Brighton

 

It could be said that the great majority of Jaded Bayside Commuters (JBC) live in the Brighton area, to judge by the supercilious eyebrows and world-weary grimaces of the slightly overdressed passengers stepping on and off Brighton platforms. Could, though perhaps they have driven from outside Brighton to take advantage of car-spots. This business of laughing at Brighton has got to stop. It’s been going on too long. Not all Brighton people are like that, not even half, the truth be known. The idea is ridiculous that their nerves are strengthened by daily intakes of rosé prosecco, that their favourite word is pistachio, and their every third thought is yacht. We have to get beyond these stereotypes. It’s not their fault that they found themselves from an early age relaxing for a lifetime on the correct side of Nepean Highway. Or that half of them can date their residence in this bracing area of the metropolis back to 1840. More than half, maybe, hard to say. It’s true, 1840 is considerably earlier than 1860, 1880, or for example 1900, something that needs to be kept in mind when JBCs step onto the train from Brighton. 1840 is very early. Demeanour is not to be ignored. However, comedians have been making a name for themselves for too long now playing the line that Brighton, intermittently pronounced Brahton, as if this were actually the way the place is pronounced, is the largest island in Port Phillip Bay. It's time to put an end to this schtick. That locals from this part of the mapped universe choose to travel north at all, towards the wilder extremes of Gardenvale or Prahran, shows they have an awareness of something outside their own parish, or orbit. There is firm reason to argue that these places are connected by dry land. Walking is out of the question, and the five automobiles are currently not in the garage, so try the train. Embankments, overpasses, and elevated stations afford an awareness that causes their heads to be raised high and shoulders set straight. Such a posture allows for eyes to look down upon the passing surroundings and the jewellery to glint attractively at unusual angles. A light, reassuring smile betokens the simple pleasure of knowing that no matter how far they roam, there is no place like Dendy Street. They are in no way your average JBC, they have seen the world and it cannot compare. They were  connected before anyone else, really, as train lines go. They know their place and it’s time to get over the ridiculous idea that the satnavs in their five automobiles are set to bistro and their minds dream all winter of beach bathing boxes. Figure it out!