Saturday Morning

Saturday mornings have a particular rhythm in the house on Poets Road. We don’t sleep in and we don’t rush to get up but around 8:00 and before breakfast Irene and I walk downhill to pick up the  newspapers: The Saturday Age and The Weekend Australian. Hobart’s own paper, the Mercury,* has already arrived (as it does every morning) in plenty of time for breakfast.

On a sunny morning like today’s, when we reach the corner of Poets Road just below the house, we see the Tasman Bridge catching the morning light. I noticed the shining bridge for the first time only a week or two ago. On overcast mornings and at other times of day it fades into the conglomeration of houses, trees, and  streets that unfold around and below it.

Tasman Bridge and Hobart from Poets Road

We buy the papers at the West Hobart Express Shop on Hill Street. Express shops are an amalgam of neighbourhood general store and convenience store. 

West Hobart Express Shop

This one includes a full post office that is open every day of the week from 8 to 8—a service I’m delighted to have close at hand. It’s also a drop-off point for dry cleaning, and sells the usual run of convenience store foods and household stuffs, supplemented with some fresh fruits and vegetables. The owners and staff are lovely people so it’s always a pleasure to have an excuse—say the need for Darrell Lea licorice—to drop into the shop. And one day I’m going to try one of those National Pies.

Tasmanian National Pies

Irene and I walk there and back partly along a footpath (not sidewalk) that sits high above the roadway compensating for the slant of the hill. Lavender pushes through a low fence to droop over the walk. At one corner a glossy rosemary hedge clipped into thick tidiness is impossible to resist—we rub a few leaves between our fingers as we pass. 

Summer is in full bloom (in January!) and the gardens broadcast colour and scent—some days roses, others jasmine, still others sweetnesses I can’t name.

  

The cottage-style houses characteristic of West Hobart seem, to Toronto eyes at least, charming but small. But appearances are deceptive. Many of them extend a long way back into lots far deeper than most of Toronto boasts, while those built on the steep hillsides often drop down another storey or two at the back. I couldn’t resist photographing (for obvious reasons) the stained glass in one front door.

The walk home is mostly uphill and so goes a little slower than the walk down. In all we are usually gone for 15-20 minutes, and arrive home to find that Kevin has breakfast ready, cereal bowls on the place mats. Irene sorts the papers and shares them out, the weekend has begun. Coffee, news, reviews, crosswords, desultory conversation—and the view of the Derwent whenever one wants to raise a head—how perfect!  

Saturday papers

Crosswords

*According to Lonely Planet, Tasmanian newspaper readers have a sardonic attitude towards their local papers. The Mercury is nicknamed The Mockery; the Examiner (Launceston’s paper) is The Exaggerator; and the Advocate from Devonport and Burnie is the Aggavate.