Across the Border: Potts Point: Reader Story: Cockatoo Cull

Harro, my name's Errol, you know, after the movie-star and all. I may be a cockatoo, but I'm a lot like Errol Flynn in many ways. Yes, I admit, me crest isn't looking too good these days - I am in my 40s - but when it's breeding season, I still got a reputation with the ladies: in like Flynn, they say.

Well, I'm a big fan of Violet's blog and when she heard that me and me family were in some strife, she asked me to write about it for My Darling Darlinghurst. I'm not the greatest writer, I never did go to school and all, but Violet offered to clean up me spelling, so here goes.

I have lived in Sydney all me life and me family has been here for, oh, I don't know, more than ten generations, I'd say. We are indigenous to Australia but before coming to Sydney, me mob lived down near Young, in southwest NSW. 

But we like it here in Sydney. Most of the time, we hang around the Royal Botanic Gardens, gallivanting through the air between the tall trees. The tourists love it.

Me and some mates also spend a fair bit of time around Darlinghurst, The Loo, Kings Cross, Potts Point and Rushcutters Bay. There's a lot happening in them parts and there's some beaut trees too. 

We also like to chew on the sides of some buildings - you never know what you might find and it's good to keep the beak in tip top shape. The edges of the Garvan Institute building on Victoria Street are particularly good; I reckon we knocked off quite a chunk of that one. 

There's also a few residents who welcome us on to their verandas with offerings of honey-soaked bread. I'm not much into bread - gotta watch the carbs and all - but I like to have a chat with the people.

Recently, me and me mob have been hanging out sometimes in Potts Point. Posh part of town that one. Lots of fancy stores and flash cars to leave droppings on. We often have a bit of a squark (do click on the link) on the top of the art deco Tara building at 3 Greenknowe Avenue. It's got to be one of the highest points in the area, so our squarks can be heard for miles around, letting other mobs know who's boss in town.

There's also a nice wooden pergola thing on the top of Tara. We love to nibble on that one from time to time and because of that we are in some big trouble.

Apparently some residents of the building have applied to the National Parks and Wildlife Service for a licence to kill me and me mob and word is they WILL be given permission to either shoot or poison us. 

It has happened before too. Last year, the NPWS granted a permit to kill 20 cockies that were chewing on the Uni Lodge building on Broadway at inner-city Ultimo. Doesn't matter that we are a protected native species. 

And it was awful. Bang-bang! And then two of me old mates were dead. No warning, nothing. The rest took off. Scared shitless. But I think since then, a new mob has been chewing on the building again. They don't know what happened last time.

 

So I've been staying right away from Tara. It's not worth risking me life for a bit of wood-chewing. But I can't get word out to every cockie in the city: some innocent parrot could unwittingly go for a nibble or just a squark on top of Tara and then bang. Dead.

Now this is where I need your help. There are other ways of deterring me and me mob that aren't fatal. With all that money in Potts Point, surely they could invest in ultrasonic devices or kites and other visual deterrents, maybe even bird-spikes or some type of noise deterrent. From me past experience I know that slow-voltage shock-tape works. Never going near that stuff again. Ouch.

But guns and poison? That's a bit extreme isn't it? Your kind and my kind have lived alongside each other for years. Some of your blokes have destroyed our property, cut down our trees and all, but we haven't come after you with guns.

And yes, we may be noisy, but strewth, some of your fellas have some loud bloody cars, I can tell you. Doesn't mean we try and poison you. A simple crap on your windscreen is enough of a warning.

So please, can you help me? All you have to do is sign a petition. It has worked in the past and us cockatoos are hoping it works this time too. We just need enough people to sign up and say that it's not okay to shoot cockatoos.

See, look at how loveable I am. You wouldn't want to shoot me, would ya?

Please sign the petition. You're our only hope.

*

Petition Against Cockatoo Killing in Potts Point

UPDATE: Squark! It's not the Tara residents who are packing their pistols, it's the people at Kingsclere, at 1 Greenknowe Avenue, next door - and I don't even go there that much! Stay away from Kingsclere, cockies!

Darlinghurst: Public Transport: The 311 Bus

A small part of my week is taken up by scenes such as this:

And this:

And this:

It may not look like the greatest place to be, but while I'm seated there, looking at the backs of people's heads, I couldn't be happier, because I have just managed to catch the 311 Bus. And that's no easy feat.

The 311 Bus - or the 311 Mystery Bus as it is known to dozens of Darlinghurst's residents who spend a great deal of time waiting at the bus stop for the ride that never arrives - is a vehicle that inspires mixed emotions.

When it fails to show up, or arrives early so that I miss it, I curse the damn thing and then fork out $10 for the cab to work.

But when it arrives on time - and the driver actually sees me and pulls over - I just love that bus.

Then there are the other times when I'm in no need of public transport and I see the 311 waiting impatiently at the lights, rearing to go:

Or just storming past in a blaze of blue paint and petrol fumes:

It is during these moments that I feel compelled to turn to the person nearest to me and say, ''Look! There's the 311!''

Such is its phantom-like allure.

The 311 route could not be more efficient. It begins its journey down at the loop in Elizabeth Bay, chugs up Greenknowe Avenue, cruises along Macleay Street, hoons along Victoria Street and tears down Oxford and Elizabeth streets along the edge of the CBD to Central Station.

From my bus stop on Victoria Street, it takes me only 10 minutes to arrive at work on the 311.

There's also a 311 Doppelganger bus that begins its route at the Elizabeth Bay loop and ends at Circular Quay, near Sydney Harbour, but that doesn't service Darlinghurst residents.

Darlinghurst instead has the 389 Bus from Bondi Junction in Sydney's eastern suburbs, which happens to pass along Burton Street and down through Little Italy (in the Darlinghurst Valley or Flats) on its way to the Quay. It is a bus that isn't purely devoted to the suburb and I only use it when I need to go to David Jones department store, because it stops right outside the door on Elizabeth Street.

There's also an army of buses that plough along Oxford Street on their way to and from other places, but I am not interested in those itinerants.

To catch the 311 it is useful to have one of these:

You can buy the TravelTen ticket at most convenience stores in the area and for $16 you can take ten rides on the 311 that would normally cost $20 if you were paying by cash.

The alternative commute to Central Station from Darlinghurst is by train, which departs from nearby Kings Cross, but that costs $3.20 for a one-way trip.

There is also this bus:

But it costs $30, cruises around the city endlessly and is designed for tourists.

The other thing I love about catching the 311 is the curious people, overheard conversations and occasionally interesting graffiti that can be found inside its hallowed interior.

I have seen some strange commuters, usually nervous-looking middle-aged men, who hop on the bus at Taylor Square and then alight at Whitlam Square, a journey of about 500m that would be more efficiently traversed on foot. These people are not elderly, generally look healthy and I often wonder about their motivation. Perhaps, like me, they just simply love being on the 311.

I also spent one trip listening in to a conversation between two women in which I received a detailed account of one's mental health history and whether or not she was presently going through a manic period. Judging by the tone and volume of her voice, I gave her a positive diagnosis.

Then yesterday, while luxuriating in the sun on the 311, I spotted this collectable sticker on the back of a seat:

Here's a close-up:

The caption reads: Disappointment, Number 4 in a Series.

I wonder if the man in the photograph is standing at a bus stop somewhere in Darlinghurst, still waiting for the 311.