Draught Dodger

What? A Beer, So Early In The Morning?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

All right, I know you all think that Aussies are great beer drinkers, so I guess it’s fitting that beer should be the theme of today’s contribution to the Sky Watch Friday theme.

These images were shot in March this year, as I waited at Richmond station for a train to Flinders Street. Was that really a flying beer glass I could see on the horizon? Surely I wasn’t imagining things.


Then I realised it was a unique hot-air balloon. Yes, it was a foaming glass of Carlton Draught beer, but it was being well flown over the horizon. I could have swapped lenses and got some interesting close-ups, but I decided to stick with my Sigma 18-125mm lens and compose some shots that included normal station silhouettes as well.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

V Is For Vector

A Tale Of Jetlag, A Suitcase And A Very Long Day

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Richmond station here in Melbourne is a major suburban junction that also serves as the jumping-off point for thousands of sports-mad Melburnians. Instead of driving in to the city and trying to find a parking spot, the majority prefer to take a train and then walk across to the mighty stadium we know as the MCG, or Melbourne Cricket Ground.

My first encounter with Richmond station here in Melbourne was an interesting one. It was in February 1985, when I still lived in Calcutta, India. Let me start at the very beginning ...

I was in the Indian commercial capital Bombay (on the west coast) on a long writing assignment, when the phone rang early one morning. It was a colleague of mine, saying I was to drop everything and return to Calcutta. Was there a problem, I asked. No, he said, but I would have to fly to Australia at short notice. Make that very short notice.

It was a Thursday. I had to be in Melbourne by Saturday morning to cover the Benson & Hedges World Championship of Cricket. We're a phlegmatic bunch, us sportswriters. Nothing's too much of a drama.


So I caught an afternoon flight and flew across the country to Calcutta (on the east coast) which was my hometown at the time. I went home, packed a suitcase, picked up my passport, dropped in to the office for a briefing and caught a flight with a colleague to New Delhi (in the north). We had to go to the Australian High Commission there and get high-priority media visas. That done, we went to the airport to board a KLM flight, but was told that it was full.

Instead, my boss told us both to get on a flight to Bombay, where my own journey had begun 24 hours earlier, and attempt to get a Qantas flight. This worked perfectly and, having flown right round India, we then boarded a Boeing 747 to Singapore. After a couple of hours in transit there, we caught another Qantas flight to Sydney and then to Melbourne.

Jetlag? We didn't even have time for jetlag. Sleep had not played much part in my life for 48 hours.

But here we were, each with a heavy suitcase, outside a crowded stadium on the opening day of a full-strength international tournament. Someone suggested that we simply walk across the road and ask the rail staff at Richmond station if we could leave our suitcases there. Deep in the bowels of the station we found a couple of uniformed employees who waved away our apologies and said there was no problem at all. Yes, of course we could leave our suitcases there.


Several hours later, the opening match of the tournament was over - unlike baseball or Aussie Rules football, a limited-overs cricket match was a whole-day affair. Because it was a day-night match, beginning in daylight and finishing under the wonderful state-of-the-art light towers of the MCG, it was close to 11pm when we had finished writing our reports of the game.

We then caught a cab to the city to file our reports and while my colleague tidied up his last few paragraphs, I decided to make myself useful and go to Richmond station to collect our suitcases. I caught a cab and told him where I wanted to go. The driver just looked at me. "You DO realise there are four different Richmond stations," he said with a grin."

Ya live and learn. There was East Richmond, West Richmond, North Richmond and Richmond, he said. Where did I want to go first? We started with East Richmond, where of course I drew a blank. Next he drove up to Richmond, but he approached from a different street, where nothing looked familiar. Undeterred, I found my way (don't ask me how) to the area where the suitcases had been dropped off many hours earlier.

Because there had been a change of personnel, I started to explain to the staff that I had dropped off two suitcases after a long flight. "Yeah, mate," said one of them, "We know all about it. There aren't many journos who fly halfway round the world and drop their gear off here."

It was a less complicated, more trusting world back then, wasn't it?


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

Service With A Smile

Welcome To The High Court

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Sometimes you see just the shot you want – and you have to put everything else aside for a minute or two. I had just arrived at Richmond station, where I always change to get a direct train to Flinders Street. The announcement informed commuters that the next train to Flinders would be arriving on platform seven in a minute.

So the rush of passengers went lemming-like down the walkway and turned right for platform seven. I turned left instead, heading alone towards platform one. Why? Because I had spotted these flags, advertising the 2009 Australian Open tennis tournament, fluttering above nearby Punt Road.

There’s something else you need to take into account here. It was one of those scorching Melbourne days, with the mercury edging past the three-figure mark.

Me, I hate the heat, but there I was heading away from an air-conditioned train, just to take these photographs.

The wind was whipping in from the north, a cruelly hot wind that brought the embrace of the desert. And no matter where I stood, the wind blew the flags away from me, on a severe angle. Just my luck, I thought. I shot a few frames anyway.

If you look carefully at the bottom of the first image, you'll see clear proof that the flags were flying away from me - the last seven white letters of the words "Melbourne Park" are back-to-front.

Just as I was about to walk away, thinking I would have to come back the next day, the direction must have changed fractionally, or the intensity must have lessened marginally. For a split second, the flags were almost where I wanted them.

By the way, the Australian Open, the first grand slam of the calendar year, can often be a test of spectators’ sartorial skills. It is played in two different sessions each day and it’s not uncommon for fans to start a session wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but to be digging into their bags for a warm jumper before the last point is won and lost.

Just don’t let your spirits flag.


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