On one of my recent travels around Brisbane, I had the good fortune to come across a blue tunnel that was joyously bedecked with street art. By this stage of the day, I had already been topped-up with a large serving of coffee from a very frisky goat and I was super-keen to get my photography arms up and my trigger finger snapping away. Also, I may have been jittering a little.

Located on the never-ending stretch that is known as George Street (a clear misnomer, it should have been called George The-Mind-Numbingly-Long Street) and feeding off the Transport Centre – this stretch of blue is currently being used to shield commuters from being clocked over the head by errant chunks of cement from an overhanging construction site. It was one of those happy discoveries and has probably been there for ages – with me coming to a visual epiphany months after the rest of the population of Brisbane. But, as Geoffery Chauncer wrote in 1386, better late than never.

So, it being the brink of nine AM, and with office-workers bravely making their way to work, I put on a Cheshire cat face and set to taking as many pictures as possible of the walls and succeeding in irritating commuter upon commuter in doing so. Altogether, I can call the morning a rip-roaring success.

Unfortunately, I have expended my Googlefu powers in attempting to discover all of the artists that have blessed these blue surfaces with their work – I can’t seem to find any reference to it in the great annuls of Brisbanite culture – so if someone out there in the great wide webbery does happen to know one/more/lots of the artists, do let me know so that I can stalk them worship them credit them.

While taking shots I had a homeless man trundle up to me and mumble something at me, or at least in my general direction. Unfortunately, I’m not particularly adept at understanding rambling and so I went ah yes, and wagged my head to show how impressed I was. I have a feeling he was actually admonishing me for my ostentatious and intrusive behavior but I was far too entranced by the artworks smeared on the walls to pay too much attention. He soon shuffled on in any case, proving the point often made by my mother, that I am a horrible and debase young lady.

While on this travel, I also managed to come across a cement railing with a chunk taken out of it, painted blue. My instant response to this was “TAKE A PICTURE OF IT, JAYNE.” Of which I did. Then I decided to make post cards out of it. As you do. So now I am the owner of a pile of 100 postcards bedecked with the most boring picture I have ever taken. Which means, you, you lucky buggers you, could possibly own one of these little bits of my lame photographic prowess with the addition of a distressingly bad poem scrawled on the back. YOU KNOW YOU WANT ONE.

If you, perchance, do actually want to own one, please feel free to e-mail me your address [ iamjayjayne (a) ]. I promise I won’t send you horri-mail, only horri-bad photography and a horri-bad poem.



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