I used to live in Somerset. It is a lovely county and was where my late husband had always yearned to live, so we moved there in 1989. One of the things you learn to put up with in that area is the Grockles. You will see cars with signs in the back window which state “I’m not a Grockle, I live here”. Have you guessed what they are yet? That’s right – tourists!
Well, yesterday, I decided to be a Grockle.
My grockling began with a trip on the 555 shuttle bus which is a free service operating around the city centre of Sydney from Central Station to Circular Quay. The service runs both clockwise and anti-clockwise and is a really useful route for tourists. (By the way, Sydney is such a large conurbation that the geographical centre is miles out to the west, very near Parramatta.)
I alighted at Circular Quay and walked the few steps to the Police and Justice Museum.
It was an interesting visit but there were items on display that I am ashamed to have been interested in – they were murder weapons. Each weapon was labelled and many labels included the names of the victim and the murderer. Although I was disgusted with myself for being curious, they held a sort of fascination for me and, I imagine, many other people. There were many photographs displayed, several of which showed a corpse. I found it difficult to accept that the pictures were not staged – I wonder if television and film are desensitising us to such horrors?
From there I walked uphill to the Museum of Sydney. I was very disappointed with the contents of the museum, but the view towards North Sydney from the glass cube on Level 2 was interesting.
On leaving the museum, I wandered down to Circular Quay, which you can see part of in the above photograph. I had some lunch then wandered along to the Sydney Opera House. Someone had told me that one can simply walk in and have a look around without booking an official tour. I tried to do so, but, being a Saturday afternoon, there was a matinee performance so I was not able to walk more than a very few metres.