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About Wollongong

Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

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I watch sunsets at the Old Bridge over the river – quiet, inspiring, and rough-edged like me life. The sunsets, they make me think “maybe I should swallow me pride for once,” like those edgy moments in that movie. Look, I left, you know, a raw, poignant piece of my soul right there.

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