St Kilda road can be a tad gloomy just before sunrise but the trip improves when the tram trundles past the National Gallery.  The bare trees are festive with coloured lights and city buildings are silhouetted against a sky that’s slowly lightening.

The tram is past its prime and the brakes are a bit dodgy. Dripping umbrellas, sodden passengers, windows that won’t open and heating that knocks you out. As an elderly chap informed me, ‘These trams are so bloody hot you could grow fucking orchids on them.’

There’s a rolling beer bottle and some slimy substance underfoot that you really don’t want to investigate too closely.

Sometimes it’s better not to know.

Then there’s the sinister bloke dressed in black leather. He’s placed his big yellow banana on the empty seat next to him and leaves it there, even when the tram fills up and other passengers have to stand. He’s pasty faced, sweaty and more than a tad twitchy.

There’s not a punter present who wants to challenge his pin-pricked eyeballs by asking him to remove his banana. Nobody knows for sure what pharmaceuticals their fellow man is on. Bad things can happen if you rub a stranger up the wrong way.

Folk get on and off. There’s a bit of a hold up when a mother gets her chromed up mega pram jammed in the doorway. Her kid wails as four blokes attempt to lever the pram over the narrow metal railings on the tram steps. It takes time but most passengers are sympathetic to her plight. She’s finally on and we take off again.

The mother thanks everyone and looks shamefaced. Her kid hasn’t stopped wailing. The pram is barricading a bunch of smartly suited business folk up against windows which are dripping with condensation. I feel sorry for her, she’s distressed and close to tears. Who knows? Maybe the oversized pram is the least of her problems.

Finally we reach Swanston Street and the end is in sight. Thank the gods. That is until an impatient driver accelerates his massive SUV through a red light, collides with another car and shuts down every single tram going up or down Swanston Street. Nobody is hurt but several trams are now banked up as we wait for the police to arrive and sort the traffic situation.

The punters are cursing and snarling and our driver resigned. The workers reach for their phone to tell their bosses they’re late. Again.

by Lesley Truffle

Photo: Swanston Street Melbourne at sunrise by Lesley Truffle.

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