Find more posts on http://lesjohns.wordpress.com/
A thoroughly decent and considerate mature man took nearby rental residence a few months ago. Quiet living, undemanding, polite and conservative in conversation, and not pension dependent. After decades circling Australia, now looking to drop the anchor, the waters of Kooralbyn mightn’t be the spot after all.
He used a clothes dryer in a secluded spot well away from the general gaze, unless those eyes belonged to the prying, trouble-making variety. A hatchet job incited an irrational ‘body corporate’ hate letter. The tiny Japanese-style bathroom adjunct receives little winter sunshine, is meant also to conceal the resident’s washing from the gentle eyes of hate merchants.
Quiet-living and non-smoking, the antithesis of the local unit owners, the gent is a welcome change from earlier cigarette-smoking, toxic-perfumed inhabitants. He, like the writer, earns angst from two of the tubby botoxed, blue-rinse battle-axes for hanging on to a decent set of values
My donga/ camp/ bunk/ residence/ accommodation is a roughly built, open-plan but adequate place in a quasi Housing Commission precinct and is best described as a flat although its proponents would much prefer the cutesy villa, terminology beloved of real estate entrepreneurs and idle, vacuous, cardboard wine drinking neighbours, and like a weekly dose of religion to its practitioners, reasserts and uplifts the already converted.
The unprotected dwelling projects into the car park, exposing it to reflected paver heat and car-fume. In summer, the eastern-facing front is subject to the sun which then hammers in from the west. It is one of the few of the fifty unit complex not blessed by tree foliage at some point of the day. The estate is built partly on a hillside, opposite a taller, imposing hill which reflects and amplifies domestic noises like car and house door-bangs and arguments back to their source and beyond. The layout of the land also plays havoc with wind direction, carbon-monoxide laden air predominates.
In summer, weather protected east-west flats/units are owned mostly by the toxic, cigarette smoking ‘body corporate’ obese, so heat stress wouldn’t worry them. Gentle summer breeze prevails but is compromised and tarnished by idling cars with their owners doing repairs or simply by normal car movements. The place stinks of carbon-monoxide and makes an industrial area out of a rural environment.
The maintenance/gardeners team have got the flick by the looks of things. Until recently, the unplanned, over-use of whipper-snippers, cheap hedge trimmers and tinny leaf-blowers on three days of the week by garden contractors exacerbates the noise and fume and would have been less a problem if their machine use had been thoughtfully applied. The repetitive use of weed-killer on pavers up to both doors seemed over-done and I suspect, contravenes local by-laws.
A section of grounds maintenance involved the upkeep of a central, open court-yard, cynically referred to as the fish-bowl, holding the gem of the small-minds set; a minute swimming pool, and woe betide the newcomer who dares decline the command of body corporate couple to join the gamboling fatties. This is the province of the ruling gang members whose close-by residences act as silent sentries.
These are the smug, self-satisfied professional do-gooders who get on the slops and prowl the precinct looking for innocent marks on which to unload their venom. It is little wonder the community shuns their ‘assistance’. Don’t be hoodwinked by RSL Citizens Auxiliary appellation. RSL is a misused acronym in this case. Emphasis on the key word, Citizens, in Kooralbyn, pretentious no-hoper trouble-makers looking for unearned praise.