Well, fellow citoyens, this whole foreshore fandango has Noosa natives in a right tizz. The recent rally at the tennis court on Gympie Terrace was a classic example of local revolutionaries doing a bit of carpe diem and bashing the bourgeoisie (if you’ll forgive the language mash-up).

To be fair, history is on their side: their counterpart mobs in France and America – ‘Les Misérables’ and ‘The Deplorables’ – both prevailed against their respective ancien regimes, AKA the French Monarchy and the Clinton Dynasty. Subsequently, both Louis XV1 and Hillary Rodham Clinton lost their heads, he via Madame Guillotine and she to Mister Trump.

Interesting historical aside: the plot that led to the storming of the Bastille strategy was also hatched at a rally on a tennis court (in Versailles) by the self-appointed supporters of the nouveau National Assembly wearing tricolor cockades and brandishing flintlock muskets. Strange but true.

The Noosa Assembly members did not have muskets or even pitchforks, but their anger against the Council’s plan to turn our beloved, if slightly down-at-heel foreshore area into an ocker-style Rive Gauche, was both well-placed and timely. And, in solidarity with the revolutionary ragbag of weekend warriors, concerned citizens and sundry vested interests who attended the rally, I hereby add my voice to the growing levels of mécontentement (OK, that’s enough of showing off A level French – Ed) over this well-intentioned but poorly conceived scheme. Well, people have always said I was revolting.

Gympie Terrace is, in MHO, our second most important stretch of tarmac. Arguably, locals prefer it to Hastings Street because most tourists won’t venture any further west than the Sofitel or further south than Lions Park. To them, trekking to the Junction would be like taking a leisurely stroll along the Gaza Strip. 

The riverfront, therefore, is a haven for residents, for dog-walkers, and for aging boulevardiers like me who simply want to pose and promenade from the Red Emperor to the Yacht/Rowing Club while breathing in the brine and smelling the roses (or, in this case, the acacias). 

The Giant Pelican, the Pirate Park, the boat-hire cafes, the small pavilions where groups can greet, meet and eat. And, right in the middle, the afore-mentioned tennis court (probably the greenest patch on the whole foreshore). The odd juxtaposition of the latter just adds to the casual, slightly ramshackle appeal of the river walk. A net gain, if you will.

To get (finally) to the point, ladies and gentlemen, this shabby-chic slice of the paradise we call home could be surgically enhanced and tarted up like a reality show contender if the expensive consultants and designers employed by Council have their way. And, in its place, would come a schmick but soulless stretch of real estate that would be at odds with Noosa’s laid-back but louche village ambience.

At the same time, well over a hundred parking spaces would be culled, forcing visitors to go foraging up and along the maze of streets seemingly named after Enid Blyton characters – Ann, George, Elizabeth, Edward etc. Nuts! Not only a major pain in the butt for visitors but even more so to the residents facing (even more) vehicles and boat trailers blocking access to their homes. Note to Mayor Wilkie: more ‘off-with-his head’ citoyen campaigns will no doubt ensue if that happens. I have a sudden image of a guillotine being set up at the riverside band stand (?). 

Anyway, who dreams up these grandiose plans that cost mega moolah in consultation fees but deliver little extra benefit? Blind Freddy could see that this foreshore fiasco is on a local par with Anthony Albanese’s dumb idea to give $600m to Papua New Guinea to create an NRL team while Aussies are doing it tough. Or Tony Abbott’s decision to give Phil the Greek a knighthood. Or Dan Andrews’s plan to host the Commonwealth Games before cancelling the project at a cost of $380m, You could not make this kind of merde up (last warning – Ed)! 

Talking of posh plans, Noosa Council seems to have a lot of these on the table including:

• Destination Management Plan
• Noosa Corporate Plan
• The Pomona Placemaking Plan 
• Noosa Botanic Gardens Master Plan 
• Noosa River Catchment Management Plan
• Noosa Drive Boardwalk Plan
• Eastern Beaches Foreshore Management Plan

Phew! More plans than General Dwight Eisenhower’s drawing board when he was Allied Supreme Commander prepping the invasion of Europe. 

Look, the riverwalk needs a bit of TLC. No one can argue otherwise. But does it need this next-level transformation so that high-paid consultants can win more awards for drawing pretty pics? Does it need fancy boardwalks and more toilets (even for an old fella like me)? I don’t think so. It basically needs the environmental equivalent of a bit of WD-40 to sort out a few squeaky bits: a general tidy-up & repair; expansion of the kids’ playpark (some weekends, Eisenhower could have mistaken it for Omaha Beach during the D-day landings); a pedestrian-only path and a separate one for bikes and electric scooters (who hasn’t nearly been mown down or been scared to death as a bike bell tinged impatiently behind you?). 

Maybe a few other refinements as well. I mean, the boat ramp does stick out like a sore derriere as one perambulates along the esplanade, non?  In a perfect world, it would be moved to a suitable spot further up the river, but we all know what that would trigger – boaties would storm the council chambers to the stirring strains of ‘La Marseillaise’. Marchons! Marchons!

The planners and elected officials need to take a deep breath and reconsider this scheme. I have a suggestion: why not repurpose the foreshore dosh to sorting out real probs – eg Noosa’s pavement shambles, the noisy, oversized and smelly bus service, and the tourism malaise, among others. Just sayin’.

And here’s another suggestion: the next time the council wants to dream up another such plan, I’m happy to pop along to Pelican Street with my trusty flipchart and a Sharpie to sketch out something for a petite fee – a modest lunch at The Boathouse, perhaps?  

I promise to leave my musket at home.