Strangers in Paradise

I enjoyed dinner and an evening with friends this week including M who lives in what might be called a designer suburb of Sydney.

Breakfast Point

Breakfast Point has arisen from the metaphorical ashes of an old gas works site. A new suburb of perhaps 3,000 residents in just under twenty years. The residential complexes are built around a number of community facilities including a sports oval and its adjacent sparklingly clean and organised Country Club.

M took us on a tour of the club before we moved on to a restaurant in a nearby 'non-designed' suburb. Each Friday evening the Country Club hosts nibbles and drinks for residents and their guests. Without any reflection on our good friend M it all felt a bit like stepping into the cinematic town of Stepford.

The Country Club

There were about thirty others in little groupings. One couple joined us, glasses of red wine in hand. He was particularly vocal dominating the conversation over his wife who remained mute, not lifting the glass to her lips.

'We couldn't wait to downsize' he informed us. 'Push the kids out and get our lives back' he continued. The 'kids', now aged in their thirties, live respectively in Canberra and Darwin, he said. One has provided a grandchild. The couple is estranged from their children and don't get to see the grandchild. 'Good riddance to them' was the unmistakeable unspoken summary.

This and other tidbits of sensational insider information was imparted to us - complete strangers to the couple - within minutes of meeting. Putting a final stamp on the conversation, the wife finally joined in. Lifting her glass to take an earthy sip of her wine she informed me in confidential tones, 'If I'd known how much trouble children are, I would never have had any'.