There was an amateur photo comp in the CBD today. I thought maybe I should have a go- not because I'm deluded enough to think I might actually win anything because Sydney has some truly amazing photographers, but just to have a crack at photographing flash cars & willing human subjects for a change.

Granted, it all sounded geared towards Gen Y & younger, with D-list celebrities from dire reality tv shows I've never heard of & an emphasis on an after-party featuring bands who came 14th in some other reality show (which I'd heard of but never seen).

But I girded my loins and toddled off to the train station, only to discover that the train line was under repair for the second weekend in a row. I interpreted this as a sign from God/Buddha/random aliens that I really shouldn't bother with the competition, and that my afternoon would be far more productively and enjoyably spent with my nose buried in a book.

So instead of a shiny fast car with metallic paint, or a wannabe lingerie model pouting for a fake papperazi (sp?), I offer you the opportunity to marvel at the splendour of the scintillatingly boxy apartment block next to the train line.