Well, we might have sweated through January’s record heatwave, but according to the BoM, February is set to be as equally testing. Yay.
The week that was was a particularly brutal one, highlighted by numerous stabbings and one man’s war against a spider.
What a state of affairs. The last week of 2018 featured Italian flair reaching Sydney, one Dad’s loving micromanagement and many tourists not making it back from their holiday.
The modern fascist arrived in my Inner-West suburb recently, and despite our unison complaint, they’re free to continue their brand of hate. But that doesn’t make us powerless.
This week was heavy with Brexit splitting the Tories, former Khmer Rouge leaders found guilty of genocide and a jilted bride dishing revenge while it was still hot. At least we got a laugh in at ScoMo…that’s something, right?
Last night, I attended the Opera House demonstration. Strangely, it enabled something rarely felt in Sydney: rampant waves of collective optimism.
The Opera House becoming ad space has bristled many, but I’m willing to suggest that selling out is completely in line with Sydney’s morals.
Today, Jesus returned, warning of future destruction if we don’t behave. To prove he was serious, he used clip-art. See you in Hell, sinners.
The plan to build bars in the underground tunnels under St. James station is quintessentially Sydney. We love to elevate the gaudy possibilities instead of fixing what doesn’t work.
The Sydney rental market is cruel enough, however, it’s the complete resistance to pet ownership that poses a further problem. If we’re all going to be renting in the future, surely this must change.
Yesterday, I ran the City2Surf. For a city in love with itself (that hates itself), it’s the premier event to seek validation through very personal pain. Did I mention I ran the City2Surf?
It seems minor, but the problem with Sydney’s parking is one we all face. It doesn’t change, because they don’t feel like they have to. Time’s up, I say.
Share bike providers, Ofo, are pulling out of Australia due to public backlash. Their exit reveals a rather obvious truth.
The hammer fell for a reprehensible individual, the poojogger became a thing, and unspeakable horror visited Sydney. Oh dear.
With the Strathfield City Council voting to ensure all shop signage is English-centric, the effects of a move in such a multicultural suburb is plain to see.
Well, it seems the “impossible” has happened. With the housing market in Sydney actually set to drop, it’s forcing a bit of a rethink from a certain generation.
Flo Stopper, Fake News’ traffic correspondent, analyses whether there’s any chance of George Street recapturing its glory days as a Sydney traffic thoroughfare, and doubts whether Glad has the street-smarts to fix it.
Morning, gorgeous. Overnight, Donald made a series of stupid threats, the Commonwealth Games were ditched and our houseplants are now as bad as us.
Yes, there is now a ferry named Ferry McFerryface, and yes it’s ours. But, to those who aim criticism at the decision clearly don’t get Sydney.
With the entirety of Glebe Foreshore and most of Surry Hills set to become alcohol-free zones, is it a wise move from the Sydney council, or is it merely the nanny state locking the liquor cabinet?
Today’s NRL Grand Final deserves an atmosphere worthy of it, however, I believe Sydney is unwilling to co-operate.
After a one bedroom apartment sold in Sydney for $782,000, I took to the Internet to see what I could get for the same money.