I was born on the 5th of January 1996, to a couple of first-gen Australians. Both of my parents were brought up rural and catholic in the eighties, which means that by the early nineties they were cooked hippies with a penchant for dreadlocks, psytrance and inner-city living. Believe me, they were much, much cooler than I make them sound. No really, honest, they’re amazing people, I just wish that they’s spawned someone other than myself. Kidding again! I wish I’d never been born.

My father – a photographer – and my mother – a rave wear fashion designer – were married at Islington Town Hall in London in 1994. My mother had bright red dreadlocks and my father wore a Doctor Seuss-esque tophat – two feet high, red-and-white striped – decorated with a jaunty sunflower (he had shaved his own dreadlocks in honour of the occasion). I have seen the pictures, and I will tell you in all honesty and FOR FREE – my parents were RESPLENDENT.

I am so off – of – the – damn – topic!

I’m not sure how, but my parents knew, even at that time, 24 years ago, that the inner north was the place to be. I cannot fault their reasoning.

The inner north is now the most sought-after area in Melbourne – at least for anyone who is interested in proximity, culture, substance and grit. I would be impressed by my parent’s ingenuity, if it weren’t for my current awareness.

I am 22, the age that my mother was when she and my father got married, and I know with all conviction that if I am to live in Melbourne permanently, it must be in the inner north.

Hence, I am more astounded at the minute scale on which Melbourne evolves than I am by my parent’s foresight. 24 years later, the third-gen stoically understands Collingwood’s worth.