- The Pogues, Fairytale of New York, 1988
“You ask me to enter
Then you make me crawl
And I can’t keep holding on to what you’ve got
When all you’ve got is hurt”
- U2, One, 1992
“I’ve felt pitiful since you’ve been gone”
- Powderfinger, Since You’ve Been Gone, 2003
Christmas Cracker:
Q. How do Jedi Knights know what you got for Christmas?
A. They feel your presents.
Thanks Kempy for that gem.
I had a nice visit to Melbourne over Christmas and was glad to spend the time with my Dad, but that aside I must say it was about the crappest Christmas I have ever had. Ever. Yep, still in crap life mode. Just when you think it’s crap enough already, somehow it seems to feel even crapper. How loooong this cold dark night is taking, indeed.
I worked on NYE, which is not a bad way to spend that over-hyped, under-delivering change of season. The Coodabeens had an OB from Constitution Dock, and the fine weather and good audience were pleasant. Then Bob from the distillery across the road came over and plied us all with samples of his fine herbal remedies (malt- and juniper-based), and by the time the fireworks were on we were all filled with enough good cheer to sing Auld Lang Syne, and enough love for our brotherhood of man not to mind the absence of any key.
A day or so later, my good friend Sister K rolled into town from the Terror-tory to catch up and commiserate over our broken hearts (one each). We got in only one decent night of drinking, after which she woke up with a spectacular case of tonsillitis, requiring the ministrations of a doctor. While appointments were in short supply, we did eventually secure one, so I didn’t have to drag SisK off to casualty (this time, anyway). I did purchase a chook, garlic and ginger (all organic) and force-fed her the resultant broth – which reinforced my suspicion that she actually only visits me when she is desperate for home cooking.
Through a valiant effort of spirit aided by antibiotics and analgesics, Sister K rose from the couch and we visited a couple of places neither of us had ever been to before.
Highlights included taking the Volvo on the ferry to Bruny Island (an island off an island off an island, with a population of 550, it seemed to be comprised of nothing but paddocks, beaches, oyster beds and sightseers);
and a tour of the Cascade Brewery (a historic landmark but still a fully functioning brewery, naughty Sister K resisted all temptation to press inviting buttons and pull tantalising levers... though we did nick a pair of earplugs each from a conveniently located carton. Well, they're always handy.)
Weird snapshot: the fine weather suddenly morphed into torrential rain on Saturday. That evening, waiting high on the hill outside the shoebox residence for a taxi, we were passed by a group of teenage boys. They were sliding down the steep wet road on their sneakers, arms flung behind their heads, giggling like maniacs. Road surfing?
There was also some fine wine, good asian-fusion food, loungeroom DJ sessions and Ghostbusters in there somewhere, before I saw Sister K off on the plane.
I don’t know if she has reached the Terrortory safely, or whether she was waylaid by the Canadian temptation along the way. I can advise though not to fly Jetstar if you intend going anywhere for a good time; at boarding the despicable low-renters at check-in stung her $100 for excess luggage (one medium and one small case are apparantly considered excessive). For that price, she complained, I could have flown Qantarse. The Shitstar desk jockey apparently did not flinch at this bristling, but I reckon the worm was probably laughing inside.
And there endeth the lesson.
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