The enormous fig tree in Brennan Park which has guarded the children's playground was injured in a storm and sadly the council had to chop it down. A sad day. The amazing thing is that they have saved a massive branch which they will plant and it will sprout roots and grow. I had no idea fig trees could do this. The great tree will live on and hopefully in time, grow back to its former glory.
When friends from overseas visit, I don’t just take them to the Opera House; I take them on a formal tour of the public amenities. It is a masterclass in automated hospitality. You walk in, and the door glides shut with a soft, futuristic click. Then, a warm, friendly voice fills the small space: "Welcome and enjoy your experience here!"
Before you can even process the invitation to "enjoy" a public restroom, the soundtrack begins. It doesn't just play elevator music; it plays the classics, including the theme of "What the World Needs Now Is Love, Sweet Love." There you are, in a public park in Sydney, experiencing a moment of profound, melodic encouragement in the most unlikely of settings.
When the "experience" is complete, the voice returns with a gentle reminder: "Thank you for using me. Please wash your hands." It then punctuates the request by dispensing a perfect, polite little squirt of soap.
I love Brennan Park, but I love that toilet even more. It is a rare and wonderful thing to find a piece of technology that seems genuinely invested in your well-being. In a world that can often feel cold and mechanical, this little booth stands as a beacon of programmed sincerity—offering music, hygiene, and a small, automated reminder that what the world really needs is a little more care and a clean set of hands.
Mack always loved me, but I was never under any illusion about the hierarchy of his heart. He was absolutely, unconditionally devoted to Ally. When we eventually separated and she moved away, Mack was left with a lingering, hopeful void.
Every trip to the park near my house became a high-stakes investigation. If Mack spotted a woman with blonde hair—whether she was fifty yards away or just a glimmer on the horizon—he was off like a shot. He was convinced, every single time, that he’d finally found his missing person.
I, of course, had to follow in his wake. I’d jog across the field, arriving breathless just as Mack was realizing his mistake, and I’d have to offer a sheepish, "Sorry, he thought you were someone else... Hi, I'm [Name]."
It didn't take long for me to realize that Mack had inadvertently become the most brilliant "ice-breaker" in the history of dating. He was introducing me to every attractive blonde woman in the neighborhood with a success rate that a professional matchmaker would envy.
I looked at him one afternoon, panting and happy after yet another "investigation," and realized I was sitting on a goldmine. I thought to myself, I should really be renting this dog out to the eligible bachelors of the neighborhood by the hour. I could have made a fortune. Mack would get his exercise, the bachelors would get their introductions, and I’d be the tycoon behind the world’s first "Canine Wingman" agency.
My neighbor Helen was beautiful, charismatic, and—at the time—completely unnerved. Over dinner at her flat, she confessed that she felt she was being stalked by a brief ex-boyfriend named Mark.
"I can feel his eyes on me from the park," she whispered, gesturing toward the dark expanse of Brennan Park that loomed outside her lounge window. I was skeptical. I’m a man of logic; I suggested it might be the wind or the stress of the breakup. When she pointed to a palm frond that had appeared on her mat—a symbol of significance in their relationship—I pointed to the nearby palm tree and the recent storm. "Maybe it’s just nature, Helen," I said.
A week later, we were back at her table. The air was thick with her anxiety. "He’s there," she whispered suddenly. "I can sense him now."
She marched to the window, staring into the pitch-black void of the park. "Mark, I can see you!" she yelled. I peered over her shoulder, seeing nothing but shadows and rustling leaves. I was halfway through a mental lecture on the power of suggestion when a dark figure detached itself from the trunk of a tree and stepped into the light of a streetlamp.
"And Helen," a deep, chilling voice shouted back, "I can see you. Who is that man with you!?"
The reality hit like a physical blow. Helen screamed about the police, the figure vanished back into the darkness, and the "illusion" was suddenly very, very real. Terrified, Helen spent the night on my couch.
The next morning, the sun was out, and the world felt rational again. We got up to walk back to her flat to make sure the coast was clear.
I opened my front door to step out, and my heart stopped. There, centered perfectly on my own front mat, was an enormous, fresh palm frond.
A blissful morning. Xenia and I met up in Brennan Park, a lovely natural setting, to work on a mutual personal development project: Creating clarity on what is important to us and a vision for our ideal lives. We then did a meditation and went on for lunch at The Third Rail in Waverton where I savoured one of the most delicious salads I have ever eaten.
How lucky am I to live across from a park like this! These photos were taken early in the morning.
I've been spending many days at Brennan Park sitting on the bench, just sitting and being. The park is a beautiful place to just be. Mack loves it to and he gets to potter.
