September 28th, 2025Kyle’s Rant

I watch The Block most nights, not to get any renovation tips but in the hope of seeing the odd local who might have made an appearance.
This year’s program is possibly the best shot in the arm that our district has ever had in terms of getting the name Daylesford out there and working the “hero destination” model, which means flow down effects for the rest of the area.
I must admit Trentham is literally kicking goals in that department with all its recent accolades. But for the rest of us an uptick in visitation and, fingers crossed property values which have taken a post-pandemic dip recently, would be a great thing.
But the most puzzling thing about The Block for mine is Shaynna Blaze and her merry men aka The Judges. They tend to bang on about what is and what isn’t “Daylesford”. But what does that mean, and what is Daylesford, and what do they actually know about the place to have such a deep understanding?
For me Daylesford is yes, a beautiful spot with history, bush and spring water, but to be honest as a local I don’t really notice the history anymore, I take the bush for granted unless I am plotting a back track from the pub and the spring water – no thanks.
Local Noel Beare, rebel postie and mad-dog motorcycle man, who many know, wrapped it up in one sentence following the tragic loss of his son. “Grief is like falling from a great height but Daylesford is the pillow at the bottom.” If they really wanted to get a handle on the brand that is where you would start.
Daylesford is about the 45-minute walk from one end of Vincent Street to the other, an easy 200 metres in most other towns. I have often swapped to the other side of the road for fear of running into someone who’s going to bail me up with a juicy, or not, bit of gossip. And it wouldn’t be Daylesford without running into people in the fruit department of Coles and then again in aisles seven through to 10.
But this is what we love about the place – it’s the people who care and if you need anything would drop everything to help, that is Daylesford. It is not a palette of colours, tactile rugs and eclectic pot plants that speak of warm evenings by the fire with mulled wine. Most of us just have the one kitchen to do the cooking in and if we had a butler’s pantry we would fill it up with gumboots, dog-mats and wine from specials at Cellarbrations.
Yes. We have more than our share of shops that stock candles, scents and bath bombs but the real locals don’t go within cooee of special fragrances, we prefer the smell of mud, fertiliser and fresh produce.
Instead of inviting the great outdoors in as they do on The Block, I prefer to keep it and all its bugs out of my house. And if you have ever been stung on the foot while slipping on your shoe, by a European wasp which has awoken from its long slumber and come to life because of the warmth of the fire, you will know what I am talking about. Oww.
Daylesford is old utes, older dogs, and some young dogs for that matter. Conversations at the bar, meat tray raffles on a Friday night and not being too worried about going into town straight from the garden.
We are not a pretentious, glammed-up, Hollywood-smiling, cushion-chopping mob, we are real people who wrap their arms around each other when the chips are down. But I suppose that is too hard to squeeze into a pot of paint.
Real people of Daylesford rant over…