A small city on the south coast of NSW, Australia.
Existing in an uneasy alliance between towering mountains and frigid blue seas, there’s a small gap of time where the human brain can appreciate the raw beauty of the Illawarra region, before being utterly terrified by the steep mountain passes and ever present girdle of thick fog that makes driving, walking or singing a living nightmare.
No matter how you’re dressed, IT’S ALWAYS WRONG.
An essay in failure, Wollongong is populated entirely by the descendants of people who realised that their particular field of employment was wildly unsuitable for the region. Whether agriculture, aggressive dancing or digging up ‘blue steel’ from the ground, nothing has really stuck. Enjoying a brief renaissance from the popularity of ‘grunge’ music in the 90s’, Wollongong squats to the south of Sydney like that awkward childhood friend who decided to come to your 21st despite the fact you haven’t seen them in fifteen years. They’re wearing corduroy.
LACK OF STARS:
One of the more convoluted mule systems on this side of the Pacific.
The Illawarra Mercury does an admirable job of keeping the populace up to date on people who have recently found their lost pets and dada-esque articles on the rampant and incessant corruption that occurs on all levels of local government.
Arts and Entertainment-
In terms of nightlife, the undenied hot spot – like a Gonorrheic sore – is the well known nightclub ‘The Glasshouse’. The funky success of this club has led to the popular saying,
“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks at babies, you filthy skanks”.
Wollongong is also the cultural capital of a quaint custom known as ‘glassing other bitches’.
I believe they have all the prerequisite teams of rapists and exposers to be able to compete at a national level.
2/5 stars. That place is whack.