Latest news with #Dejour
Sydney Morning Herald
23-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- Sydney Morning Herald
My suburb's so daggy, our local shops are known as the ‘Square of Despair'
The first apartment my husband and I ever lived in together was a tiny one-bedroom apartment near the KFC in Thornbury. We'd only been there a few months when our friends Alex and Alex – yes, really – moved into the identical apartment building next door. Our apartments were carbon copies; going over to their place felt a bit like being in the Twilight Zone. Eventually, the Alexes moved on to a townhouse in Brunswick West. My partner and I are both transplants from interstate; though we'd been in Melbourne a few years and knew our way around Sydney Road – we basically lived in our Dejour jeans – Brunswick West had never been on our radar. When we went 'out their way' for their housewarming party, riding the 58 tram through the parkland and out past the zoo, it felt like we were heading to the end of the line in the middle of nowhere. (Of course, the 58 does continue to 'West Coburg', which we later learned wasn't a real suburb.) A couple of years and dodgy rentals later, it was our turn to pack our bags for Brunny West, a street away from the Alexes. Now, it's hard to imagine living anywhere else. There's a small-town community feel in Brunswick West that's harder to find in other inner suburbs. The distance between Sydney Road and Melville Road is not great, but it's far enough for us to remain undisturbed by all the goings-on over there. It's a perfect setup; close enough to walk home from Eddy Castle after a beer, far enough away that everyone forgets about us. If Brunswick East is the yuppie, apartment-dwelling sibling of the cooler, grungier Brunswick, Brunswick West is the older sister: long past caring what anyone thinks about her, a bit daggy, maybe a bit too excited about her new worm farm. (Or maybe that's just me.) We're where all the real punks live; punks with really great veggie gardens, who spend their free time knitting jumpers for their rescue greyhounds. Though, while you'd think we'd be lumped in with Brunswick by everyone else, it's more often the reverse: locals here are often hazy on the boundary where we end, and Brunswick begins. Technically, Gillon Oval and Gilpin Park don't belong to us, but to longtime West Brunswegians, pretty much anything this side of Sydney Road is ours. We're out of the way a bit, a mostly residential suburb with nothing particularly in the way of office buildings or universities. Our shopping centre is Union Square, which almost feels like it shouldn't count. Known fondly to locals as the Square of Despair for its retro, neglected vibe and horrific public toilet, it features a Coles, some takeout places, a dollar store, a tobacconist and little else. Melville Road is our beating heart, with businesses scattered along it, mostly hairdressers, cafes, pharmacies and panel beaters. The people who frequent our businesses are mostly locals – or tradies in hi-vis, parking outside Mr Truong's and eating banh mi in their utes at lunchtime. The pace is slower.
The Age
23-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- The Age
My suburb's so daggy, our local shops are known as the ‘Square of Despair'
The first apartment my husband and I ever lived in together was a tiny one-bedroom apartment near the KFC in Thornbury. We'd only been there a few months when our friends Alex and Alex – yes, really – moved into the identical apartment building next door. Our apartments were carbon copies; going over to their place felt a bit like being in the Twilight Zone. Eventually, the Alexes moved on to a townhouse in Brunswick West. My partner and I are both transplants from interstate; though we'd been in Melbourne a few years and knew our way around Sydney Road – we basically lived in our Dejour jeans – Brunswick West had never been on our radar. When we went 'out their way' for their housewarming party, riding the 58 tram through the parkland and out past the zoo, it felt like we were heading to the end of the line in the middle of nowhere. (Of course, the 58 does continue to 'West Coburg', which we later learned wasn't a real suburb.) A couple of years and dodgy rentals later, it was our turn to pack our bags for Brunny West, a street away from the Alexes. Now, it's hard to imagine living anywhere else. There's a small-town community feel in Brunswick West that's harder to find in other inner suburbs. The distance between Sydney Road and Melville Road is not great, but it's far enough for us to remain undisturbed by all the goings-on over there. It's a perfect setup; close enough to walk home from Eddy Castle after a beer, far enough away that everyone forgets about us. If Brunswick East is the yuppie, apartment-dwelling sibling of the cooler, grungier Brunswick, Brunswick West is the older sister: long past caring what anyone thinks about her, a bit daggy, maybe a bit too excited about her new worm farm. (Or maybe that's just me.) We're where all the real punks live; punks with really great veggie gardens, who spend their free time knitting jumpers for their rescue greyhounds. Though, while you'd think we'd be lumped in with Brunswick by everyone else, it's more often the reverse: locals here are often hazy on the boundary where we end, and Brunswick begins. Technically, Gillon Oval and Gilpin Park don't belong to us, but to longtime West Brunswegians, pretty much anything this side of Sydney Road is ours. We're out of the way a bit, a mostly residential suburb with nothing particularly in the way of office buildings or universities. Our shopping centre is Union Square, which almost feels like it shouldn't count. Known fondly to locals as the Square of Despair for its retro, neglected vibe and horrific public toilet, it features a Coles, some takeout places, a dollar store, a tobacconist and little else. Melville Road is our beating heart, with businesses scattered along it, mostly hairdressers, cafes, pharmacies and panel beaters. The people who frequent our businesses are mostly locals – or tradies in hi-vis, parking outside Mr Truong's and eating banh mi in their utes at lunchtime. The pace is slower.
