#theglenmore

The blustery, rainy, winter-returns-in-spring day most certainly did not set the Rocks off.  The Rocks on a weekday evening is normally filled with commuters weaving around happy holiday makers, all gawking at the bridge and the Opera House.  When I arrived at Circular Quay train station, I struggled to open my umbrella against the wind that was coming howling through the ferry docks.  As I set off, I had to carefully angle my umbrella into the wind to avoid it being turned inside out, while peaking under it periodically as I walked to make sure I didn’t bump into another miserable commuter huddled under their umbrella.  There were few holiday makers to be found, but plenty of middle management types who saw fit to troop along with their huge golf umbrellas pompously unfurled, cutting a disgruntled swath through the rest of the commuters as they occupied more than their share of the space on the Quay.  The usual spattering of buskers and art hawkers were also put off by the inclement weather, making for at least one less group of obstacles to stumble around.

There was a large group of chattering young men and women standing huddled outside the Museum of Contemporary Art as I walked by, their barely contained excitement palpable.  The boys feigned cool while the girls sparkled in impossibly short skirts and balanced unsteadily sky-high heels, betraying the group as school students waiting for their spring school party to start.  Party barges were pulling up to the shore, so I suspect the students were waiting for a break in the rain before making a scramble to get on board.

Normally the Rocks’ tight streets would be thronged with tourists poking through the Ugg boots and other kitsch and visiting the Ken Done gallery, but it seemed to me like it was mostly an after work crowd packing the bars and taking advantage of cut-price happy hour drinks before the commute home.  As I skidded my way along the cobblestones and mounted the Gloucester Walk stairs, I began to regret my suggestion to meet at The Glenmore Hotel.  The rest of the week had been sunny and fresh, I had been looking forward to sipping cold beer while looking over the city from the rooftop bar.  As it turned out, my suggestion couldn’t have been more inappropriate.  The wind was whipping across the rooftop at odd intervals, and while I found seats under a heater it was no match for the cool breeze.  Huddled with my coat drawn close and sipping my uncomfortably cold beer, I watched a forlorn company group who had booked out a private area for their Mexican themed first anniversary, and considered my options.  This was the second time I’d arrived at the Glenmore to find a large area of the floor space roped off, and I made a mental note that it was probably no longer a good place to go after work if they were now regularly hosting work functions.  Being in close quarters with so much forced “aren’t-we-all-such-good-workmates” bonhomie is depressing, never mind the extreme pressure it puts on the rooftop space.