Goodbye AVFMW!

We would love to thank all of those who contributed to the A View From Moving Windows blog. We really appreciate the time and effort you put into writing such beautiful stories and memories.

Thanks to all of those who contributed to the blog:

Jessica Bellamy, Pollyanna Kasia Nowicki, Wayne Tunks, Patrick Lenton, Nick Parsons, Noelle Janaczewska, Erica J Brennan, Emrys Quin, Marnya Roth, John AD Fraser, Marcelle Schmitz, Sarah Carradine, Gavin Roach, Luke Carson, Jessica Chapnik Kahn and Nadav Kahn, Katie Pollock, Jodi McAlister, Melita Rowston, Miles Merrill, Teik Kim Pok, Sam Atom Stewart, Pip Smith, Melissa Werry, Alison Rooke, Ildiko Susany, Bronte Kelso-Marsh, Shauntelle Benjamin, Helen O’Leary, Eileen McIlwain and Lib Campbell.

And lastly, we’d like to thank Augusta for the opportunity to do help out with the ‘A View From Moving Windows’ and to the whole Crew, Cast and Writers for being so incredibly welcoming and wonderful. Below is a second longer tribute to the A View From Moving Windows process.

The video was created by Felicity Pickering and the song used is ‘Precious’ by the amazing Appleonia (Jessica Chapnik Kahn).


A View From Moving Windows Video

Music by Jeremy Silver. Video created by Felicity Pickering.

Pictures from Closing Night!

All pictures are by Felicity Pickering (except for the ones she’s in).

Writer Q & A Podcast

Photo Credit: Felicity Pickering

Did you miss the Writers Q & A last night? Wish you were part of the audience? Luckily for you it’s available as a podcast that you can download here!

Friends in Unexpected Places

On the train home last night, I asked a young artsy man if I could take a picture of him. I wanted a picture of someone looking out the window, looking wistful, for the blog. I had realised from past experience that it was better to ask first. I have had my fair share of people getting annoyed or confused or thinking I was some sort of pervert. This stranger looked like a creative type, so I thought he might be willing to sacrifice a moment for the Arts.

The man obliged without a question. Then I asked if I could film him looking out the window.
‘You want me to play?’ He replied, gesturing towards the guitar that was sitting next to him.
I hadn’t thought to ask but encouraged him to do so. In between the few stops left he improvised a song. I told him about A View From Moving Windows and he told me quickly about the band he had just gone to practice for. The bands name was ‘Liam Gale and The Pony Tails‘. The band consisted of him, two girls (with pony tails) and four boys (one with pony tail).

It struck me as a wonderful example of how train travel can make us reach out to people we wouldn’t usually interact with. The fact that Liam happened to be a musician was a happy accident and trains are full of those.

Partly inspired by ideas brought up by Augusta’s interview with, I wanted to urge those of you who are going to A View From Moving Windows to catch the train in. It’ll save you petrol and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have your own train travel experience. It is in these unexpected moments that we can find laughter, friends, new music tastes and find ourselves feeling a little more connected with the world.



Felicity Pickering

Nicole Dimitriadis and I (Felicity Pickering) have loved reading the posts that have come in for A View From Moving Windows. It’s been a privilege showcasing so many talented writers! The only downside is when it’s come to write our own, we have to write something that could sit alongside posts with such calibre! So here goes nothing…

In cinema, trains are meant to represent sex.

I use to catch the train home from school. We’d sit on the ground at Croydon station chewing Zappos and harassing whoever had Doritos to ‘give us one’.  If a train was cancelled there would be a collective sigh as sixty or so girls decided whether to hightail it to Burwood for an express. The announcement was always followed by an army of tartaned girls in kilts ripping up the stairway. We would have made William Wallace proud, our school principal less so.

My school was fraught with rumours that there was an underground tunnel to the station, that the Old Hall housed a secret passage. The boarders swore they had ventured into it. They would tell us of dirty cement and dead pigeons that watched over the entrance like gargoyles.  The stories made my school sound more like the Kremlin than Croydon.

The train had a different culture to the bus, which was quicker but never as exciting. The train had delays, attempted suicides. The train had old men who took delight in sitting in the door carriages with seats facing the girls. Old men who enjoyed letting their legs spread to reveal a fully exposed set of genitals. I suppose that was some kind of abuse.

The train was exciting because it had boys. Thick waves of Lynx preceded them. Black and white lemmings that stank of douchebag. They spoke loudly about rugby games and competed in front of you. It was always a battle. They spat ‘loser’ and ‘chimer’ at each other, harassed one another and tried to assert their authority. The cool girls would laugh and flirt with them, boast about detentions they’d got. It was always the cool girls who knew boys on the train.

I’d keep quiet. I’d try and maintain normal conversation. I’d try to not look like too much of a nerd but not stand out too much.

One day a boy talked to me on the train. I’d just gotten a Body Shop ‘Born Lippy’ Strawberry Lipgloss for my birthday. This particular lipgloss was very hip at the time. The boy saw it in my pale little hand and exclaimed:

‘I love that lipgloss.’

And with one dirty finger he scooped out all the pink sweet smelling gloss and ate it with his big dopish mouth.

Years later when I was doing film studies at uni, I discovered that trains represented sex in cinema. That trains were meant to be phallic symbols that assumed sexual meaning when going through tunnels and bridges.

Suddenly the train schedule became the path of the pene, charting the big steel phallus’ that penetrated Sydney daily. I suppose Sydney trains are phallic in the way they give life to the city and sometimes they come early, or they don’t come at all.

I don’t think of them as symbolising sex but they do symbolise my first reactions to the opposite sex, mild annoyance and a little bit of repulsion.

A picture of me around the same time.

What I’d look like if a guy tried to eat my lip gloss now. You’ve been warned.

For more info about me check out my bio or my blog