Save it for a rainy day

When the weather is a little uncertain it's always a good idea to save a few indoor pursuits for a rainy day. Luckily Sydney has plenty of inclement weather options. There's an area called The Rocks, which doesn't really rock, as it were, but there is a tiny little museum that fills me in on the city's history, from before there were any Europeans, to the impact their arrival had on the people who were having a very nice life here thankyou very much. Almost as heartbreaking are the petty criminals transported for crimes as insignificant as stealing a brush. Mind you, so many forgers were transported here that, for a time, Australia had the best printing industry in the world.

In Surry Hills I'm fascinated by Brett Whiteley's studio and gallery (above). He's the artist who was married to Wendy, who created the secret garden in Lavender Bay I visited a few days ago. I'm not so sure about the abstracts or the giant "creation" work that covers two walls but his studio, left virtually as it was when he died, is interesting with pics he pinned up over the years, of Bob Dylan, who once held a press conference at this studio, of Brett with Malcolm McLaren (during his London years perhaps), with Francis Bacon, his mentor. I pick up the receiver of an old telephone and there he is being interviewed, off the heroin but not for long. Fragile sounding, before too long he'd be back on the drugs and careering headlong to a grubby death in a New South Wales motel. At 53.


It's quite a cool neighbourhood – its graffitti references Charles Bukowski for goodness sake (see below)! I revive my spirits at the Bourke Street Bakery, a tiny gem of a corner cafe and shop where I wolf down a chocolate croissant then spot a Ginger Brûlée Tart, which I have to have too. I'm in ginger heaven.

The next rainy day refuge is the Museum of Sydney, where as well as the history of the harbour area I find a temporary exhibition on another well loved Sydney artist, Margaret Olley. She lived in a little house in Paddington and most of her work was interior and still life scenes from inside her house. Such colourful and joyful paintings, and there's a moving little documentary about her life, with fellow artists and friends talking about her with enormous affection. One says that when invited to dinner he'd always say he'd just eaten, because although Olley was a very good cook, there were paint palettes and brushes in the kitchen side by side with the food. So a little alarmingly you never quite knew what would end up on your plate.

I find Olley again at the Art Gallery of NSW. An exquisite oil painting of her in her later years, by Ben Quilty (this is just my snap of the postcard so apologies for the poor quality but you get the idea). I also see my favourite Brett Whitely so far, The Balcony, all blues and dashes of white, the view from their house overlooking Lavender Bay. And a whole floor of Aboriginal art that catches the eye and makes me stop and think. 

On the way to Elizabeth Bay I check out Blue, the Taj hotel that has been built at one end of the historic Woolloomooloo wharf. It's pretty impressive, if a little industrial in its chic.










































I visit Elizabeth Bay House, a Georgian style mansion built by a Scotsman, which could have been airlifted in from The National Trust, so completely British is it, in style and feel.








































So it's farewell to Sydney with a concert by Martenitsa, a Bulgarian choir we in our London choir know, only tonight they're mostly singing in Italian, a lyrical and lovely Suite written for them. One of their sopranos, Laura (with me above) spent a year in London and sang with the London Bulgarian Choir while there. It's great to see her. They perform a song she's written in the Bulgarian segment of the gig, which is gorgeous. It feels strange to be bonding over Bulgarian music on the other side of the planet and Laura makes me sing a quick blast of Morf Elenku with her, for Mara, the musical director. Yikes!
On that note, bye bye Sydney...