Gentry

A mate of mine who has just moved to Fitzroy and I went out for drinks to, you know, welcome him to Fitzroy.

He said that he was joining some sort or residents committee to fight the graffiti.

“What graffiti?” I said.

 “What graffiti?” He sounded incredulous. “What do you mean what graffiti?”

“Um, er…”

“It’s on everything,” Raymond said. “The place is covered in it.”

“Oh? Really?”

After that, I must admit, I did start noticing the graffiti about the place.

Raymond is a yuppie, to be sure. Just been in Fitzroy for a short time. He moved down from Sydney for love.

You know, it's like the idiots who moved to St Kilda and then wanted to clean up the prostitutes. Roll of the eyes. Same goes for those who move to Fitzroy and then want to clean it up.

Not that I am calling Raymond an idiot, he is far from it.

We're good thanks. No really. “Coffee?” Oh, you like some of our ideas. "Banana cake?" But you want to scrub the walls and paint them beige. “That would be great.” Nervous look.

You know what, if you don't like prostitutes, or graffiti, or people who are living their lives, or art, or life lived differently. If you don't want to know anyone who is different to you, you know what, stay in North Balwyn, kids. Do the world a favour.

I guess we kind of agreed to disagree, you know, without really saying it out loud. Raymond went on to join his mother’s club, I presume.

I haven’t noticed any great reduction in graffiti, you know, now that I am noticing it, that is.

Raymond is a great guy, funny, engaging, I like him a lot, even if he is, perhaps, just a little uptight for the more, for want of a better expression, creative inner suburbs.

It will come as no surprise that Raymond and his partner moved to the leafy Eastern suburbs in no time, really, at all, where there is no graffiti and the whole place smells of lavender all the time, and everyone is inside and quiet in their houses by 7pm, by order of the local group, of which, perhaps Raymond is a member, I can’t be sure, as you know, there is nothing out of place in those eastern suburbs to warrant joining a committee, everything is already in its place. It is lovely neat and clean.

I didn’t really see so much of Raymond and his partner after they moved away. I am presuming the ongoing graffiti problem in Fitzroy possibly scared them away, and I always have trouble in those leafy eastern suburbs, you know, differentiating one area from another that are all just so perfect and green.

I did learn how to spell graffiti though, so I guess that is good. You know, does it have two f’s and one t? Or is it one f and two t’s? I have always found that rather tricky. I guess there is probably some sort of convention covering it, you know, like i before e and all that, and, I guess, being a writer you’d think I’d know what it was, but you’d be wrong. Teachers learn that sort of stuff, not writers. I have a spell checker, obviously.

Of course, I did go once to Raymond and his partner’s new house, out in, what is that place called? Ivanhoe. You may think the Middle Ages, with colourful descriptions of a tournaments, outlaws, witch trials, and divisions between Jews and Christians, Normans and Saxons. It may pique your interest in chivalric romance… but no. There’s a bunch of shops along the main thoroughfare.

It's a long way out. Well, that may not, actually, be true, as such, but I had to get in my car and drive there, and anywhere I have to get in my car and drive to, well, I always think that is a long way.

It’s a very neat place, things are in their obvious places. Neat and clean.

We had a nice dinner with Raymond and his partner, entrée, main, desert, and cheese and biscuits with coffee, pour over, as you’d expect. Raymond and his neat partner invited some of their very lovely friends, town planners and social workers and scientists and we all laughed very politely at amusing anecdotes they all told around the dinner table. Oh yes, it was all rather nice.

I haven’t seen Raymond and his partner since.