AUTUMN '92

The air is brisk as Pushkin the miniature schnauzer and I tramp through the fallen plane leaves on a moisty May morning. Rump up, nose down, he sniffs every blade of grass with the elation a wine connoisseur trying a new vintage even though this is one of our regular routes.

Around the corner we face the kilometre or so parallel to Nepean Highway where the wind bites more fiercely than anywhere else. Perhaps it is boosted by the continuous stream of cars rushing by, bearing their luckless passengers to their dreary jobs in the city. Pushkin and I have no such worries - our days are our own. We march more quickly now, past the motor dealers who are still in business. This stretch used to be one of the busiest trading areas before the depression. Our mate Peter from Brisbane let a bit of his acquired urbanity slip the first time he saw the stacked cars gleaming in the floodlights. "You're in a big city now, Pete.", chaffed Al his pal from Sydney.

Over the footbridge, with the traffic roaring below. I have only recently managed to make this crossing without sweating palms and staring at the concrete floor of the bridge. It is part of my training so that next time I am in Vancouver I can cross the swaying suspension bridge - maybe! No such problems now, and as I look towards the city, the spires of the buildings are just showing in the morning light.

On we go, the dog and I, through the pleasant squared residential blocks. Lights show here and there and sometimes I catch the whiff of coffee - taking me back to Zurich in the early morning, especially as the weather is cold. The trees are shedding their leaves here too, and the delicate tracery of their baring branches is becoming more visible as the light gets stronger. We came across a possum in one of these tress last year. Hanging down at eye level over the footpath - and stone dead! I often wonder about that - what could have killed it? Why did it's tail not let go of the branch?

As we wait to cross Beach Road, a bus goes by with misted up windows, full of school kids. The advertisement on the side is for the new wide bodied Camry and, as it goes down the road it is fascinating to see how the perspective of the car changes. We hit the beach and the wind is suddenly stronger as we leave the shelter of the tree lined streets. There is always a fair bit of activity down here in the mornings. Joggers, cyclists, walkers, strollers and a lot of very happy dogs. We see a few of our mates, but it is a bit too nippy to stand and chat - we have to keep moving to keep warm.

As we move towards Elwood beach, the path rises slightly and presents one of my favourite panoramas. The gentle curve of the beach is lined with tall pine trees and in the distance behind them the tall city buildings loom, glinting now in the stronger sunlight. The white caps of the waves breaking on the shore are juxtaposed by the white dots of the seagulls huddled on the green field behind the beach. Away off the point the modernistic sculpture of the Westgate bridge winks and blinks with specks of light from the traffic pouring across it into town and a freighter makes it's way through the channel towards the port.

We lose the view as we stride on past the breakwater, with the waves surging on to it. They have been breaking onto the path during the night and there are patches of water and seaweed here and there. Pushkin steps around the puddles, but has to be dragged away from the weed. Around the bay we go. What a pity it is that Pushkin has the traffic sense and obedience of an aardvark. He would love to run on the sand, it is permitted now that 30 April has passed, but experience has taught me not to trust the little blighter.

Re-crossing Beach Road, and entering the comparative shelter of the residential area again, we feel warm, unlike the pair of doves huddled on the second storey balcony of the block of flats we pass. They are often there at this time of the year - I must watch out for them in summer. We head up Glenhuntly Road and then across to Glen Eira. There are a lot more people about now, including swarms of school kids larking around as they wait for the bus. This area always fascinates me. The architecture and the people reflect the splendid mix which makes Melbourne such a marvellous place to live.

Here is a block of shops which looks like a fortified Indian city, complete with watchtower: nearby the National Trust house is called Quat Quatta. An old Chinese couple wander by: a small boy with long plaits, dressed in full Hassadic rig, seemingly late for his lessons speeds past, giving Pushkin a wide berth.

We head for home now, Pushkin trotting along on familiar ground, looking forward to his warm Weetbix and an even warmer welcome from the pup, who will be joining us soon now that he is old enough. A hot mug of coffee, a bit of rye bread with cold cuts and cheese and a day ahead to do what I will. It is not all bad being made redundant.