Except This

I arrived at RobertPlant's haus on Saturday arvo prior to us heading off with New Girl to see Spandau Ballet & Tears for Fears. He wasn't yet dressed, there was a Small Thing running free, a dog barking and no Tam O'Shanter to be seen. Even though this is a typical state of affairs I let it get me a little hot under the collar, and I may have been a trifle short with him. Or torn strips, depending upon your point of view. As always, he seemed unmoved, which only serves to get me more irate. I huffed off to the lounge room to wait.

Eventually we were out the door, with much eye-rolling from me.

As we were leaving the haus, RP waved his horrific sombrero at me and asked if I'd carry it. I looked at his completely unencumbered form. "What the maldicion? Why are you expecting me to carry your maldicion hat?"

"Because," he said, bending down and picking up a giant stack of books, "I'm carrying a present for you."

You know, it was fabulous weather and a fantastic show. I got really drunk.

I can't keep it in, I gotta let it out.

From: New Girl@
Sent: Thursday, 14 January 2010 1:44 PM
To: hazelblackberry@
Subject: RE: howz ya?

man, my neck is sore. i must have terrible workplace posture.
also my thumb hurts from too much mousing. it's a real problem.
did i mention that my foot is worse? i think i need that surgery soon that means i have to spend 6 weeks on crutches.
this morning i was so hot and i thought i might be starting menopause. but W says i am too young.
i'm spending the day [doing work stuff]
should we have dinner after the movie? "a little dinner could do no harm" as CZJ says in that Coen brothers film I love.
hey listen to my circumplex jokes: What do you get if you mix red and green? A manager! Why are so many people so blue? because they are working on getting things past the managers.
admittedly they are weak. but so is the management.
man, those first two colours are making me crave a salad with lots of capsicum. i really have to eat less cheese sandwiches.
better get back to my stickers.
good luck in the car park [not sure if you need it or not until I hear your car park story]

From: hazelblackberry@
Sent: Thursday, 14 January 2010 1:49 PM
To: New Girl@
Subject: I'm blogging this

Yes to dinner.

And, uh, could we discuss your coffee consumption??

Exit, pursued by.

I got home at about 10.30 last night from dropping The Pups at the airport - after our first failed attempt to get her on her flight - only to find that the ferals next door were blasting music in their back yard. I went round to their side gate to ask them to pipe down, which, to their credit, they did.

I staggered inside and went to bed only to be jolted awake at 1am by loud feral conversation drifting over from the back yard. After lying there for a while getting more and more enraged I finally decided to get up and, once again, ask them to keep things down to a dull roar. It turns out they were somewhat resistant to the idea that conversation in the dead of night could be classified as 'noisy' or 'intrusive' and as I endeavoured to make them see the error of their ways I was fighting hard to keep the 'nagging harridan' element out of my voice.

Then a male voice interrupted me, mid-rant.

"Excuse me, excuse me," he said. "Do you know you're hot?"

"What did you say??"

"I just had to let you know that I think you're hot."

"I couldn't give a stuff what you think: JUST SHUT UP!"

And with that I walked off. If it's not old men, it's ferals. If things don't improve soon I'm getting me to a nunnery. It's lights out there at, like, 9pm. And no one listens to techno, I'll bet.

Theory of Relativity

Earlier this year RobertPlant and I went to see Crispin Glover's Big Slide Show. It was a great night and at the end of the evening he took questions from the audience and was available to chat afterwards. I really wanted to stand up during question time and ask, "Do you have a girlfriend?" but frankly I felt too shy. Both RobertPlant and I were disappointed in my reticence.

So I resolved while we were lining up to have our Robert Forster books signed that I wouldn't let another opportunity pass me by. Not to ask him if he had a girlfriend! Sheesh. I could see he was wearing a wedding ring. I mean, come on.

I got up to him and handed him my book.

"You know, I can't stand how my own voice sounds so how does it feel, you're standing here in this bookshop and they're playing your songs over the speakers? Do you like hearing your music playing?"

"It's a bit odd. I don't mind it like this for a little while, but if it went on too long it'd feel strange."

"So you don't get into your car and slip on a 'best of' of yourself for the journey then?"

"Er, no."

He smiled but he also looked at me a little warily. Robert Forster thinks I'm a weirdo! Robert Forster clearly hasn't been to see Crispin Glover's Big Slide Show.

Mr Burt Reynolds and Mr Dolly Parton

RobertPlant has decided to turn his obsessive attentions to Robert Forster.

[When will he ever become obsessed with Bob?? Oh the conversations we could be having!]

So we were at Planet Books last night where RF was signing books. RobertPlant had bought two copies of the book, one for each of us, for the requisite autograph. It's been a while since he's bought a new book; he was somewhat affronted at the cost. He's going to be even more affronted when he gets to the content. I'd picked up a few other books I planned to buy. I showed him the latest one by Alan Bennett.

"Do you think RF would be offended if I asked him to sign this instead?"

RobertPlant snorted. The old jokes always get the best reactions.

Neither Afraid Nor Petrified

I got on the phone to k. to tell her I thought I'd perhaps seen the Hawt Will Ferrell look alike at the lights as I was driving home.

"Only problem is, he was driving like a Murano or a CRV or something - you know, family man."

"Yeah, those are family men cars. He's probably got kids."

"Three beautiful kids. And, even worse, a wife."

"She'll be blonde and gorgeous."

"Bugger."

"And she'll probably have one of those laughs."

"Ugh. One of those laughs."

"But let's face it, if that's the kind of woman he'd marry, you don't want to be with him."

Then we bickered for a while about the lyrics to I Will Survive. That's how we roll.

He's hung up on a clown from the 60s.

RobertPlant got all excited months ago when he found out that The Stems were doing three final - last chance to see - shows in Perth, so he promptly went out and bought tickets to all three. I went along with him to Mojo's on Saturday night for that performance. It was a pretty good night. The place was, naturally enough, packed to the rafters with Perth Guys - little wonder, The Stems themselves being died-in-the-wool Perth Guys. RobertPlant seemed happy. I could tell he was happy: he kept handing over money without complaint so I could toddle over to the bar and get myself another drink. I wish I was good at reviews so I could give you a review, but I'm not. Just take my word for it, it was a fun night. You totally missed out. RobertPlant ran into people he knew from the old days, just hanging on the scene, the way he did. For one, brief moment he was re-immersed in his glory days.

For me the highlight of the evening was earlier, when we were browsing for books in Elizabeth's. A couple in their late 30s/early 40s came wandering in, looking like first-few-dates material. The guy took a look around, hitched up his pants and loudly declared, "I'm not really into books." RobertPlant and I shared a meaningful look; a look I also shared with an older, immaculately dressed woman a little further along the aisle. I wanted to sidle up to the female half of the couple and urge her to flee while she still could. Then I glanced in her direction and from the expression on her face I think that's exactly what she was planning to do anyway.

When She Used to Rock and Roll

k. - yes, she's back, d.'s back, even little t.'s back.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, k. was unable to hide her disgust at my confession that I got a little teary when my stepbrother's bride-to-be walked into their wedding to Jennifer Rush's 'Power of Love'. I acknowledged my shame and self-loathing and then we talked about what songs make good wedding tunes.

I told k, "I think at my next wedding I'll walk down the aisle to 'Urgent' by Foreigner!"

We agreed this would be the height of class and good taste.

"Did I tell you I've already picked out a song for my funeral?" asked k. "It's kind of daggy, because, you know, it's Simply Red. But I like it. [singing] If you don't know me by now..."

Kicking Up

So I was off to a supposed dinner-dance on Saturday night. It wasn't much of an event. After a respectable interval we made our escape and headed off to Little Creatures. On the way, one of my companions said, "I'd rather eat my own poo than go back to that party." Possibly a slightly extreme way to express one's distaste, but also she was quite drunk so we probably couldn't have expected to hold her to that.

The dress code was "casual cocktail", which I found a little difficult to figure out. Did it mean I should don a nice dress with ugg boots, or maybe pyjamas with high heels? I decided to wear a black dress with silver shoes, though I was a little worried about being warm enough. New Girl was at my place on Friday night and we were mulling over the problem. The next day she emailed me with a solution: leg warmers - brilliant! Not only would they keep me snug, I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs!

Of course, she was only joking. But if either of us had known what the evening was going to be like we would have given it much more serious consideration.

Straight to the Source

_______________________

From: hazelblackberry@
Sent: Thursday, 18 June 2009 11:31 AM
To: The Burp@
Subject:

..... So I went to get into a lift and coming out was Garry Shannon and that guy who has the band, who was in Australian Idol. I can’t think of his name but you know who he is. I think his first name is Chris. His brother was in Idol too and was criticised for being too fat. You know!

_______________________

From: The Burp@
Sent: Thursday, 18 June 2009 12:05 PM
To: hazelblackberry@
Subject: RE:

So were you like all excited about your brush with fame - had to tell someone - and I’m your only daggy friend that would know or care about an ex Idol. WELL YES I AM!!!! Btw - Chris Murphy! Brother is Courtney.

_______________________

Hopefully this person will be removed from the gene pool before he can contribute to it.

The groom and the best man have some explaining to do.

Cross Promotion

New Girl wants me to go on RSVP. I'm not. Yet.

New Girl wants to write my profile. She says it will include the line, "You'd better know how to drive a manual, you p*ssy."

While I agree with the sentiment, as broadly expressed, I feel the language could do with a little tweaking. Just a little.

Get On It!

This morning I was deep in thought, trying to decide what music to listen to on my iPod as I walked into work. I was down in the Ts and it came down to a choice between Technotronic or Tanita Tikaram. I eventually settled on Technotronic because:

(a) Ms Tikaram can, quite frankly, be a bit of a downer and when we're heading into work upbeat is what is required; and
(b) 'We just poked a little empty pie for the fun that people have at night' - Tanita, what the hell are you talking about??

So Technotronic it was. But as I walked along, the dance beats pouring into my head, I was gripped with fear: what if I was so overwhelmed by the music that I just started dancing crazily, right there in the car park? I confront this fear often, when passing by buskers or the people posing as statues accompanied by techno, or even the Salvation Army Band playing in Forrest Chase at Christmastime. I worry that I'll start walking in time to the music, and then where will it all end? It makes me very awkward.

It's funny, I was just talking to someone at lunch time about phobias. I claimed that a fear of spiders was my solitary phobia. But that was only because I couldn't think of a word that neatly encapsulated 'afraid of unwillingly and spontaneously busting a move in public'.

Rippling the poor huge freaked teeny beast this way and that.

When I was in my early 20s I used to go to a lot of shows with Grumpy's mate DavoStevoCombo. DSC was a bit of a funky dude on the cutting edge of all that was hip, hop and happening. Also, he was really into Yes. Anyway, the point is, before every show he'd bung a couple of plugs into his ears, to protect them from the sonic booms that seemed to occur in every venue we entered. As I have aged - but not as much as previously thought! - I think about old DSC with some fondness and realise that he was really on to something with those ear plugs. I bet these days he isn't always trying to hear every conversation around him above the ringing in his ears.

I reflected on this again on Saturday night at the P!NK concert, as the music rattled my rib cage and flattened every little hair down my ear canal. The other thing that occurred to me that night, as we floundered amongst the swarming teenage army near the stage, was that our presence in the 'standing room only' area had raised the average age there by about 30 years.

Of course, for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction, and this happened last night when I took Bezley along to see the Treorchy Male Choir. Bobbing along in a sea of walking canes and creaking hips I felt like quite the young whippersnapper. An upstart, if you will. It was a night of beautiful music and wonderful singing, but on about three occasions the choir raised their voices in competition with the swelling strains of the pipe organ and the combined effect pressed me back into my seat and set my ear drums vibrating alarmingly.

I looked around at this point at the various nodding heads of the blue rinse set and figured that they were grateful someone had finally turned the volume up.

A Pattern Emerging

d. has applied for a fly-in fly-out job...in Orstraylya! Yippee! An Orstraylyan job for d. means more time for hb with k. If you can follow all those letters.

He was explaining it to me last night: "It's eight days on, 6 days off, four days on, three days off, four on, three off, and back to eight."

k. stepped across the room, her hands held under her chin, "Then take your partner and do-se-do."

Well, I laughed. And then I ate k.'s corn on the cob.

Cheaper by the dozen!

Down at the shops today I saw the scary boot camp trainer. She was talking on the phone, looking very frowny and intense. And, you know, skinny. I heard her say as I walked by, "Yeah, she got a bit of feedback from me on that..." I felt sorry for whoever "she" was. If She needs to come and cry on my shoulder, She can - anytime.

Anyway sbct didn't see me. Thank goodness. I was suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that I was carrying a giant packet of toilet rolls.

I started a joke.

Grumpy happily accepted my invitation to join me for breakfast in Cottesloe this morning. He doesn't pass up an opportunity to moan and groan to me about the trials and tribulations of his love life.

"I dunno," he said, leaning on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. "I'm just sick of playing games."

"Games?" I asked. "Love games?"

Oh how I laughed! After that, Grumpy started talking about how we really needed to hurry up and lodge those divorce papers. He's, like, so predictable?

Paired Up

After the most excellently entertaining P!NK concert, Inge de Bruin and I had planned to repair to Paddy Hannan's, that stylish drinking hole inside the classy establishment that is the Burswood Casino & Entertainment Complex. Every time I go to the casino, I thoroughly regret not spending more time in its dignified surrounds. But there was,, yea verily, a seething throng lining the sticky carpet to enter Mr Hannan's beverage dispensary so we thought we'd stagger back up the highway to our hotel, and if we passed a bottle shop on the way, grab some wine to take back to our room.

As it happened, our walk took us by the Rivervale Hotel and since it seemed rather quiet inside we decided to stop there for a couple of drinks. We got our refreshments and set ourselves up on a couch. A seriously inebriated young Englishman began to lurch - though he would have called it dancing - in our vicinity and stepped on my foot a couple of times, for which he managed to slur an apology. He then decided to sit down on the arm of the couch we two were sitting on and chat to us. After looking us both over, his opening line was a beauty.

"So, are you two mother and daughter?" he asked.

Inge was staring into space, in a kind of daze, obviously unsure whether she'd heard what she'd just heard. My confidence hit the floor, grabbed a jackhammer and kept working its way down to the molten core.

"Just fabulous," I thought. "Here I was having a fun night and feeling pretty good about myself and now some jerk has to tell me I look old enough to be Inge's mother. Oh how I wish I could take back the last 20-odd years and really pay some attention to slip, slop, slap! I'm a wrinkled old prune. I wonder if Inge will help me tie a knot in a sheet so I can hang myself off the balcony when we get back to the motel."

"Um, no, we're not," I said to the delightful young fellow.

"Oops! Did I ask the wrong thing?"

"Pretty much," I said.

He turned to Inge and indicated to me. "So you're not her mother then?"

Now, please believe me when I tell you that my heart went out to my stylish and very youthful-looking friend, and please also understand the feeling of utter relief I felt that he thought I was the daughter. He thought I was the daughter!!!

"You know, I think you need to run along now," I said to him as Inge continued to stare into space, not saying a thing, wishing she was anywhere but on planet Earth.

He sat there for a moment. Then his eyes lit up, he looked quite hopeful; he gazed upon us with a new, disturbing light dawning on his face. Just when I thought the evening could get no worse, he asked, "So, are you two, like, best friends?"

A few minutes later we were continuing our walk up the highway and Inge finally broke her silence to say, "I've only got myself to blame. I'm the one who thought it'd be funny if we looked like a couple."

In this age of fibreglass I'm looking for a gem.

We had work drinks last night. Excitement! I said I'd go but planned to nick off after half an hour or so. I ended up being there for 2 1/2 hours. Why? You tell me. I became sort of mesmerised as I was drawn into one incredibly deadly conversation after another, mostly about people's home renovation projects or, even worse, about work. Who goes to work drinks to talk about work? Dull peeps, that's who/whom.

Luckily there was wine. Awful wine, but it was there and that's what counts.

Afterwards I met Lost in Translation at His Majesty's to see The Alchemist, a play for the cynics (and a bit of a marathon event when you've got some work drinks in you & feeling a trifle drowsy). It was a seriously academic crowd in the theatre and I was so glad old LiT was there to give the audience some much needed va-va-voom.

Before the play we stood at the bar having a glass of champagne and surveying the assembled peeps. LiT put forward her theory on (heterosexual) relationships, "They have their best chance of success if they begin with the man feeling humbly grateful that the woman condescends to be with him."

I looked at her standing there, tall, dark, utterly gorgeous, expecting men to fall at her feet in, well, humble gratitude. There was the slightest hint of a smirk on her luscious lips. I guess that's why she's got v-v-v and I don't.