I arrived in Sydney last night. Now, while I’ve lived most of my life in some of Australia’s top five cities, I always feel like a country boy when I come here. I took the train from the airport to Circular Quay, where I stood for about half an hour staring into the harbour before I realised I needed to get to the hotel. I could stare into that harbour for hours. Every city should have one. My city should have one.

It was well into rush hour when I started walking down George Street. Reading the address of the hotel, I assumed it was at The Rocks’ end of the street. I was sadly mistaken. The street was long and crowded with walkers and I had two large bags to carry and it was hot and I was sweaty and did I mention how long the street was?

Now I’m a large man, and in Shepparton people would acquiesce within a metre of me. I can normally command a little room around me. Once in a crowded bar in Shepp I accidentally stepped on some guy’s foot and he said sorry to me. But in Sydney no joy. I was forever begging pardon to people who rammed into me and my bags, as if I was the only person in the city heading south.

I was polite for about twenty minutes. But the no more. I refused to blink an eye if I happened to hit anyone as I was passing, refused to change direction. I stared down people walking towards my face until they slid to the side for me. Some refused to back down, so they got a hit of Paul in the chest. “Excuse me” became “Move, please” which became “Watch out” to slower walkers in front of me.

Forty minustes of walking down one city street made me mean. The city made me mean. I had to shower the disgust from me when I got to my room.

I couldn’t sleep. I was busy catching up on blog reading and making notes and figuring out some questions to ask some people I’m meeting over the weekend. I’m in Castle Hill later day and staying until Sunday. Might see if I can find some Hillsong activity to join into.

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