Leakage (2019)

“Under the hammer, blessed with character, a driveway absolved of tree fall, another pearly-eyed crow, a year’s worth of indecision on the compost heap…”

The text includes samples from the property section of the local Adelaide newspaper, which I then matched with images of houses and their surroundings in my immediate neighbourhood.

Yet none of these places is quite as it seems. What is going on behind closed doors, the venetian blinds, the corrugated iron? Why is there fencing wire on a lamp-post? A sprig of wattle in the middle of the road? A skeleton on the nature strip? Perhaps a clue in misheard conversations, broken trust, unreliable memory… and all around, the signs of leakage…

•  official selection and finalist nomination, Poetic Films, Carmarthen Bay Film Festival (Wales, May, 2020);
•  published in Verity La (October, 2019).


Out of the Box                     “Confit” as in orange duck, Tasmanian salmon, raspberries (“coulis”?)
Under the Hammer             or something like that, according to the trainee chef next door,
Blessed with Character       assuming rainbow lorikeets cease their interference, blackbirds and
Unsurpassable                     febrile house sparrows keep heads below sight lines, trade places with
Timeless Elegance                Norwegian rats, Siamese, Burmese, Egyptian varieties of deathwatch.

Exquisite Entertainment      Sash windows (yes, still), as we struggle for fresh air, a driveway absolved
A Pleasure to Present           of tree fall, the emergent possibility of brown snakes. “Six-thirty, she said, 
Prime City Fringe                  I’m sure”. OK, then, GSM, IPA, aged single malt. Overrun with
Effortless Chic                       centipedes, millipedes, snails, slugs, we fail the termite test (“Help me...”).
Prestigious Enclave              Kookaburras? Another pearly-eyed crow? “Fuck you, we’re going fishing.”

Beautifully Preserved          A whiff of kerosene, Little Lucifers, fungal spores in fan-forced exhaust.
Nature’s Paradise               “Did you tighten the batten screws?” Clear the downpipes? Rising damp
Peace and Potential            infects my toes, corrodes the conversation, a year’s worth of indecision
Varying Terrain                    on the compost heap (“Well, did you?”). I know nothing about the pruning
Brilliantly Designed             saw, the broken palings. Dog lust wanes. Marrowbones trip our recovery.

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