One morning some decades ago, after a night of depraved
and invasive passion, it seems an architect squatted atop a mirror, sketched
the gross damage inflicted on a ravaged sphincter, added some walkways and the odd
human figure, and then hobbled up to Spring Street, where he sold the
then-government of Victoria on the peculiar notion that the image represented a
blueprint for a fine, new public building. No doubt he described it as “daring”
and “world class”, which would have gone over very well with those in charge of
the public cheque book. Nothing brings more comfort to the terminally
insecure and provincial than the notion that, elsewhere on the planet, fellow members of BOPAW
-- the Brotherhood of Pseuds and Wankers – are inflicting gross ugliness on
public spaces. The end result of this
peculiar process was Federation Square (below), which continues to squat at the corner
of Flinders and Swanston streets, a jagged and indescribably foul advertisement
for the ongoing need to borrow some of those large tip-trucks from Gina
Rinehart and load them with a Manhattan Project’s worth of haemorrhoid
crème.
Directly across the road from Federation
Square is Flinders Street Station which has undergone a number of minor
renovations over the last 40 years. Those caught short will know the public
toilets, once classic examples of Victorian defecatoriums, are now reeking,
stinking, crap-fouled case studies in low-cost plumbing and plastic panelling. The
Delft-style blue-on-white wall tiles advising exiting patrons, “Gentlemen
adjust your dress” are gone, as are those on the ramps to the platforms, where
once commuters were warned, “Do not spit.” Perhaps multiculturalism was to
blame for the latter excision; it is, after all, a short walk from Little
Bourke Street, where hocking a gaubie or ten is the accepted way to rid the
palate of lychee fragments and express one’s appreciation after a satisfying meal.
As thick-tongued Greeks and other newly arrived non-English speakers no longer
get to announce the departure of trains to Upwey and other locales, the vanished
warnings against hanging phlegm off the walls must assure recent arrivals to today’s
Australia that diversity is accepted in all its many forms and mucous-rich manifestations.
Still, despite the modern tinkering, Flinders
Street remains a handsome and practical example of the Victorian Era’s
expansive confidence. A recent guest at the Billabong, a lady visiting from the
United States, rated it her favourite Melbourne building and observed in
passing that its solid, sober exterior indicts Federation Square’s sprawling eyesore.
Alas, unless Melbournians act quickly and with resolve, she may have spoken too
soon. Once again, and for no good reason, BOPAW’s agents are planning a massive
fix to a building that doesn’t need fixing.
The visions for the new Flinders Street are detailed in today’s Age, where the editor’s sole claim to competence is having once
produced a paper in New Zealand on the morning after a large earthquake. We can all expect The Age to support this latest
attempt to deface Melbourne because, well, it will be expensive, ugly, pointless and a
fine opportunity for journalists and editors at Fairfax’s southern outpost to
pause by the bicycle rack and tell each other how much they appreciate the transgressive.
Then they will go home to ponder whether it is better to remain for the moment at The Age in hope of a severance cheque, or to beat the rush and get their CVs in early at the ABC.
Victoria has a relatively new Premier, Denis
Napthine, who has a greater understanding of his state and its people than his
predecessor and recently has been rewarded with more
cheerful poll results. Sooner or later, this latest BOPAW project will land
on his desk. He needs to be told now, and quite firmly, that it is his duty to
roll the artists’ conceptions into a stout, tight tube and stick ’em right up
the remodelling advocates’ collective postern gate.
The Premier can be contacted here: premier@dpc.vic.gov.au
Urge him to fix up Flinders Street’s existing ballrooms and
other features, and perhaps do some remodelling inside the existing building. But he must never, ever allow anyone, no matter how black-clad they might be or at pains to avoid sitting down, to
tamper with the exterior.
Melbourne has endured more than enough damage at the hands
of trendies and tossers. Flinders Street Station is where we must draw the
line.
