This area of Sydney – Zetland – seems to be a collection of steel and glass residential tower blocks, housing a population of Millennials who clearly don’t believe in cooking at home.
Admittedly, as my body clock has been cast adrift from it’s usually predictable mooring, I find myself dining at 17:30 in Lucio Pizzeria, a part of the East Village Shopping Centre.
My Sicilian waiter makes me feel very much at home with that uniquely Italian way of engagement and I settle down, the only occupant of the restaurant, ordering a Pappardelle with shoulder of lamb, along with a glass of his very fullest and finest Stella Rossa Barbera d”Asti.
Settle being the operative word, as I choose to face the window and not the kitchen, interested to see what the world has to offer in the way of passers by.
Before my dinner is served, my attempts to connect to any local WiFi are in vain and so I’m willingly obliged to put the damn iPhone away and spend a few minutes reading my new novel – Michael Ondaatje’s “The English Patient”, chosen after his recent award as ‘The Golden Man Booker Prize”, a readers’ best of the best.
The pasta arrives and I pause my enjoyment of the exquisite writing about African and Arabian desert storms to observe the pedestrian traffic and see if I can get a sense of the community around me.
Millennials on their way to and from the local Virgin Active gym.
Millennials on their way home from work or college.
Millennials waiting for take-away food.
Millennials delivering food.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many food delivery drivers on motor-bikes, scooters and pedal bikes.
In conclusion – I could just as well be in the new Kings Cross residential development in London, or in Media City in Salford, or in Croydon, Reading or likely a million other places where Millennials hang out.
We hominids are certainly getting homogenised.