I probably should be more familiar with but aren’t like The Fall and Duritti Column, and many other things. For all I know we solved the problems of the world, however it’s all a little hazy now.

I poured myself into a rideshare back to the hotel, where I stopped for a HSP to hopefully buffer me from the inevitable, before falling into a restless sleep of sorts, knowing I had to be awake in the morning to do brunch with old pal AJ.

* Anyway, that mini-rant about Redbreast 10 year old. Readers may recall I went to Midleton Distillery last year on the Buns tour, did a fabulous tour, and then purchased a bottle of the 10 year old as it would be something I couldn’t get back home. It’s a beautiful drop, a balanced sherried irish whisky, hints of sweet and dry, great for a relaxing dram or two among friends. ANd I could smugly look my bottle knowing it wasn’t to be bought elsewhere. Then about 3 or so months ago, one of Australia’s mail-order whisky clubs announced their monthly whisky, and lo and behold it was the Redbreast 10 yo. So now it’s everywhere, every whisky dude (fyi as Gen X dude is and will always be to me a non-gender specific term) and their dog have a bottle. I guess mine’s still special, it arrived in Australia via suitcase, not by the pallet in a shipping container. At least I tell my self that to at least seem a little hipster.