There have been arguments here over whether one does or does not go down to town from our place.
But it can be plainly seen from these that one walks down,
when on the way to see a display of embroidery in the cathedral's hall.
I went through some very handsome gates to get there, but I was disappointed by the work I saw and I am still thinking about that.
I walked back up Sturt Street to the Botanical Gardens,
past the memorial to the poet Adam Lindsay Gordon and to the
thousands and thousands of horses killed and abandoned in the Boer and First World Wars.
I stopped for a bit to look at the Ballarat Base Hospital. I'm fond of this place. You can't see the modern part from here in Sturt Street.
My father, a medical student on a returned serviceman scholarship, did his residency here in 1955.
But the wards where he would have worked are now offices.
The gardens were lovely. I cheered up.
There were luxurious floral beds - hardly ever seen these last few years because of the drought. There was water and large fat fish in the pond.
The marble statues have finally come out of the pavilion and are back in the gardens, and the grass was incredibly green.
And finally the begonias. They were outrageously beautiful. Fluorescent, fleshy, massive blooms. The conservatory was warm and damp and full of very happy people loving the flowers and taking pictures.
After all those designer flowers I had to cool down in the fernery before I went home.
I'm going to see the quilts of the Begonia Quilters tomorrow.
I live in Ballarat, an old goldfields town, in the central west of Victoria, but southerly in relation to the world. I love Chinese architecture, the post-goldfields towns and countryside of central Victoria, and I love the practice and the art of history. This year I'm beginning a research project on Ballarat in the 1870s.