Childhood Home. Or My Life as a Belonging Text Part II

The first home I can remember was in Manly. Well, Fairlight to be more precise. And returning to it today was a true assault to the memory. The Corso smells the same. The Esplanade has the same wind whipped sensation. The bus stop mirrors the past perfectly, I could almost see my friends huddled in wait for a late night bus, after we had played a sweaty, smoky game of laser tag, and eaten our own body weight in Royal Copenhagen ice-cream.

And to make matters even more comfortable, the whole place is draped in maroon and white, anticipating a great Sea Eagles victory on Grand Final Day this Sunday. I spend a fair bit of my life at The Boy Factory, and in various watering holes across QLD & NSW defending my love of the Manly Warringah Sea Eagles. There are not many of us out there that are true believers in the Silver Tails. As HG Nelson said "Everybody hates Manly. Except a few people who grew up in the Brookvale area."

But I love them. And most of the people I went to school with love them too.

My first proper boyfriend busted out the smooth moves at Brookvale Oval. Or perhaps I played the damsel-in-distress My Hands Are Cold card... Anyway, we ended up holding hands. I didn't mind much that Cronulla beat us that night. I was too busy swooning.

Brookvale Oval was a very great place for a date in the following years. Cheap, seeing as Dad snuck me a $4 entry players card from when he was coaching the school team. And demonstrating me to be the kind of chick that likes football, that isn't afraid to sit on a hill, that doesn't need the cliche girly treatment.

I understand the hatred from the other clubs. I understand the perception of the Silvertails from the fancypants Northern Beaches, in the working class game of Rugby League. Incidentally, the docoThe Fibros and The Silvertails is a brilliant film for looking at sports, journalism and identity with junior students. Works wonders with Year 8. But I digress...

Last night, my friend Jase used my love of Manly as a kickstarter for conversation at the pub. The aghast looks I received I found laughable. I was with a hard core St George supporter, a Souths player and a Queenslander. Not much support for Sea Eagles there.



So after swanning about with the lahdidah set in the city's east, I now feel a little more at home. Seeing palm trees wound with my team colours, and the wings of a spread eagle snapping on flags atop awnings and car rooves is comforting beyond belief.

How my life just might be a Belonging text

Term 3 is notoriously hectic. Near hellish, really. Shunting Yr12 out the gates in a fitting celebration, with minimal casualties. Cranking Yr11 up into their HSC year. Trialling Yr10 in the last school certain ever. Mania is a word that begins to cover it.

So now I have escaped West Bubblefuck to the increasingly unfamiliar sites of The Big Smoke. Considering I grew up here, moved back here and lived here for most of my adult life, I am somewhat surprised by how much of a tourist I am here now. The fact that I am staying in the uber-alienating leafy Woollhara, with the Yummy Mummy set and gentlemen who punctuate their sentences with "dahling" and the sound of them kissing their own teeth... Is is any wonder I am feeling a tad of an Outsider??

In West Bubblefuck, I think the Locals tend to consider ME out there. Latte sipping (even though my addiction is soley The Flat White), lefty, trendy tshirt wearing, artsy and a bit too opinionated for a chick. The fact that I refer to my "home"town as West Bubblefuck may indeed suggest that I feel like I am living somewhere not as progressive as I might like. But here I am not ENOUGH of a lefty/fashionista/trendy/out there human.

I'm sure it's just the hipster suburbs I've been floating in. Woollhara. Paddington. Surry Hills. This afternoon will be Bondi Beach. Maybe I should stop being such a posuer.


Or maybe I just need some more sleep.