Changing of the Guard, Surry Hills
All plans are laid waste in the face of unrelenting rain this Saturday but we've received an invitation to join a friend at a gallery and make the trip across town.
Irascible and colourful, Ray Hughes presides over the opening. His presence fills the large room and he's either skirted around or tenuously approached for conversation. This man has crammed more life into his 65 years than most. He'll be remembered for spectacular spats with artists and those long boozy lunches with slabs of interesting types that would lurch into the night and sometimes slide into debauchery. Throughout it all, Ray has kept his nerve and his unerring eye for talent.
But last year he decided it was time to hand over the running of the gallery to his son Evan.
And no, Evan says, they didn't plan to colour coordinate today. He dresses in a different suburb, although they do share the same tailor.
We admire Priscilla Bourne's tender yet sinister work.
Walking up a rainy street I notice the non-natives have started to turn colour.
We chat with Andrew from ici et la about our mutual love of Marseille,
and wander up the rainy street.