We travelled back to Adelaide from Victor Harbor this morning. Everybody was going the other way. It was glorious weather on the Southern Fleurieu Peninsula coast. Balmy autumn days, no wind, glorious sunshine. The place was jumping with Easter holiday makers. We were so reluctant to leave.
Adelaide was dead and empty. Shops were closed. So were the cafes. Everybody had gone south for fun, romance and family joy. We called into the new townhouse in Sturt Street. It was empty as the previous owners had gone. It was ready for us to move in. The Vogue grey walls were very noticeble. Ari hated it. He couldn't see the street and he refused to go upstairs to the bedrooms, study and balconies----the stairs were too step, the gaps between the stairs were too great and the steps were too polished. The great white hunter, killer of possums, galahs and magpies, had to be carried up and down the stairs.
It had a very urban feel---so different from the electronic cottage in the South east corner which has a friendly residential/community village atmosphere even though it is in the inner city of Adelaide. Sturt Street was more hard edged. Street kids hanging about; a drunk squatter reeking of metho staggering out of a derelict house; cars moving all the time; people walking down the street; no speaks to anyone. There is no eye contact. Agtet sat by the front security gate and lapped all the sounds up ---it promised to be a 24 hour day party.
Suzanne had cold feet. She is a suburban girl at heart. The electronic cottage was cute and sweet with its mornign sun in the back courtyard and afternoon sun in the front porch. Sturt Street was too raw. It was in area where people worked and business was conducted. We have gone deep into debt to do this and we keep our fingers crossed that house prices continue to rise, consumers go on a spending binge in the US, American businesses invest big time; unemployment keeps coming down in Australia; economic growth continues in SA and the Reserve Bank keeps saying no to interest rate rises and huge tax cuts are offered to those who reckon the meaning of life is spend, spend spend.
Yep it's a gamble. Australian house prices have got to hold. We trust no one. The market sucks. Its all blind faith and naked greed. The market says justice is a mirage.Its grab what you can when you can. The regulators only care about covering their back from the follies, indulgences and stupidities of others.
Then back to the electronic cottage to continue the renovations, pack and met the new tenant---a female computer programmer who works from home ---and her parents. 20 something professional women have yet to fully gain independence. The parents have to check the landlord out to see that he doesn't take advantage of their daughter. A century of emancipation and still the parents keep a watchful on their daughters. Urban life is seen to be threatening by those baby boomer adults whose horizons are formed by a suburbia that was a refuge from the harsh city.
Time is short. We have to be out by Thursday. And to make it worse we are going to shift ourselves.
At twilight time, after all the days work was done, we sat on the front porch, sipped a Coonawarra red and listened to a Kookaburra in the city celebrate life.