THE ALLURE OF JOHNSONVILLE

Cap in hand I can honestly say that I have tried to like Johnsonville. I even looked at a couple of places to rent there. I was adamant that the health and wellbeing of James and Camille coupled with handy amenities took precedent over say, the vast hills of gorse that encircle the concrete slab of a shopping district which is only an exhaust fume's-breath from the motorway. No we didn't rent there. If we had I fear I would be undertaking the modern day equivalent of shooting myself in the leg to avoid front line duty in wartime.

Up until today trips to Johnsonville have been limited to supermarket expeditions. They've got a pretty good 24/7 Woolworth's and an average to crap Countdown. But I'll shop wherever the nappies are cheapest and this means, occasionally, Johnsonville. But today was different. No shopping list, only James, a train ride and me needing to check out the Johnsonville pool for pre-school swimming lessons.

To be fair the pool is okay - nothing too flash but I'll reserve judgement till we actually go and swim there. My attempts to get information on a pre-school swimming program were however unsuccessful. There was no written information at hand and after a flimsy excuse about new programs coming up and therefore a re-editing of material I was given a phone number to ring. Because the pool, the pool doesn't organise their own swimming lessons. When I enquired as to why, an officious looking man in a stiff shirt appeared and asked if 'everything was okay?'. His tone of voice suggested he was dealing with a drunkard trying to get into a bar as opposed to a father and son enquiring abbout paying to use the pool. I walked out of the door with the theme music from Curb Your Enthusiasm ringing in my ears and James tugging at my lapel. Like I said, judgement is reserved.

Squinting at the sun reflecting off the thousands of gorse flowers ringing Johnsonville like a crown of, er thorns I thought it might be nice to find a wee park for James to run around in. And here's where things come a bit unstuck; the only playground we could find existed inside the gargantuan McDonalds, the proud centrepoint of J'ville. As a matter of fact it was a big ask finding a blade of grass - every inch of land not built on has been lovingly laid over with robust, grey, concrete. Not to be outdone we decided to check out some roadworks. Diggers and dumptrucks are just about the most entertaining sight for young James and we were treated to a solid 4 minutes of dumptruck 'n bulldozer action before...all the workmen went to lunch. Bugger. Oh I nearly forgot, on the way to the roadworks we found another playground too, this one much smaller and located in the Burger King.

So. We've walked the length of the shopping district - correction, I've walked, James has sat atop my shoulders - and found not one but two playgrounds, no grass and some heavy machinery lying idle. Perhaps a coffee. Rest the legs and the shoulders, treat James to a fluffy and a marshmallow. And here is where the nightmare turns into a fully fledged, brutal horror. THERE ARE NO CAFES IN JOHNSONVILLE. Yes I know there is a Starbucks and do you honestly think that counts? Not in bloody Wellington it doesn't. In fact I don't think I've ever seen fewer 'bucks per head of population than down here. Also not counting are the three 'bars and cafes' I came across. Here's a hint as to why; all three had proudly flapping tarpaulins advertising cheap beer should you wish to start drinking before midday.

Thanks Johnsonville, I'll be back to see you when your nappies are on special.