A little while ago I entered a short story in the ‘WriteMore’ writing competition in the Moreland council. I didn’t win anything (but I got a snazzy certificate and a went to a fun writers talk) but I thought I would share what I wrote so that someone gets to read it.

The story had to be 500 words or less, clearly set in the Moreland City Council area and be ‘funny’ or ‘inspirational’ – the theme was ‘What I love about Moreland’ …so here’s what I put together…!!!

*****

I didn’t intend for this behaviour to turn into a weekly ritual however it seems that I’ve created a little Saturday morning tradition for myself.
You’d think that I might be happier if my early mornings were spent in a more traditionally productive manner; a jog through tree lined streets or a bountiful visit to a farmer’s market, but secretly I adore this little routine that I have gotten myself into.
I don’t need to set myself an alarm, which is weird because I’ve never been much of a morning person. As if it were magic, from the day I moved in to my pokey little apartment on Champ Street I’ve been up with the birds – although I’m usually woken by the less natural sound of a shrieking siren. This gives me a chance to grab a moment on the balcony to experience vivid pink and orange hues above a majestic suburban castle fit for royalty, forgetting for a moment the far more sinister reality of the architecture – too pretty to be a notorious prison I think…
On a Saturday morning though, I can’t linger too long because I have important business which I must attend to.

Showered and ready to go I jump on my bike and the mist of my own warm breath clouds my vision as I huff and puff my way down Sydney road on this icy yet sunny winter morning.

No more than ten minutes riding and I arrive at my destination, lock my bike up, take a quick (but subtle) look to make sure that there’s no one I know around – tick – and I’m ready to take some time to indulge.
You see, I make sure I get this little treat is over and done with nice and early – less chance of being caught and more opportunity to truly enjoy this embarrassingly guilty pleasure. It was when I first caught a tram down this part of Sydney road that I knew I had truly found my happy place…never before in my life had I seen more white lace and tulle in the one suburb. It was like I’d died and gone to wedding heaven – the fantasies of this single twenty-something were neatly housed behind glass windows. Intricate details and delicate beading that every time I take a moment to look at makes my heart beat a little faster.
I’m working up the nerve to go through the front door someday – but I don’t know if I could come up with a fake love story good enough to convince one of the shop assistants to let me shimmy into one of those breathtaking gowns.

Good thing there’s no shortage of handsome baristas around the place, typically wearing their hearts on their sleeves – ready to be subtly manipulated (read: trapped) into the kind of situation that would facilitate the occasion to purchase one of these gowns. Sigh. Maybe my obsession is why I’m still single? No, I just don’t think I’ve found the right café yet.