Australia

Road Trip – Wine Therapy #4

adminLeave a comment

After about 10 wine cellar doors and about 60 wine samples the CB and I have been coerced / seduced / bribed / convinced to buy copious bottles of wine from numerous wine producers. And why not. If it works for you, go with it, right. Unfortunately as the wine stocks increase in the limited space at the back of our small SUV, we have to consider dumping clothes as our wine stocks have expanded. Theoretically this is not a difficult decision because the child bride and I thought we would experience much colder temperatures in southern climes than we have. So the coats could go. Except the furthest place north we have visited on this trip – Stanthorpe – is the coldest. I wore a coat tonight which I last wore in Alta which is at the top of Norway.

While on the subject of cars (sort of) , it took us almost 8.5 hours to do a trip that was predicted to take 7.5 hours, from Mudgee to Stanthorpe. The reason for this miscalculation has nothing to do with my pensioner-like driving. I have a BMW that goes like a scalded cat when I hit the after-burners and I have been known to very generously interpret speed limits. But when there are more roadworks than road and each road works zone comes with its own traffic lights, you can understand the problem. We encountered at least 10 red lights. And why do councils feel the need to block off a couple of kilometres of road to do about 10 metres of work. I can only assume it’s so they have plenty of room to park numerous vehicles which are not being used, presumably to save fuel. Or something.

Having now arrived home the child bride and I can look forward to a few alcohol-free days which sounds kind of counter-intuitive considering we have just spent 10 days sampling wines in three different wine producing regions. It could have been worse because there are about 300 cellar doors in those places and we only got to a relative handful. We’d have needed another 10 days to get round all of them.

Road Trip – Wine Therapy #3

adminLeave a comment

We transferred to Mudgee yesterday. A very historic (by Australian standards) town with many of the things I care about most, conveniently located nearby. There’s wine and let’s face it, that would be more than enough but there’s also a gold mining past and three very large coal mines currently operating just down the road from the town. I guess that explains why the pubs were so well supported last night – Monday night. And the pub we were in had signage on the ceiling. That means that when you regain consciousness, you have something to read.

We did a wine tour today, starting at 10.00am. As I’ve previously noted, early starts to these bacchanalian outings are not advisable unless you intend to write-off most of the afternoon. The child bride has just washed her hair after our wine tour and I suspect used it as an excuse to stand under a cold shower to sober up. Country cellar doors are much more generous with their wine samples than the larger more commercial outfits so we came prepared with the wobbly boots on this morning. After all of that wine I could do with a cold beer.

In the Hunter our accommodation contained a king-sized bed. Neither the CB nor I are particularly large and she is, in fact, quite diminutive. So in a king we each occupy a corner and communicate via smoke signals. Here in Mudgee we are staying in a historic building (previously a coach house) so the rooms are quite small and the sleeping arrangements are adjusted down accordingly, so we now have a double bed. I’m a roller so I start on my right side then roll onto my back then on to my left side, then back again.  Rinse and repeat. All night. So in a double bed, that means a constant tangle of arms and legs. I’m sure the CB feels like she’s sleeping with a football team. We won’t pursue that line of thought any further other than to say if we’d have been any closer we’d have been waking the neighbours.

And now something completely different. A pulled or torn calf muscle is considered an old man’s injury. When men of a certain age try to demonstrate that they still possess the athletic prowess of their youth, the first part of the anatomy to yield is the calf. I did mine yesterday morning. I wasn’t jogging or throwing myself round gym equipment. I did it during an over vigorous stretch in bed before departing our cosy sleeping arrangements. Pathetic, right. So I’ve been limping everywhere and copious amounts of wine don’t appear to be efficacious in this regard. I guess I’ll have to apply the one cure that always works in these circumstances – time.

Road Trip -Wine Therapy #2

adminLeave a comment

I’ve previously remarked in these pages that if you close your eyes and step into the street in Hong Kong, chances are you’ll be hit by either a Rolls Royce or a taxi. In Singapore it would be either a single decker or double decker bus. Now I’ve discovered that stepping into the Pacific Highway in New South Wales would result in a losing encounter with a humongous truck, a campervan or an SUV towing a caravan. The CB and I have just driven on said highway for about 7 hours south from the Queensland border over two days. Now I know why there is apparently a waiting list for new caravans. I read this somewhere. All of those available have been sold. And they’re all on this road. The CB and I lived in one for 6 months during my first foray into full time work post-university in 1977, at a small copper mine with no accommodation for us so we had to take our own. That was the end of our caravanning experience if you ignore a short holiday a few years later which confirmed that these living arrangements are just too close to camping for the CB and she doesn’t do camping under any circumstances. We once stayed in a tent in the Sahara Desert but it had a shower and a flush toilet (I had to upgrade to the luxury model) so didn’t really count.

Having arrived in the Hunter Valley of New South Wales, one of Australia’s premier wine producing regions, we were keen to get into it, so to speak. It’s now the next day and we did get into it although in a relatively civilised way, like camping in the Sahara. Our wine tour commenced at 11.30am and concluded at 5.00pm. I’m not necessarily one who likes to comply with conventional norms but wine tasting at 9.00am is stretching things a tad. So one pre-lunch and more than one post-lunch is definitely the way to go.

There were ten in our group – a young couple who I surmised (with absolutely no justification) were expanding their repertoire from tequila and beer to chardonnay and gin, a couple who were very familiar with cellar doors like the CB and I, and four twenty something females on a girls’ weekend. The young couple kept their distance and were pretty quiet. The other pair were like us – interested in the history of the area and, without getting too snobby because wine is Housewives of New York snobby, interested in the wine culture of the region. The four young ladies deserve a paragraph of their own.

A wine tour involves getting in and out of a vehicle which seems pretty straightforward until you realise that it’s not when you have the equivalent of 6 glasses of wine in the bag. There may even be a bit of walking involved – round wine making facilities ie vats and kegs and wine growing facilities ie vines. So nightclub wear and heels are not recommended. When the nightclub wear includes a floppy top that allows floppy bits to flop out, who am I to complain. If you want to wear what amounts to high cut white swimsuit under a sheer nylon curtain, break a leg. And by 11.30am, I think the four young ladies may have been a few aperol spritzes ahead of the rest of us judging by the giggling and their totally ignoring the poor driver’s local area commentary. She may as well have been speaking in Esperanto for all the attention she was getting from the back of the bus. But they were sweet, once they settled down.

At the end of the day three of us got an eye-full as well as a few nice wines, three others sampled some nice wines and weren’t interested in the eye-full and the other four no doubt continued their young ladiies’ knees-up until the next day when they had to head home and stagger back to work on Monday.

Road Trip – Wine Therapy #1

adminLeave a comment

I’ve spent countless hours on my own over recent centuries during many days, weeks and months travelling and travelling and travelling. Observing people becomes second nature because what else are you going to do while sitting in an airport or any one of numerous other places like office waiting rooms, hotel lobbies, restaurants, bars, bars and also bars. I’ve been out of the sales and marketing business for a few years now but the instincts remain. Like having the antennae up when you’re in a dodgy situation. I don’t mean a James Bond/Blofeld life or death dodgy situation. It could mean a tricky negotiation with cunning Japanese or Koreans when thousands or potentially millions of money are at stake. Or trying to work out if your flight’s been called in a domestic Iranian airport where Farsi is the first and last languge spoken and even the numbers are different. So the Child Bride and I were enjoying a nice dinner in  a resort restaurant in Coffs Harbour (on our way to wine country) and I couldn’t help noticing the clientele, and in some cases, drawing some possibly long-bow (or maybe short-bow, who knows?) conclusions.

One that had no conclusion necessary was the bloke sitting on his own, eating his meal and drinking his beer. That was me, a million times over, all over the world. “Table for one” is a phrase I never want to utter again. It’s pretty depressing I have to say and on this night I was able to say to the child bride that that used to be me but the present me is sitting with you and that’s infinitely  better than the alternative.

At another table there were two gay guys. I may be wrong and they may be insulted if they knew I was writing about them and assuming they were gay. Should a straight man be insulted if he is assumed to be gay now that it’s as normal as tattoos? I’m guessing that’s not allowed in polite company any more – not the assumption of gayness but the state of being insulted (insultedness?). Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Anyway, I’ve had plenty of one-on-one lunches and dinners with blokes and never once did we crack a bottle of champagne like these two dudes did. So I’m sticking to my assumption and noone will ever be able to disprove it

Next was a young 30’ish guy eating dinner with a younger bloke who looked about 10. Possibly his son (they both had curly hair) on his weekly or monthly or whatever night out with his Dad. At one point they both walked off and the wait staff came and cleared their table. Turns out the Dad was showing his son where the toilet was and when they came back, much waving of arms resulted in the table being relaid and dessert being served. A bloody good outcome judging by the look on the kid’s face. Maybe a good end to a bitter-sweet situation. Again, who knows?

There was one other table that was still occupied when we were ready to leave at 8.00pm. It was Wednesday night and it’s still winter so not a lot of the locals are out and about. Anyway these two weren’t going to be painting the town red anytime soon. I gave the bloke 5 years provided a “painting the town red” stroke didn’t intervene first. Sitting down, his guts almost reached his knees. If you’re sitting while reading this, glance down and try to imagine that. That’s as spectacular (in a perverse sort of way) as Bob Beamon’s long jump in Mexico City in 1968 (you’ll have to look it up if you are sportingly challenged). His wife was relatively svelte with “relatively” being the operative word. Like Titanic is relatively small when compared with the current crop of cruising behemoths. I know it’s cruel to mock affliction but if it can be cured or at least ameliorated by a bit of self discipline then you’re fair game.

There’s a nine hole golf course round this resort. It’ looks awesome. The two immediately above could do with walking a few of the very picturesque holes. The 9th is right outside our room, along-side a lagoon. I could hit that island green with a 9 iron, 8 iron tops, assuming the ball went where it was intended to go (a very ambitious assumption). Of course the pros, like Min Jee Lee and Lydia Ko would be backing off with a wedge. Wish I had muscles like Lydia.

There’s a few hours of daylight left so tally-ho. All good for holes 1 through 8 – all pars and bogies. Then the 9th and it was splash, splash, splash, damn! shit! fuck! Time for a beer.

Guns N’ Roses

admin

I bought tickets for Guns N’ Roses for myself, son, daughter and son-in-law on February 10th 2021. We finally got to use them last night, November 22nd 2022, after a covid inspired year-long delay. And I’m pleased to say there wasn’t a mask in sight. That doesn’t mean there weren’t any of course, because the concert was at the local football stadium so it was somewhat difficult to tell whether the amorphous mass on the other side of the field actually comprised people, let alone people with bandannas on their faces.

Congratulations Brisbane! The Gunners managed to get more people into the stadium than most of our sporting teams although, to be fair, you can’t actually take a chair out into the middle of the field during a game. I’ve had enough of sitting (or mostly standing) in front of the stage so we go for seats on the side, looking down on the stage from a 30-45 degree angle. The promoters don’t miss you when it comes to the cost of these seats and I paid top dollar to be able to see not much on the stage to be honest. But the big screens either side of the stage were BIG so my initial reluctance to go to a stadium concert (this was my first) and my disquiet when I saw how far away we were (despite, as I may have just mentioned, the price of the tickets) was assuaged when the gig got underway and the visual and sound and fury hit us full-on.

I just read a review of the concert and the reviewer made the point that there aren’t many stadium fillers in the music world these days including the Gunners – there were a lot of empty seats. If you’d asked my opinion on this when the music started I’d have agreed but a couple of songs in, when the lights scanned the arena it was clear that many people in the stadium bars were not throwing that last beer down for anyone. Twenty minutes in, the only areas not filled were those behind light towers and other impediments. So the reviewer obviously didn’t turn round after the first few songs. And I can tell you this for nothing, this little black duck won’t be attending concerts by those remaining few noted stadium fillers like Cold Play and Ed Sheeran.

Actually the people who finished their beers rather than catch the first couple of songs did themselves a favour because it took that long for Axl to get his mojo. Initially he looked and sounded like me doing “It’s So Easy” in a Ginza karaoke bar. By the time we got to “Welcome to the Jungle” he was sweating and snarling and looking mildly deranged and it was game-on. Speaking of how he looked, minus the bandanna, long hair and beard I couldn’t decide whether he was morphing into Kiefer Sutherland, impersonating Shane Warne or auditioning for Derek Jakobi’s “I Claudius” (you have to be able to remember back to 1976/77 for that one).

Axl’s always had a reputation for being somewhat unreliable. The sound curfew may have had something to do with them kicking off a 7.00pm scheduled start at a respectable 7.10pm but he also seemed to be making an extra effort to stay onside (that’s two football references in one sentence) by having Aussie badges sewn into the parts of his jeans that weren’t holes. And he must have spent the afternoon in a souvenir shop because he changed his t-shirt about eight times and each one had something antipodean on it except the one that said “Satan is a Lesbian”. Alright!

Much as the sound i.e. the actual music, is vital to the whole, if the singer isn’t on song, so to speak, the performance lacks something. The concert went for bang-on three hours and the time flew by, I have to admit. But it could have been shortened and improved (IMHO) by cutting a few songs that Axl struggled with. His once incredible range came out to play occasionally but sometimes he seemed uncertain as to whether to bang it up an octave to banshee or remain in the safe baritone range. Sometimes that decision was taken mid-sentence and occasionally mid-word. But let’s not quibble – to churn out that volume for that long is seriously impressive.

The musicians and musicianship were as you would expect. Duff’s base is still making my organs vibrate and did anyone ever tell him he looks like a dishevelled David Bowie. They have a Ronnie Wood lookalike guitarist (while we’re doing appearance comparisons) called Richard Fortus and there’s not much of him which is emphasised by his playing a huge Gretsch White Falcon guitar. And he can really play it. They let him off the leash a few times and his lead work was very good even if the weight of the guitar seemed to be dragging him closer and closer to the floor. But no matter how good he is, he or anyone for that matter, playing in a band that has Slash in it, will always be the rhythm guitarist. The songs are always the stars of these shows but Slash’s playing was not far behind. We got the full range from finger picking acoustic to rip-roaring, fire-breathing electric 12 string on a twin necked Gibson and everything in between.

There were three other musicians who were stuck up the back – the drummer and two keyboardists – who rarely figured on the big screen. One of them is a rather attractive young blonde lady who we saw about three times on the big screen and not at all on the stage because there was a light tower right in front of her from where we were sitting. My unmarried son was most disappointed.

And here’s the set list:

It’s So Easy
Mr. Brownstone
Chinese Democracy
Slither (Velvet Revolver cover)
Welcome to the Jungle (Link Wray’s ‘Rumble’ intro)
Reckless Life
Double Talkin’ Jive
Live and Let Die (Wings cover)
Shadow of Your Love
Estranged
Rocket Queen
You’re Crazy
You Could Be Mine
I Wanna Be Your Dog (The Stooges cover) (Duff on lead vocals)
Absurd
Hard Skool
Better
Civil War (Jimi Hendrix’s “Machine Gun” outro)
Sorry
(followed by band introductions)
Slash Guitar Solo
Sweet Child o’ Mine
November Rain
Wichita Lineman (Jimmy Webb cover)
Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door (Bob Dylan cover)
Nightrain
Encore:
Coma
Patience (The Beatles’ “Blackbird” intro)
Don’t Cry
Paradise City

I know, I know. Witchita Lineman?? I guess if they can have a Paul McCartney song they can have a Glen Campbell song.

A Political Rant

admin

A while ago I was thinking about the state of play her in Queensland and in western democracies generally and came to what I thought was a very profound conclusion. Actually, and I digress, “very profound” isn’t correct grammar is it, whether I thought it or not. Like “very brilliant” or “very devastating”. The word “profound” is non-gradable so doesn’t need an adverb of degree. This lesson is the first of today’s contributions to the preservation of Western Civilisation. The second one follows so I’ll start again.

A while ago I was thinking about the state of play her in Queensland and in western democracies generally and came to what I thought was a profound conclusion. There are many problems in the world ranging from the specific, like the war in Ukraine and the covid virus which Joe Biden has just declared has lost its pandemic status much to the chagrin of his medical bureaucracy and many authoritarian politicians, to the more nebulous like stupidity and “racism”. The inverted commas round “racism” are there because generally, it isn’t. It’s mostly just a cover-all insult these days.

But the biggest problem facing mankind (I know, I know, and I don’t care) in my humble opinion is people who don’t pay attention. The inexorable creeping sludge of the many tides of leftism (remember the long march through the institutions?) is allowed to proceed because most don’t notice it until it slaps them in the face – looking at you Venezuela. Remember, you voted for Chavez and now the only way to get rid of him is if he died. Oh that’s right, he did and look what replaced him. Your most recent election was the last one before the next blood-bath. It was probably pretty crappy before Chavez but you weren’t paying enough attention when he offered something that was too good to be true, were you? Now a large proportion of you are on your way to the US. On foot.

Let me clarify. There are well-meaning people who vote Green because they think the Greens are for a cleaner environment. I guess in amongst the wealth-redistributing Marxists there may still be one or two who are, but it’s doubtful. So Greens voters (who aren’t Marxists) are just useful idiots. The vast majority of blacks still vote Democrat in the US. This is despite the fact that the inner city areas of most Democrat jurisdictions (like Chicago, Baltimore, Philadelphia….the list goes on) where a lot of black people live are, as described by POTUS 45, crime-ridden “shitholes”. And they’re getting worse not better but the residents continue to vote for Democrats for some reason lost in the mists of time. If you don’t realise you are being taken for granted, you are a useful idiot (and you’re not paying attention!).

I just re-read the rest of this diatribe and decided it’s too big a topic for a couple of pages on a blog. More like a book or series of books. So if you don’t want to read on, remember, if someone is seeking and wanting to hold absolute power, as far as they are concerned, the ends justify the means. That’s all you need to know.

Let’s go back the riots in the US in 2020. There are city’s (including those mentioned above) across that country that haven’t had conservative local government for decades. You know the ones. They’re defined by defunding the police, cashless bail, not prosecuting shoplifting if the swag is less than $1000 (has anyone seen a looter waiting at a cash-register?), emptying the jails, providing sanctuary from the feds for criminal illegals, skyrocketing homelessness, crime and drug problems etc etc. Now consider the poor bastards whose businesses and livelihoods were and are still being destroyed by the absolutely predictable mayhem caused by these policies. Many of them would have voted for the scum-bags who allowed these things to happen and are doing nothing to stop them happening now. If these victims of the BLM and Antifa riots and the ongoing lawlessness vote these same people back into power at the next election then (1) they are not paying attention and (2) all sympathy evaporates.

The key words in this rant so far are “inexorable creeping”. I mentioned the long march through the institutions which is eating education, the arts, legal systems and bureaucracies from the inside and is even worming its way into sport like bamboo up your fingernails. There are examples across the world illustrating the various stages in the authoritarian progression (or inexorable creep, if you like) from benign (ha!) smiling (smirking, more like) old socialists like the newly minted Australian Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese all the way through to deranged tyrants like Kim Jong Un. Bear with me here.

If you leave these people alone (because you’re not paying attention) eventually the metastasizing is complete. So we have the currently relatively benign governments like the aforementioned Australian Government (although they are already making very disturbing noises). When we take a further step to the left we find leftist governments in Australia like that in Victoria which has implemented elements of the police state and Queensland where stupidity still trumps evil but give them time (and we will because too many people aren’t paying attention). Further along this highway to hell are New Zealand and Canada. If you don’t know what Ardern and Trudeau are getting up to (not with each other, that I’m aware of), then yes, you are not …. you know the rest.

The next stop is various state governments in the US like California, New York, Illinois, Washington, Minnesota and Oregon where BLM and Antifa do as they please with apparent impunity as outlined above. The US Government is proving to be particularly evil as it harasses its political opponents and cows its population with its covid mandates and declarations around domestic terrorism, white supremacy and MAGA voters as well as its joint venture with the media and big-tech. And whilst the US and Iran are ostensibly poles apart, I bet the people who run the Biden administration (not Biden himself, obviously) look lovingly towards Tehran and their complete control over all institutions including deciding who gets to run in their “elections”.

Talking of theocracies like Iran (and Saudi Arabia) some would consider them rightists rather than leftists because they are supposedly religious conservatives or whatever. These are arguments for political scholars. It’s a debatable point but remember the left is about one thing alone – getting power and holding it by whatever means available because the ends justify the means. So the Ayatollahs, the Saudi Royal Family, the US Democrat Party and its subsidiary the Biden administration and socialist political parties everywhere have that in common.

Then we have countries like the old Soviet republics including Ukraine. Yes, Zelenskyy has replaced Paddington Bear (now that he’s left the building with Queen Elizabeth) as everyone’s favourite cuddly toy but he ran a regime (before the war) with all of the trappings of a leftist dictatorship – restricted press freedoms, corruption, jailing of political opponents and banning of opposition political parties. And there are others like Uzbekistan and Belarus.

And Africa’s another book entirely. The word “Zimbabwe” should cover it for now.

Moving on we have the big five – Russia, Cuba, Venezuela, China and North Korea. Whether or not the people in these countries are paying attention is irrelevant because without massive upheaval, they are already lost. The rest of us, however need to observe these places and take notes.

I used to believe the left and the right were heading towards the same destination, it was just the road being taken which was up for debate. How naive. I don’t believe that anymore.

So there are examples everywhere of what can happen if you vote for socialists but more significantly, leave them in power too long. Inevitably it will all go to shit and uncontrollable debt will be the least of your problems.

And if you don’t believe that the “civilized” left believes the ends justify the means, check out this Sam Harris interview.

https://twitter.com/alexandrosM/status/1560061984699064320

Merry Christmas

admin

Some Christmas thoughts especially for you:

One of my favorite laugh-out-loud authors is P.J.O’Rourke, an American humorist who writes about politics and economics amongst other things. I know it’s difficult to believe that anyone can write anything humorous about politics or economics which was appropriately coined “the dismal science” by, again appropriately it would seem, a Scotsman – Thomas Carlyle. Incidentally, and to tediously continue this digression, he called it that because writing poetry was, at the time (mid 19th century) called “the gay science”. The linkage is somewhat opaque so go figure.

Anyway, back to PJ. He said (I love quotes – less for me to write) “It’s customarily said that Christmas is done ‘for the kids’. Considering how awful Christmas is and how little our society likes children, this must be true.” The guy is obviously hilarious and full of the joys of spring and I thoroughly recommend his books. Actually, he said this before he had kids of his own – he has three – so I’m assuming his attitude has changed if only to not upset the kids (and his wife).

Which brings us neatly and efficiently(ish) to Little D, the second smartest person in this family. Some grinches would suggest that the only good thing about Christmas in summer is not having a stupid sweater competition. But it’s not and contrary to PJ’s now rather ancient assertion, hot or cold it’s about families and especially the kids.

Little D has successfully negotiated prep and is now leaning into the daunting headwinds of Grade 1 but that unimaginable level of stress will not dampen the boundless joy associated with this Saturday’s ripping paper off plastic stuff which is invariably made in China. And I’m sure my baby brothers will be equally thrilled. A box of lego and a few dozen icy sherbets (that’s Oz lingo for beer for the uninitiated) will take Bro 2’s mind off pushing bodies around in most of his waking hours. And whilst Bro 1 will find this Christmas a bigger pain in the arse than usual (that’s a family “in” joke although not as far “in” as a prostate examination), those beers and a New Year grandchild will keep a smile on his face.

The child bride is particularly looking forward to Christmas this year because it’s at Bro 2’s place and not ours. Actually that’s not true. We love doing Christmas because I get to do mostly nothing and we like to drink a lot so don’t have to drive. That’s why we love it. I may be a bit presumptuous here but I’m assuming the CB is as one with my views.

After the last two years I guess we should be grateful our betters are allowing us to associate with our families, in our homes, unmasked at Christmas without fear of arrest and crippling fines. Fortunately our rather cautious political “leaders” are yet to convince a critical mass of the populace that you can catch covid over the internet or by answering your phone but you can bet the whiny socialists have had their communications staff onto it. And it’s only a matter of time – never forget that half of the population (any population) is below average intelligence.

As far as our kids are concerned it’s been a largely uneventful year. As long as you haven’t caught covid that’s a statement of the bleeding obvious because we are somewhat limited in our options what with border closures and lock downs. None of us caught it that we are aware of and we are all vaxed and there’s a danger I’ll go all libertarian here so in the interests of goodwill to all men (yes, “men” – call me traditional), and the fact that I’ve covered it in previous posts on this blog, I’ll leave it there.

The CB and I did get to Hamilton Island with daughter, son-in-law and Little D. The highlight was a family snorkelling expedition (with a couple of pros) with Little D all done up in her anti-jellyfish suit, snorkel, mask, flippers and life jacket. There is nothing quite as genuine as a five-year old’s shrieking joy at seeing numerous colourful Nemos flitting in and out of the Great Barrier Reef coral and through her legs.

My mother had very kindly offered to take a bunch of us on a cruise and we were all set to go in November. Unfortunately the longevity and validity of covid related decision making is currently completely unreliable, so today’s music festival is still potentially tomorrow’s complete lockdown and P&O weren’t prepared to operate under those circumstances. Many thanks anyway, Mum.

Christmas 2021 has elements of Christmas 2020 but not to the same extent although, to be fair, last Christmas was pretty restriction free for us. We managed to get together with family and friends and saw my father off in the respectable Irish way i.e. I only remember about half of the day. There will no doubt be an element of that again this year so Saturday will certainly be a celebration. We hope you get the opportunity to celebrate with loved ones wherever you are and whomever you are with.

Melissa’s Fight-Night

admin

My television viewing is fairly limited. I like the occasional movie or Netflix series but mostly it’s sport and politics. So at the moment it’s the first cricket test between Australia and England and opinion shows on Sky News Australia and Fox News from the USA. I know that last bit will get me branded a racist, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, misogynistic, climate denying, white supremacist by the socialist doctors’ wives collective but such are the burdens we who espouse common sense and human nature as our fundamental political tenets, are made to carry. For the child bride it’s who-dunnits, real estate, food and politics. She hated cricket until she met me.

Anyway, to the point of all of this. Last night in the early evening, we had exhausted the TV options so put on some music. If one is going to drink, one is much happier with accompaniment. When I say we put on some music I don’t mean we downloaded onto my phone some stuff from the iTunes Store and bluetoothed my phone to a stand alone speaker. I mean we physically took one of hundreds of CD’s from our CD cabinet, put it into a CD slot in our stereo player and turned up the volume. Call me old-fashioned.

The CB chose Melissa Etheridge, someone who would have no truck with my TV viewing choices, I’m sure. But then her sexual preferences don’t particularly appeal to me and her choice of father for two of her children (carried by someone else incidentally) – David Crosby – implies some potential genetic foibles down the track. Notwithstanding, we like her music. In fact we like it to the extent that we’ve seen her in concert, twice.

The first time was December 1995 when she accompanied The Eagles on their Hell Freezes Over Tour. The second time was in April 1996 when she toured on her own. And that, in a very roundabout way, is the subject of this very digressionary missive.

The concert was performed at an office building site which was then occupied by Festival Hall. That same office building now houses our financial advisor. Considerably more fun was had there when it was Festival Hall until it was demolished in 2003. Great concerts in a cosy environment included Yes, The Eagles (on their 1976 tour), Status Quo and, of course Melissa. Plus there was boxing and cheering for the bad guys while being showered with blood at World Championship Wrestling (RIP legends like Skull Murphy and Killer Kowalski). And the wrestling was legit back then – really. But not as legit as what we saw after the Melissa Etheridge concert – I’ll get to that. We even went to the Roller Game once – LA Thunderbirds v New York Bombers. I’ll never forget my father on his feet yelling “come on Ronnie” as Ronnie Rains literally ran round the track wearing roller skates and flung himself over a collapsed pack to win the game with seconds to go. That was legit too.

So, back to Melissa. On entering Festival Hall with the CB and her sister, I was somewhat perturbed to notice a paucity of males. In fact there was me and another bloke a couple of rows away. We exchanged nervous glances and girded our loins for the oestrogen express that was about to shirt-front us. We were seated in an elevated spot on the side. There was a seating area on the floor in front of us and a large block of seats was unoccupied until a few minutes before the concert when an army of buzz-cut flaunting, overall wearing, brickies labourers arrived. I think it was a busload of the Gold Coast chapter of Muffs Anonymous. And they were all pissed so you can imagine the hijinks….and the noise. To their credit though, they did confine the raucosity to between songs.

Melissa was thrilled she had such a devoted cheer squad which was basically everyone there except me and the other bloke (and the CB and her sister). And she played up to them by at one point commenting on how hot it was and how “moist” she was. The sisterhood swooned with orgasmic delight. Two people rolled their eyes. At that point I started to feel really sorry for her backing band – all males. After a rock concert usually the band (and the roadies) can look forward to the star’s cast-offs at the after-concert party but there would be no nooky for these poor bastards unless they were gay and played with each other both on and off the stage.

An ablution solution was also problematic for the girls (the straight ones). Neither of the two sitting with me had the courage to relieve themselves either alone or collectively for the duration of our time there. For me and the other bloke – not a problem apart from running the gauntlet of what could potentially be a resentful and hostile clutch. I’d have rather invaded a Hells Angels clubhouse dressed as the Village People policeman.

To give Melissa her due, she put on a good show and no doubt incited all manner of goings on afterwards. The Gold Coast bus driver would have seen some shenanigans through his rear-view mirror on the way back to broad beach, sorry Broadbeach.

However not everyone was happy. As the throng made its way down Albert Street towards the carpark a hullabaloo started somewhere close by. There was a lot of shouting as a red faced, ball fisted, hellcat stormed through the crowd, obviously looking for someone. That someone had attended the concert without her now apoplectic “friend” and she was cowering only a few metres away from us.

“Where’ve you been, you cunt” screamed the hellcat. And before the poor girl had a chance to open her mouth, HC smacked her with a right hook that wouldn’t have been out of place inside Festival Hall when Hector Thompson was on the card (you’ll have to look him up). She went down like the proverbial bag of shit and as the obviously alpha member of that partnership glowered over her beta’s shaking, crumpled body, we made our way to the carpark lest she make eye contact with one of us. You can’t beat a bout of brutal lesbian violence to round-off a pleasant evening.

It’s Her Birthday…..Again

admin

It’s the child bride’s birthday tomorrow when she catches up with me again. For four months of the year, I sleep with a younger woman. It’s a curious euphemism, “sleep with” because unless it’s followed by “his security blanket” (which could also be a euphemism, come to think of it) or “the fishes” or such like, it actually means “have sex with”. So that phrase is the absolute epitome of prudery except in my case as related above, when it actually means what it says (mostly).

It’s not a particularly momentous birthday unless you’re into bingo. I just checked as I am not a bingo expert and it seems there is some form of rhyming slang for every one of the ninety number bingo alphabet. So it’s not even momentous in that regard. But we’re of an age where birthdays don’t carry the same amount of gravitas as they did when we were eight. The prospect of gifts from relatives was enough to get you looking forward to your next birthday from the day after your last one so didn’t time pass depressingly slowly. That plus looking forward to school holidays had years lasting for decades during our childhoods. Now they last weeks. It’s almost Christmas and the last one was only a month or so ago.

And we’re of an age when we tend to disregard birthdays or pretend they didn’t happen whereas in our twenties and thirties (and forties and fifties periodically) they were excuses to cut loose. Now, the brain is still more than capable of functioning like it’s 20 years old. The body on the other hand is fond of saying to the brain “not so fast mate” when one of those “hold my beer and watch this” moments comes along. The CB is the adult in the relationship so isn’t quite as reckless as me. She hasn’t moved faster than a brisk walk since about 1976 other than with mechanical assistance. So to induce frivolity I have to ply her with drink which is about as difficult as getting Madonna to flash her tits. And even then there’s rarely ever dancing on a table or preferably (that’d be my preference) table dancing.

So we acknowledge birthdays more often than appearances of Halley’s Comet but a bit less frequently than tours by your favourite bands. The Rolling Stones were last here in 2014. That’s about right.

Twanging the Wires

admin

I’ve been promising myself to do this for ages and finally bit the bullet – I started guitar lessons this year. Actually “started” isn’t precisely the right word as my first guitar lesson was last century when I was 15 years old and it was conducted at my high school. The first turned out to be the only one with this teacher because, I can’t remember how but the professional musician father of a friend of my brother’s, offered to teach me around about the same time. I had one lesson with him before he left his family and buggered off with a woman other than his wife so that was the end of that. To complete this family’s story, my brother’s now ex-friend is wanted in connection with the murder of his wife and three kids. There’s a $1,000,000 reward for information leading to the solving of that case. I could make a joke about the Jackson family and the Osmond family and the Manson family but won’t. So I decided to teach myself, as you do.

I’ve had a guitar since I was 15 (I now have seven) and I pulled it out occasionally over the years and ever so gradually gained a modicum of proficiency although, to be fair, my guitar playing is to Eric Clapton what my mother’s driving is to Lewis Hamilton.

But I needed some incentive to focus more time and effort if I was to improve and my Brazilian employers from some years back managed to do that, bless them. The Brazilian people I worked with in the world’s second largest resources company were mostly (there are always exceptions, right) the nicest people imaginable – friendly, pleasant and smart. How the corporate culture got so poisonous I am yet to fathom. I left this company in 2009 after three tumultuous years during which I spent more time with lawyers than customers and I was the marketing general manager. Litigation with a smile. And with persistent and acrimonious litigation comes stress. And what’s a great way to relieve stress? There are many obvious ways including the Jeffrey Toobin method (look it up – he hilariously still works for CNN) or the way I chose – playing the guitar.

I’ve mentioned this previously but the finish to my Brazilian corporate experience was bitter/sweet – rather frustrating but a blessing in disguise. The poisonous culture got me. Admittedly, I provoked it and it was a bit bigger than me but they claimed I jumped the shark. Unlike The Fonz there would be no more repeats for me.

Taking a step back, when I play (the guitar) I can’t concentrate on anything else thereby alleviating stress – that’s how this works. I guess anything that requires the use of two hands and a brain fits that bill. But I’m a shit carpenter so making furniture was out so I took up lessons again. One term later with a teacher who wanted to eliminate all of the bad habits I had picked up over decades of playing with myself (errr), I realised this wasn’t working but I had found the work ethic again and dedicated myself to improvement.

I’ve read a lot of music biographies and auto (laugh out loud) biographies and most of them are forgettable even those describing the most fabulous and depraved careers – I guess you had to be there. It was the Guns ‘N Roses boys who did it for me. The best book I read in this genre was Duff McKagan’s (he’s the Gunners’ bass player) although that is irrelevant to this story. More relevant is his band-mate Slash who told me (via his book) that he practiced 12 hours a day. That point stuck in my mind and inspired me to do nothing remotely like this. Which is why I will never be as good as Slash. That and a decided gap in our respective natural abilities.

Slash and Duff doing their thing

What I did discover is that you can only carry yourself so far. A combination of indolence and red wine was conspiring to carry me even shorter distances. I had plateaued and needed a mountaineer. So I found a teacher and the first things he said to me were “show me what you can do” and “what else do you want to be able to do”. That was all I needed to hear. So in another year or two of intense practice I’ll be able to finger pick Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and there won’t be a bar chord that I haven’t heard of. The child bride is getting heartily sick of hearing mangled versions of Streets of London and Landslide as I try to train my right thumb and three of the four fingers to at least appear to be cooperating.

It works for me to the extent that I’ve even written a few songs. Just in time for the revival of vinyl records which is just as well because how else do you get a song into the Top 40?