It's tipping down outside - and I love this. After a warm day and a long day at work, I love the rain.
However, after a long day of work, I'm buggered and I don't want to fret over what to write about tonight so I pulled a Dev Card.
Tonight's card is cute.
Ten minutes writing anything, but you can't use the letter A. Write anything, stream of consciousness, shopping list, highlights reel, poem, love story... but you can't use the letter A (once the prompt is finished)
This will be fun. As I've got an A centric name, this might get dodgy.
OK. Here we go.
--ooOoo--
Going home, the people in front of me were conversing in French. Francophiles, self-possessed they held themselves with style. The French often do. The younger one pointed out stores... Bunnings, the shopping centres, shops which reek of this country's weird, close-minded view of shops - the bigger, the better.
Me, hunched over my phone, I continued with my online French lesson. Three years of French lessons were bearing fruit. I conjugate French verbs with the best of them. J'espère vivre près d'un petit village,et utiliser mes compétences. Je préfère vivre une vie simple. Je veux un petit chalet et un chien, peut-etre....
The instructions did not give the direct order to write only in English...
However, in five minutes, we were conversing, in French, like you do, commuting from the office, on the public fish tin filled with social despair. I like the opportunity to discuss the world, in French, often, because this skill requires nurturing frequently to keep it recent, fresh, flourishing. They were nice people. Worked for the university. Garrulous. Humble
My stop could be viewed on the horizon. I wished them a 'Bonne journee" stepping into the street, the looming deluge required some shelter. No brolly could be found. I would've been happy to slosh in resulting puddles, but my white shoes would not like it.
Regardless, I used my French for five minutes. This rendered me happy.
It's playing in London from 21 March to 6 June at the National Theatre in London.
I MEAN IT'S GOT BLOODY AIDEN TURNER IN IT. Seriously, with his treacle voice, cheeky smile and chest hair you could get lost in for a week, really, why wouldn't you want to see this. (I'd climb that fellow like a scratching post.)
And Lesley Manville is the bomb. But Aiden bloody Turner, on stage....
I want this.
I want to go to London to go to see a play in which Aiden Turner is on stage - and not from out in the nosebleed section. I'd like a proper ticket. I mean, I went and saw Michael Sheen on stage in Amadeus at the Sydney Opera House and had tickets out in the nether regions, but I would go and listen to that man read a EULA (End User License Agreement).
Anyway, I need to get creative and start plotting. How can I get myself to London for a few days, find accommodation, transportation, travel insurance, cat sitters and maybe even a job from which I can do from London, and maybe go visit a lot of cathedrals and a few friends and ...
Rather than say it's hopeless, I'm sending it out to the universe that I want, with all of my heart, to do this, and I want to manifest it. I don't know - maybe a significant lotto win.... an unseen large inheritance or bequest... come on universe, you know that I am willing to put in the work. I could spend a week or so in Paris on the way back, knock off a few more things on my to do list.
But for the moment, I would like to manifest a visit to London where I can see Aiden Turner play the Vicomte de Valmont.
This film intrigued me from the outset. Directed by Bradley Cooper. Written by Bradley Cooper, Will Arnett and Mark Chappell It's a movie about stand up comedy and a marriage. It's a New York story of sorts. All of these normally mean I'll like the film. I'm happy to say that I did enjoy it, and the film was so much more than what I thought it could be. It's smart, funny, well observed and heartfelt. What more do you need?
IMDB.com describes the plot well. "As their marriage unravels, Alex (Will Arnett) faces middle age and divorce, seeking new purpose in the New York comedy scene. Meanwhile, his wife Tess (Laura Dern) confronts sacrifices made for their family, forcing them to navigate co-parenting and identities.”
That sums it up nicely. We see most of this from Alex's point of view, starting when he and Tess separate in a reasonably amicable way. Seeking a bit of a new direction, Alex, turns up at an open mike night at a comedy club, and rather than pay a cover charge, puts his name down to go on stage - and remarkably, a fire is lit. Arnett is great as the struggling, searching Alex, who wants the best for all, including his two sons and his wife.
The film not only takes you into the bowels of the New York comedy clubs, where Alex finds a new tribe of people, it looks at his greater group of family and friends. His supportive parents Jan (Christine Ebersole) and Jan (Ciaran Hinds), Alex and Tess's friendship group, including Sean Hayes, Andra Day and an extremely flaky Bradley Cooper and their eccentric actor friend Balls, who helps to bring comic relief.
If anything, I found this to be a realistic view on married life and the existential crisis that hits many of us in middle age. The script is tight and punchy, with enough laughs to keep you entertained while looking deeper into the very human state of a long marriage. Bradley Cooper's direction brings this to life.
My only gripe was the hand-held camera shots, which at times, particularly in the club scenes, made me feel a bit seasick.
Otherwise, this comes recommended, particularly if you want to watch a film about grown-ups trying, and for the most succeeding, in getting their shit together.
This week's Sunday Stealing comes with the strict instructions to provide your answers in one word only.
This suits me as I've been feeling decidedly off-colour for the last day or so, barely leaving the couch. It's nothing too nasty - it's like all of my energy has seeped away. I think I need a doona day, as we call them here - a day where you don't get out of your pyjamas, nor leave the couch.
Not blah that there's a party. My friend is turning 50 and there is a lot to celebrate. However, I feel like I'm coming down with something, and the thought of socialising is not doing it for me. But, I also feel that I should go, even if only for an hour.
My next dilemma. What to bloody wear.
The instruction on the invite reads as follows:
"Wear something you never have the opportunity to wear.'
Bah!
This means making a decision, for which I have no brain space at the moment. Wear something I never have the opportunity to wear? There's a bit to choose from.
Bathers? I don't wear them often.
Or my Adelaide Crows scarf and hat - but it's not footy season.
High heels? Nope, absolutely not. I don't want to look like a bad drag queen - I walk like a bad drag queen in heels.
I've got this long floral dress that I've never worn out - but I'm not in the mood for that - especially as I don't think I'll be there for long and I feel like the dress makes me look the size of the Titanic.
All my nice winter clothes can't be worn - it's far too temperate for that.
There's a plethora of band t-shirts I could wear... David Byrne... The Pixies.... The Hoodoo Gurus.... The Whitlams.... yeah... nah. Though the party is in Northcote.
There is the lovely, drapey silk throw over I bought in Darwin from a local designer... maybe put some plain black basics underneath... that might be the go. With my Pandora bracelets - the three of them, which probably need a polish - I never wear them.
Then there's the perfume. Do I go Chanel No 5 - this last bottle has only been worn to funerals in the last two years - maybe I should wear it more often. Or do I go with one of the Juliette has a Gun scents - Lady Vengeance or Not a Perfume are my favourites.
Do I turn up in my white Birkenstocks or white trainers or put on my Doc Martens - I'm taking the train out to Northcote. It's easier than finding parking and it means I can have a drink.
I do like that my friend has provided a dress code, I'm interested in seeing what people turn up in.
At least, in writing this, I've managed to verbalise what would be the best outfit. I'll go the plain blacks with the silk throw over and my Pandora bracelets - with white trainers and yeah...
I still think turning up in bathers could be fun. Pity it's not warmer.
Just so you know, discombobulate is one of my favourite words.
This evening, I'm discombobulated.
I've been tired all day. It's been a big week. On signing out of my work computer, I went for a quick read before heading out for dinner with a friend. This was at 5.15 p.m.
It seems I fell asleep, as I was soon awoken from a dream. The cat was demanding his dinner. Not that this registered. I'd been dreaming. Looking at my watch, it was 6.25. I couldn't quite work out if it was morning or afternoon. It took a bit to work out that I should have left ten minutes before. I can't remember the dream, but I know it was intense.
The cat was fed. Knowing I'd be driving home in the dark, I cleaned my glasses, grabbed my stuff and went out, placing my sunglasses on my head. My sunglasses are the prescription kind and I'm light sensitive.
A pleasant night was had - but imagine my dismay when I looked in my bag to find that my glasses weren't in there.
Argh.
How was I supposed to drive home?
Fun fact - as much as I can get around at home without them, I will not drive without prescription lenses (nor watch a movie at the cinema without them). I'm only a little short-sighted, but you have to be able to see properly to drive.
I moaned to my friend, who said she's having similar age-related sight issues, having to put on glasses to read anything. I'm the other way - I have to take my glasses off to read or look at the phone.
Anyway - here was my dilemma. Drive home without my glasses, technically going against the conditions on my licence - or wear my sunglasses - see clearly, even if things were a bit dark.
I went with the latter, despite looking like an idiot, but being able to see the road. Thankfully it was only a short trip from Surry Hills.
How did we ever go into the office every single day of the week pre-2020? I mean, do you realise the energy it takes to get up, feed the cat, have a shower, get dressed, get medicated, put on a face full of make up, get your bag ready, remember everything from your phone to your keys, get out the door, make sure its locked, hop on a tram, then a train - dodging body odour, disease and loud conversations, then there's the quick walk to the office...
I've done this two days in a row this week. Normally I'd only go in one day. My team goes in on a Wednesday normally - it's our 'anchor' day - corporate speak for getting your team together.
Then you have to turn around at the end of the day, get on the said train or tram and go home and come back shattered.
How did we think this was normal?
Normal is rolling out of bed at around 7.45 am, feeding the cat, having a quick shower, medicating, making sure that you don't look too scruffy and firing up your computer at 8.30 am, ready for work.
And I don't resent going in for the second day this week - a colleague was down from interstate and we'd scheduled a lunch - about the only thing I miss about going regularly into town - lunch.
I just can't get over we used to do this EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK, EVERY BLOODY WEEK.
I had lunch with a friend today. We meet up every few weeks. Thankfully they work in an office just across the road from mine so it's easy. Also, the Japanese place in the food court next door is pretty good. We've bonded over bento boxes. Honey soy chicken for them, spicy Bulduk chicken for me. They were champing to provide some information.
"Well, I have news."
"Good news, I hope? All's well with the cat?"
"Yes, he's great, and I have a story about him, but I'll tell you my other news when we sit down."
We found a table and sat, stripping our chopsticks of their paper shroud, cracking our cans of Coke Zero.
"It's big news."
"Get on with it." They weren't looking me in the eye, but that was normal. Neither of us are that fantastic with eye contact.
"Well, with the encouragement and blessing of my partner, I went to seek a diagnosis."
"A diagnosis, I take it, for whether you're a match for the autism spectrum?"
"Yep."
Not so strangely, we clicked almost immediately at work a while ago. They were there when I was filling out the paperwork to get my diagnosis. We talked a lot at the time about they whats, whys and wherefores of searching for answers at the time. They mentioned that in your fifties, what's the point of getting diagnosed as you've worked most of it out.
"And? How did you go?" I asked, chasing some of the roast vegetables around the box.
"Umm. Well, I'm AUDHD. With a few other letters just for me."
"Like me, but with a few more bits to you, which you can keep. I'm very proud of you," I told them. "How do you feel?"
They smiled. "Vindicated. Heard. Stronger. I'm getting a better understanding of myself. It's like somebody's replaced the light bulb in a dark room."
"Yep."
"And looking back, all the patterns were there."
"Yep"
"And you work out that a heap of your good friends are probably on the spectrum."
"To paraphrase Lewis Carroll, the best people are bonkers." I smiled at them. "I've found this neurodiversity journey very rewarding."
"I know. You helped give me the impetus to seek out the diagnosis. Thank you."
"You're welcome. It's all a part of the toolbox. It helps that we're in our fifties, what the old guard would call high functioning, and self-aware."
And we talked more about the ins and outs of being fairly recent converts to this rather strange neurodiversity club, which gives us some superpowers, and some challenges - as well as a lot of understanding.
"Oh, one thing," I told them, "You might find that the people that you click with might just be in the same boat."
"I'm seeing that already."
"But how good does it feel that the strange little kid, that had few friends, and loved science and dinosaurs, and still thinks going out is one of the most difficult things in the world, and who only eats ice cream with a teaspoon..."
"You only eat ice cream with a teaspoon?" They were incredulous.
"You'll find out about neurodiversity and cutlery - it's a big thing. Actually, sensory stuff - you know your own quirks - not that you think there's anything strange..."
"Now, Pandas, don't tell me you're going to be watching Married at First Sight again?" whine Barney over a text.
Barney doesn't like MAFS. Barney thin MAFS is rubbish.
Barney is probably right.
My rebuttal came swiftly.
"Barney. I live alone. It is my television! I will watch what I bloody well like."
There! That told him.
MAFS is my guilty pleasure. My one bit of reality television that I watch religiously, more as a psychological and sociological experiment than anything else.
It's so bad, it's good.
I mean, where else do you get to see these things on your screen?
Veneers
Lip fillers
Fake Boobs
Tattoos
Sure, all of these things are a personal choice, and if people want to spend money on these things, good for them.
Throw in the narcissistic personality disorders, the traumatised, undiagnosed neurodiverse, the little princesses, the men who are too close to their mothers.... and what do you have?
Oh yeah, him. What's the bet he smells like tuna?
Anyway, I worked late tonight, and MAFS was my little reward.
I've been wanting to do this for a while. Once a month, report back on what I've read and what I thought. Being a new year, it's time to have a look at what I got read over January. I'll go in finishing order.
Book One
The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley
4 stars
This was our January book for book group - and the second time I'd read this. Instead of a paper copy, I listened to it on the way back from Adelaide - and it stood up to the second reading.
It's a genre bending novel, a little bit of science fiction, a bit historical, with a bit of romance mixed in for good measure. You end up sort of falling in love with one of the main characters - Graham Gore, who was an actual person. It made me want to go out and learn more about 19th century polar exhibitions.
Comes recommended.
Second book:
The Correspondent by Virginia Evans
5 Stars
Loved, loved, loved this book. Again, I took this in as an audiobook, and it was flawlessly produced.
And epistolary novel, you follow the life, family and friends of Sybil von Antwerp, a lawyer, judges clerk, a mother and grandmother as she ponders her later years, her life and the things she wishes she could to over.
It's extraordinary. I was so sad when this finished.
Highly, highly recommended.
Third book:
By Any Other Name by Jodi Picoult
5 Stars
Okay, my Shakespearean biases come out here. I'm not normally a Jodi Picoult fan, but I loved this as it took in two of my favourite things, Shakespeare and Theatre, and turned it into something great. Split into two different stories. The first of Melina, a playwright in New York in 2019. The second story looks at Melina's long lost relative, Emilia, a courtesan and writer who was working in the time of Shakespeare. Themes of a woman's role in creativity, sexism, family and friendship are all contained in here.
I loved it. As a revisionist history, it's the absolute bomb.
Book Four.
Babel by RF Kuang
4 Stars
I was reticent to read this after reading the author's well-known book, Yellowface - which I really did not like at all. A friend gave me this to read in England, saying, "You'll like this."
I did.
For fans of Philip Pullman, Babel tells the story of Robin Swift, a boy rescued from the slums of Hong Kong to become a student at the School of Translation in Oxford, where they are housed at the Tower of Babel, which is a part of an alternate Oxford University - just like Pullman. With themes of racism, bettering oneself, fitting in and doing the right thing, this is a long and wordy book, but well with the effort. At 550 densely packed pages, this took me six weeks to read. Rather than race through it, I read a chapter a day and let it permeate my being.
I can see why it received a British Book of the Year award. It's worth savouring every page. And thankfully, it's nothing like Yellowface.
Fifth Book
A Guide to Berlin by Gail Jones
4 stars
I picked this up last year, then worked out that one of the things this book was about was the writer, Vladimir Nabokov, writer of Lolita. I got about thirty pages in before working out that I really should fill that reading hole and read Lolita before finishing this book. Which is what I did.
Lolita is amazing - very disturbing, but the writing....oh my goodness!
Regardless, I came back to finish this.
It's a slow burn, but Jones' writing is remarkable.
Recommended for more literary readers. It's a gentle novel about travel and friendship in strange places.
Sixth Book
Horse by Geraldine Brooks
Stars 4.5
Okay, I've always been a huge fan of Geraldine Brooks, and this is up there with her best. (If you haven't read her Year of Wonders, what have you been doing?)
Like By Any Other Name there are a number of converging stories. In modern times, Jess, a scientist working at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. becomes involved in the hunt for answers over some horse bones found in the attic. Bring into this Theo, a Fine Arts PhD candidate who is looking for answers about a painting he found on the side of the road.
In the 1800s, we meet the slave Jarret, and his foal, Darley, who becomes Lexington, the most famous racehorse in pre-Civil War times, and what happens to this incredible duo.
My only small criticism of this book is that it closely follows Brooks' formula which she's used on a number of other books - The People of the Book being one of them. However, her fastidious research and wonderful writing shines through.
Sometimes, it's good see a film for a second time with different people. You gather more information and insights. You get to appreciate some things you might have missed the first-time round or get reminded of the details which you loved - picking up more details of the screenwriter, director and actors' craft.
I've had a two-week break between viewings. I've taken in some of the online reviews and had some time to think. Was the film emotionally manipulative? Umm, well, have you read the book? Do you know the loose story of Shakespeare's family situation? Have you ever been around anybody who's lost a child? (Heavens, I truly hope not). Aren't people going to find it all a bit depressing? (Again, read the bloody book!)
I must say, it was just as good the second time around. Everything I said in the first review stands.
Now, as most people who are going to see it in the theatres have seen it, I'll add a few more takeaways from today's viewing.
Please also remember, I've just finished Jodi Picoult's By Any Other Name, a book which looks at an alternative telling of how Shakespeare's plays came about. Shakespeare is a fairly minor character in the book, which jostles between modern times and Elizabethan England in his own right. Great book. But I've got a bit of Shakespeare running through me at the moment.
Anyway, what did I notice on this second viewing? What got me?
So much.
The muck. The dirty fingernails. The fact that nobody looked clean. The rain on the cobblestones waiting to twist your ankles. The water from the river lapping at the hallway. The scenes in the forest. Magic.
Jessie Buckley's performance and how she was 100% present in every frame of the film. If you've not seen Jessie Buckley before, she was amazing in Wicked Little Letters and Wild Rose.
I loved seeing Paul Mescal as a father once again. As Shakespeare, his softness was appreciated.
And Joe Alwyn as Agnes' brother. Bartholomew - trying not to remember that he was once Taylor Swift's boyfriend. Okay, that might not be a good thing, but he's not bad in this role.
The small references to Shakespeare's plays, not just the big references, but the smaller quotes and asides that you hear are most wonderful. The normal layman won't twig, and that's okay too.
Looking at it with fresh eyes, seeing how Agnes was treated in the village was interesting. A woman skilled in healing, she was branded as a witch by association. Of course, I felt that one. Agnes is a quiet powerhouse. Human, vulnerable, but incredibly strong.
I loved that the boy playing Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe) had is brother on stage playing Hamlet (Noah Jupe). They look like brothers. They are brothers in real life.
The "Get thee to an nunnery!" speech, performed near the end of the film, was loaded like no other scene. Mescal, like Buckley, are both graduates of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA). You can see their skill.
And I loved most of all, the scenes at the end of the film that took place at The Globe Theatre. And I realise how much I miss having the Pop Up Globe here in Melbourne, and being able to see Shakespeare regularly, like I did in London. It's a near cellular ache. Those scenes are magic.
The only people I wouldn't recommend this film to is to those who have experienced the loss of a child. I fear it would cut far too close to the bone.
Otherwise, I reckon Jessie Buckley has the Best Actress in the bag and there's a good chance Hamnet may win Best Oscar and Best Director for Chloe Zhao.
It's worth seeing on the big screen. (And read the bloody book for crying out loud - it's amazing.)
Today is housework day, so I'll do what I often do with these questions - one job about the house, the do a question. It makes the housework go faster.
Questions, as always come from Sunday Stealing.
I am passionate about ...
1) The written world.
2) Cinema
3) Theatre
4) Abortion rights - and not that you need to ask, but I am very pro-choice. I'm also very thankful that I live in Australia where a woman's bodily autonomy is written into law.
5) Travelling. Travelling anywhere, to be honest.
(Now it's time to make my bed.)
I'd like to learn ...
1) How to play the piano.
2) Keep a cleaner house (which is a bit impossible for my ADHD brain to manage).
3) How to not have my face express utter boredom when I'm in yet another pointless meeting.
4) How to have neater handwriting - mine is appalling.
5) Maybe how to play pickle ball. I don't quite know why - it looks fun.
(Time to hoover the floors).
Things I say a lot ...
1) "You stupid piece of plastic crap!" Normally directed at some form of technology which isn't working.
2) "Big stretch!" Directed at the cat - I think it's law that you have to say that.
3) "Big yawn!" Also directed at the cat, as above.
4) "No! I don't want to dead ball slams." I HATE dead ball slams. Cleo, my trainer loves them.
5) "I have nothing to read!" Of course, I have plenty to read, but you can never have too many books.
(Now I'm going to hang out my washing - it's not a bad day for it out there.)
Places I'd like to travel to ...
1) Vietnam - I'm thinking this might be a great place to go to this year - maybe on an Intrepid Tour.
2) Cambodia - which I'd tag onto the Vietnam trip - only because I want to go to Angkor Wat.
3) Japan - but there's lots of people there and it seems like everybody is travelling there - but it looks fascinating - and the food is amazing.
4) Uluru - formerly known as Ayers Rock. Another place for a short Winter trip. It would be good to be back in the Territory again.
5) And I'd like to go live in France for a few months and see more of the country. I adore Paris, but France has so much to see and experience.
Remember that old tune from Play School? Bend and stretch, reach for the stars, here comes Jupiter, there goes Mars…
Why didn't they tell us we should be doing this regularly from a young age? Or maybe they did and I failed to register this.
Anyway, one of my goals this year is to get more flexible - metaphorically as well as physically.
I’m trying, and sometimes succeeding in remembering to do my in stretches. 99s, hip flexors, clam shells, lateral lunges, bridges…. You name it I should be doing it.
But why is it so hard to get down on that bloody yoga mat?
What does anything good for you always have an unpleasant tinge? Why do I avoid this? Even though I know there are great benefits from being flexible? I can’t remember what they are but I know it’s good for you…
I've got the reputation of seeing every movie I can get my hands on.
I'll even take one for the team every now and then. I went and saw Cats for heaven's sake! I would have liked Cats more if I had been under the influence of a bit of the wacky backy or a couple of Southern Comfort and cokes. It's a film best seen under the influence.
But I have found my bridge too far.
I will not be seeing Melania - the "documentary".
Even though I have a slightly morbid curiosity about the whole thing, I can't do it. If somebody bought me a ticket, I wouldn't do it. I mean, why would I want to go and see this film about Slovenia's most famous expat? I'm told Trump is making his cabinet sit through private screenings. Aren't they lucky?
(I have to admit, she reminds me of a Fembot found in Austin Powers.)
I've got better things to do.
Like watch Bridgerton.
Sorry, that Melania film, despite being a fan of very bad films, just cannot be done.
Oh, fun fact - how many famous Slovenians can you name? Interestingly, if you ask ChatGPT her name does not come up.
A lump of shit hanging by a long hair from his arse. That's a dingleberry.
He'd been wandering around the house with it since I got back from the gym.
Will he let me get it off him?
No. Absolutely not.
And unlike other cats who normally zoom around in abject horror when they have one, this cat appears to wear his shit like a medal, swinging from a long hair like a smelly handbag. (Maow Maow was hilarious when he got them, running around like his bum was on fire.) Not this one. He's strutting around the house with a magnanimous look on his face. And okay, it's attached by one of my hairs, so technically, I'm sure he thinks this indignity is all my fault.
I spent an hour periodically chasing him around with a tissue so I could remove the revolting turd. The little cretin was having none of it. I'd come near him, he'd run away. I tried to catch him - he struggled - and tackling my cat is like going into a scrum with a recalcitrant rugby player. He might be little, but he's fierce and he's a fighter.
I opened the spare room. He sat on his throne with his dingleberry. Eww.
He got onto the bed and sat on my pillow with his dingleberry. Double eww.
I'd get near him - he'd run to another room, his shit in tow.
Finally, as he was lazing on the bed in front of the fan, I went in, hiding the tissue I'd use to remove the offending lump. He looked at me with suspicion but took the caresses. When I'd lulled him into a false sense of security, I swooped into with the tissue and plucked the lump of poo off of him. The look he gave me when I'd finally plucked that horrid dingleberry was priceless.
I'll give him one thing - he's very expressive - and very funny.
Thankfully, half an hour later, we're friends again.
Also, I'm thankful that this is a rare event.
Now to go strip the bed. His stinky poo has been on it. I'll have none of it.
I've pulled a Dev Card tonight because I don't want to write about the following:
The stupid hot weather
Crazy American politics
The fact that both Men at Work and The Hoodoo Gurus have told right-wing political parties to not use their songs. To paraphrase the words of Greg Hay, Men at Work's lead singer, "Go write your own bloody song, our song is about inclusivity and dignity and joy - you and your mob show none of this." Yay.
Or going swimming after work tonight. Did a kilometre of breaststroke in Jay's pool. Loved it. Brilliant way to get in some exercise on a horribly hot day. m
Anyway, my prompt card reads the following:
If you don't mind me asking...
I don't mean to intrude...
To be honest...
Don't take this the wrong way...
With all due respect...
With prompts like this, I'll probably end up talking about American Politics, swimming, stupid hot weather or 80's music,
So here we go.
If you don't mind me asking, what the hell happened to you?
I'm naturally curious about people and I genuinely want to know what happened to your foot, how did you get that scar, what's that scowl about... and I will ask. I do have a filter, but if I use it, I'm jumping around inside to hear your story. I do get that not everybody wants to tell it though.
I don't mean to intrude... but are you okay?
I remember the last time I used this phrase, which was a few years ago. My downstairs neighbours were having a huge, verbal fight which sounded like it could be getting physical. I'm not one to start thumping on the door, but I did keep my ear out on the staircase, just in case.
Once the shouting had stopped, and giving it half an hour or so, I sent a text to my neighbour, gently asking if she was okay. I didn't want to intrude, but I was concerned for her safety. She was embarrassed but said that the fight was over and she was safe and apologised for disturbing the peace. I told her I was just concerned for her and if she needed anything, to get in contact.
I hadn't thought about that until I got in touch with her the other week. There was some mail I wanted to send on. She said that they'd now separated. She couldn't take the violence. She got custody of the cats.
I'm just glad she's out of that situation. Never really liked her husband, if I'm honest.
To be honest.... How the fuck does anybody actually want to vote for Pauline Hanson? Seriously. Why can't she crawl back under the rock from which she came?
Don't take this the wrong way... but I really don't want to hear about your time at the tennis. I know it makes you happy, and I'm glad about this, but tennis bores the tits off me. Utterly pointless game. I'll go make a cup of tea while you talk about it.
With all due respect... if you don't get why I believe that we should change the date of Australia Day, whilst shoving your opinion down my throat, we should think about why we are friends.
The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens. Preview session.
Runtime: One hour 31 minutes
Opens 29 January
Stars: 4
An Australian movie on the long weekend we celebrate the formation of a Penal Colony. It feels good to put some money into the Australian Film industry. Even better when on the day before this most contentious of Australian public holidays you feel like you're celebrating Australia, but not on that day. (Yes, you don't need to ask, I'm a "Change-the-Date" person and just prefer to call the day "that January public holiday". I'm also did some work today too - just to keep it like an ordinary day so to display my views without yelling it from the top of a tree.)
Anyway, the ads for this film had me intrigued and the preview session called to me. How can you go wrong with a gentle rom-com about mental illness, set in Melbourne?
I was really pleased I went along. This is a good little film.
Grace (Teresa Palmer) has a doctorate in Maths, but is teaching at a high school. She also has rather noticeable OCD which appears to be giving her some trouble. You see, Grace is a counter - she has to ensure that everything fits in with her very strict numerical rules. It's only when she meets Seamus (Joe Dempsey), a tradie with a heart and a brain, that she starts to feel things that her counting has kept suppressed. Grace has to navigate her own tenuous mental health, her family and her quirks, searching to find an equilibrium.
Another character that needs to be mentioned is Nikola Tesla (Eamon Farron), Grace's imaginary friend. This inclusion was a very welcome one as his coming and going on the screen gave further insights into where Grace was at. Like Grace, Tesla also had OCD and was a counter.
Based on Toni Jordan's book 2008 book of the same name, this film rings true, showing the struggles and idiosyncrasies of embarking on a relationship while seeking treatment for a mental illness. I particularly liked Zahra Newman's sensible, straight-talking psychiatrist, who guides Grace rather than frog-marching her into treatment. The family issues, with her Mum (Sarah Peirse), sister Jill (Adrienne Pickering) and niece, Hilly (Lou Baxter), who are supportive, get combative when required. You get a good insight into some of the reasons Grace is the way she is.
The setting was another aspect of the film I found enjoyable. Set in the inner West of Melbourne around the Flemington and Maribyrnong areas, you see Melbourne in a different way - it's a grittier, less manicured Melbourne, which suits the film.
I like supporting local films, and this one was well worth spending the money on. Teresa Palmer is great in everything she does. The film, being only an hour and a half long, gets to where it needs to quickly and entertains. This is a really solid Australian film - definitely worth checking out.
I find that it's hard to be really happy when you look around and see what is going on in the world. To my American friends, know that the world is watching and we are equally horrified by the news.
What you also might not know is that Melbourne had a 40 degree (like 105 F) day yesterday, and bushfires are blanketing the city with smoke. It's very uncomfortable.
As I said, it's a bit hard to be happy, but at least thinking about can take away some of the angst.
Questions, as always, have been provided by Sunday Stealing.
Here are 10 things that make me happy:
1. Kittens. I spent some of yesterday playing with my friends' two new kittens. Kittens are awesome. We are now well acquainted and have been exposed to cute aggression. One fell asleep on me after I showed them exactly who was boss and how many kisses they would receive if they were... ah... just cute. I think I'm in.
2. My morning coffee. I don't care if it's decaf, it's the ritual of the drink, the making it, the sitting down with it and the savouring of the taste.
3. David Byrne - and his concerts. I saw him in Melbourne on Thursday night. I love this man and his music. He's joyful, political, funny, king, out there, strange, confrontational, reflective.... so many things. it was awesome. I love all live music, but David Byrne and his fellow musicians are a wonder that makes life better. (Okay, music, in general, makes me happy, but I'm still on a David Byrne high.)
4. French Butter. If you have never experienced the French demi-sel (half salt) butter you are missing out. The French salt their butter. It is orgasmic. Worth travelling for.
5.Outside performances. The caveat on this is that the weather stays nice but seeing a band or a play in the open air, normally on a warm summer evening, with a bottle of wine, some cheese and people having fun is one of the best things to ever do. David Byrne played at the Myer Music Bowl here in Melbourne. It was a warm night. We sat on the grass and watched on the big screens. The bats were flying to their beds in nearby gardens. A lazy crescent moon hung in the sky. Perfection.
6. Travelling. I don't care where, how long I'm going for, how I get there - I love to travel. I love how it opens your mind, the people you meet, the food you taste, the experience you witness. Doesn't matter if it's a trip to somewhere near, or a months' long jaunt around the world. Travelling is good for the soul.
7. Having the housework complete. Other than the sense of satisfaction I get from knowing the housework is done, I love the feeling of a clean house. It just doesn't happen very often.
8. Reading time. I love reading. I love having the time to read. Nothing is better than the turn of a well- set sentence, the big ideas, the feeling of getting into a story.
9. My friends. Nuff said. They're great.
10. Being on or in water. Whether it's taking a shower, going for a swim, taking the Manly ferry in Sydney, punting down a river in Cambridge, lying in a bath with a book and a gin and tonic.... I love being in water. Water is very healing.
I've spent the last day trying to work out if I liked this Marty Supreme film. Is that acting good? Yes, very. Is the direction and script good? Yes. What about the filming? Well, I've got some issues there, but what pissed me off also made it effective. Can I see why this is one of the darlings of the awards circuit. Absolutely.
But I haven't reacted well to this film. It's a conundrum.
The story is loosely based on the life of Marty Reisman (1930–2012), a flamboyant American table tennis champion and famous "hustler" known for his showmanship, skill, and traditional hardbat style in the 1940s and 50s according to Wikipedia.
In Marty Supreme, we meet Marty Mauser (Timothee Chalamet) at the start of the film working in his uncle's shoe shop in what looks suspiciously like the Hell's Kitchen area of New York in the early 1950s. A smart arse, able to think on his feet, Marty is a hustler. He's having an affair with his neighbour, Rachel (Odessa A'zion) and he's trying to get himself over to London for the World Table Tennis Association's championship. Table tennis, at the time was not a huge sport and he had to self-fund - which is where Marty's hustling skills come into view - and stay there for the next two and a half hours.
And here's part of the reason I've not given this film four stars. Even though this comes across as a big shaggy dog story, a dark almost tragi-comedy, I spent a lot of the film wanting to punch Marty in the nose. The words 'narcissist' and 'arsehole' come to mind, which is probably testament to Chalamet's skill as an actor and writer/director Josh Safdie's work in bringing this obnoxious bloke to life.
There are some great cameos in the film as well. Gwyneth Paltrow as a bored, unfulfilled actress married to a millionaire (Kevin O'Leary). Geza Rohrig (If you know, you know) is great as Marty's early ping pong partner. Fran Drescher is great as Marty's long-suffering mother
The other main character is the seedy side of 1950's New York. It's bleak, dirty, run down and violent, filled with people scrambling to get ahead.
My biggest issue with the film is the cinematography. I found Darius Khondji's camerawork left me with motion sickness. There's a lot of walk and talk camera action with this film, the frenetic movement parallels with Marty's antics. I get why it has been filmed like this, but over two and a half hours, it was a bit much.
Marty Supreme has been nominated for nine Oscars, including Best Actor, Best Director, Best Film, Best Cinematography and Best Original Screenplay.
It is a good film - for me, I couldn't quite get over the unlikeable main character - even if I was cheering him on at the very end.
I have been a Talking Heads tragic since the early eighties. Yes. I have loved this band, who disbanded in the late eighties for the better part of 45 years. I've also kept an eye on what David Byrne, their lead singer, has been doing ever since. I'm very, very biased.
Also, David Byrne is a superb person. Fun, creative, a little angsty, arty, collaborative, curious... I could go on with the adjectives. He went to art school. Not only is he a musician, he's a performance artist, a poet, an agitator, a humanist, a philosopher, a writer, a cyclist, a dreamer... he's many things to many people. I just love the bugger - now 74-years-young, bouncing around the stage with his band spreading joy. How can you not have a good time?
I've seen David Byrne twice before. Once in the 90s in London. Still the very best concert I've ever been to. Then, in 2018, I went to the American Utopia concert at Rod Laver Arena. It was sublime.
Lastly, before reviewing last night's concert, I will add that I had an event with the people I went to France with, and there I collected by concert mate, Shell. We ubered down into the city from the event. Shell is also a Talking Heads tragic. It was going to be her first time seeing our idol. She also broke her leg in two places a couple of months ago and is technically still healing. Thankfully, she's finally allowed to weight bear on the leg, and she's in a moon boot, but we had to take this into consideration. Nothing was going to stop her.
We were also given goodie bags on leaving the party. Within said bag, there was half a baguette, some French butter, cheese and a couple of macarons. Heaven.
We had general admission passes, so we didn't have seats. If you know about the Music Bowl, general admission means you're sitting up on the grass with next to no view of the stage. This was not a problem. Accepting of Shell's limitations and my dislike of being jostled, we found a spot up the back, on the grass, with a good view of the large screens. As much as it would have been great to see the stage uninhibited, we accepted this. Besides, we were there for the music. There to fall at the altar of a master. There to drink in being in the presence of greatness.
For those out of the loop, Talking Heads has always been about a strange mix of rock, pop, punk, funk and techno - with a bit of world music mixed in for good measure. David Byrne's own music continues along a similar way with a bit more World Music thrown in for good measure. This performance, along the same lines as American Utopia, was a good mix of the two.
The night was perfect for it. Around 20 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, a light breeze. Bats making their way to their tree homes. Seagulls glinting under the lights of the tennis centre where the Australian Open is underway.
Starting out with Heaven from the Fear of Music album, the evening wended through everything from his solo music, including being provided with an anecdote about the song Everybody's Coming to My House - written as a complaint, but taken on by a school group and made joyful without changing a word. He still sings his version but again paid respect to this group in his anecdotes.
Hearing some of our favourite songs played was good for the soul. Slippery People, Life During Wartime (during which, scenes from Trump's America played on the big screens behind the band), This Must Be The Place, Nothing But Flowers, Once in a Lifetime - and ending up with Burning Down the House - just magic.
I keep seeing snippets on social media from people lucky enough to have seated tickets who could take in the visual effects, the dancing, the choreography and the like. Not having a couple of hundred dollars to fork out for the spectacle, we were happy with our lot. Shell and I, with our limited view of the screens were entranced with this humble, funny, intelligent man and his quirky songs, sounding just as fresh as he did when he was on stage with Chris Frantz, Tina Weymouth and Jerry Harrison at CBGBs.
Having somebody to scream with, sing with, hold hands with and share reminiscences of songs, like driving down the Stuart Highway in Darwin in my mate Andy's car with This Must Be The Place on the car radio - it was utter magic. And the baguette in the goody bag was nibbled on over the night
As with many old rockers, you don't know when their last performance is going to be. At 74, David Byrne is going strong. He's incredible. His music is as timely and relevant as it was when I was a teenager. His musicians are amazing, not only for their musical skills, but their stamina.
We left after the encore utterly replete, buoyed from being in the presence of greatness.
David Byrne, you rock. Thank you for the joy you bring. My voice will recover. 24 hours on and I still sound like I've sucked down two packets of Marboros and half a quart of gin - it's just from the singing and screaming.
(See, gushing review - did you expect anything else? Seriously?)
It appears that my local Vietnamese restaurant, the Loi Loi, has closed. The tables are gone. The fridge that held the lettuce leaves and soft drinks. The strange decorations that bedecked the walls - all gone. No more menus on the door, just a 'For Lease' sign and the detritus of unclaimed mail that's been shoved in the door.
The Loi Loi has been an institution down Victoria Street for as long as I can remember. Always busy, normally filled with caucasians (why do I want to call them gringos), it was my local Vietnamese/Chinese take away. Over the years we've seen the kids grow up, going from doing their homework on a back table, to being efficient servers while completing a university degree. The boss was a formidable Vietnamese woman, who, if you were pleasant to her, she was pleasant back. I can imagine she'd be right up you if you gave her any jip.
Their fish ball hot pot was legendary. I still wonder how they castrated all those fish to get their balls.
Looking back, it was a place you wouldn't rave about, but it was my local. I've taken many friends there for a quick dinner over the years. The Min Tan, which is two doors down, is possibly better from the perspective of food, but it isn't the Loi Loi.
And sure, there are plenty of other 'traditional' Vietnamese/Chinese restaurants down Victoria Street - not as many as there were, but the staples, the Tran Tran, Tho Tho, Thy Thy, Pacific Barbeque, Co Do and I Heart Pho are still there. There used to be many more. Most of these have formica tables, a box of tissues on the table for serviettes and variable service, the food is plentiful and not overly pricey, unless you order lobster or specialty market fish. Places where there are more Asian faces than caucasians. Places with arguably better food.
I rarely remember my dreams. I'm not a big dreamer. I left my dream group because I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal.
Then, sometimes, I have a doozy.
Unfortunately, this morning, I was woken, startled by a dream.
It was vivid.
Very vivid.
Like what the hell is he doing here vivid.
Like this is a rather dodgy motel vivid.
Like I need to stay away. I spoke to my friend. We were there for a party. He remained in the background.
I needed to stay away from him. He wasn't supposed to be there. We mingled. He stayed within sight.
I returned to my room. A standard 1980's motel room. complete with a hatch for breakfast to be placed. The bed was made with sheets and blankets. Not a quilt.
He knocks on the door. I tell him I can't see him. He asks to come in. I tell him it's not a good idea. He's wearing cricket whites. No idea why.
There are people in the hallway.
I open the door and he comes in.
I tell him I shouldn't see him. I shouldn't go near him.
He sits on the bed. Somehow, his shirt is now off.
I straddle his lap, feeling his skin against mine. We kiss deeply.
-ooOoo-
I wake at this point. It's ten to seven. The alarm hasn't gone off just yet. I need to pee.
And this strangely realistic sex dream has put me in a foul mood for most of the day. The person involved is somebody I refer to internally as Voldemort - he who should not be named. I have nothing to do with him (other than he emailed me a happy new year, to which he received courteous one line back).
As with most team meetings at the end of the week, the discussion ends up on what you're doing for the weekend. My lovely team, all partnered up, some with younger children, others with kids who are nearly adults, had a list of activities which included kid's sports, ditch digging (which seems to be a bit of a running in joke) and a few other partner inclusive things.
Then it came my turn to divulge.
"Well," I said, "I feel like a bit of a wanker. An arts wanker. I'm off to a movie tonight, the film of a favourite book. Then, tomorrow, I've got my book group barbeque out Yarraville way. On Sunday, as they're turning off the power for maintenance works from 7 am to 5 pm, I'm going to take my laptop and ride the new train line to see what the stations look like, then I'm going to write in the library for a while, seeing that the power is off."
I felt like a complete arts wanker.
And sure, working from the library gives me a chance to use their electricity, charge up some power banks, not open the fridge and enjoy the Redmond Barry Reading Room's glacial air conditioning and do some novelling, as well as giving some extra quiet time - something a day with my book group didn't provide the day before (made a bit worse by leaving my meds at home).
Sunday was the day to catch up on some much needed me time. I can't use the iron, the washing machine, the blender, nor can I use the hoover or binge watch anything as the internet and wifi are down. All I have is my phone, and I can't be asked to hot spot the telly onto it, not that the telly would work either - no electricity. And I'm not watching Netflix on the phone over mobile data.
So, a day riding the trains, sitting in the State Library doing some writing after a bit of a sleep in sounded great.
But I still felt like a bit of a wanker. It's a day all about me. I don't have a partner to integrate into my life. No kids whose beck and call I'd be at. Other than playing with the cat for a bit, I'm not beholden to anybody.
I mentioned to one of my colleagues after the meeting that there's something that's unsettling about being a spinster, filling up your time with cultural personal pursuits. There are factions that find it pointless, or selfish. Maybe it's those long-held beliefs that you were raised with that you're somehow supposed to be partnered up and flexing your domestic goddess talents, rather than pumping iron at the gym.
My colleague's reaction to my statement.
"Have you any idea how utterly perfect your weekend sounds. I've no read a book in months. I can't remember the last film I went to see. That you can go and do something you love for an afternoon with nobody demanding your time - how utterly perfect. Do you want to swap?"
And sure, they live in another state, their kids well into their teens. I spent part of yesterday with Blarney's boys helping them draft up their first resumes, which is a bit harder than you think, but we've got them looking like well-rounded individuals, looking for work. (They were bemused that I was saying, "Let's look what AI says - now let's take it and make it sound less wanky and more like you. They were also aghast when I told them that I normally charge $100 an hour for this service - each.) I got my kid quotient in for the week.
"It's a case of greener grass. Think of me as you're doing exactly what you want, when you want to."
This is me doing that.
I'm sitting in the Redmond Barry Reading Room. The air conditioning is a blessing. There's a half drunk bottle of Coke Zero in front of me. My phone and power banks are being charged - saying that, the electricity should be on when I get home. My earplugs are in, lowering the drone of the library to a whisper. The haiku topic has been set. (Today's prompt: Bamboozle - my haiki "I just can't get it / American Politics / I don't understand)
Today was a big day. We had book group at Blarney's place, but I'm tired now and don't feel like writing - but it will be good to get the questions out of the day. Nice easy, short questions.
Three things I love (Remember, these are things, not people):
1. The smell of dog and cat paws in the morning. They smell like Doritos - it's a great, earthy smell.
2. Soppy romantic comedies found on Netflix.
3. David Byrne, who I'm seeing in concert on Thursday night and cannot wait for.
Three things on my desk:
1. Too many pairs of glasses - sunglasses, computer glasses, normal distance ones.
2. A small bottle of L'Occitane hand sanitiser, which I bought in Paris. It's lemon verbena scented and I love it.
3. Notification from the electricity distributer that they're turning off the power from 7 a.m to 5 p.m tomorrow. I'm going to the gym then taking off to the library to write tomorrow.
Three things I can't do:
1. Tolerate racists, sexists, Nazis, religious fanatics, people who are rude to waiting staff, people who walk too slowly in front of you and smelly people on the tram. I just remove myself from the vicinity, rather than make a scene.
2. Tumble turns in a swimming pool. Love swimming laps, but I never learned to tumble turn.
3. Keep a tidy house. I'll blame neurodiversity for this one :) Really, I'm just untidy.
Three things I'm good at:
1. I'm great at being around animals - particularly dogs and cats, even better if they're puppies and kittens.
2. I will drive pretty much anything - manual (stick), automatic, small, large, tractors... love to drive. (Just not motorbikes - never learned how)
3. I'm not bad at reading and writing. Spent this morning helping one of Blarney's twins do up his resume. That was fun.
Three things I want to accomplish:
1. I want to get that bloody novel finished and published.
2. I want to gently lose 20 kilograms. Slowly, slowly catchy the monkey.
3. I want to find out what it's like to have a boyfriend.
The Cinema: The Rivoli, Village Cinemas, Camberwell
Runtime: Two hours five minutes
Stars: 5
Was there any way this film wasn't going to get anything less than five stars off of me? Probably not.
Why?
Well.
It's about Shakespeare's family.
I love Shakespeare. It's one of my favourite things.
By extension it's about Hamlet.
It's based on a beloved book of mine.
It's set in the country I call home in my heart.
It has two of the best actors of our day in it.
And it's directed by a fabulous woman director.
Absolute chef's kiss.
I'm also biased.
And I don't care.
Based on Maggie O'Farrell's book of the same name, Hamnet follows the story of Agnes (Jessie Buckley) a woman on the outer of the village. Agnes, a healer, and William Shakespeare (Paul Mescal) meet and marry, having three children. Susannah, and twins Judith and Hamlet. Shakespeare's work as an actor and playwright takes him to London for extended periods of time, leaving Agnes at home with family. When the plague rampages through the village, Hamnet dies, leaving a grieving family.
None of this is unknown. The general story of Shakespeare and his family is found in the history books.
What Maggie O'Farrell has done has taken the history and made it about women, the role of family, and a study of grief. It's incredible. Working with the director, Chloe Zhao on the script, the movie follows the book closely and loses none of its charm.
Chloe Zhao's direction is flawless. Lucasz Zal's cinematography is as beautiful as it is stirring.
This movie belongs to Jessie Buckley. She gives flawless performance as Agnes, the outsider, the healer, the mother, the wife and the seeker. You can relate to every emotion that crosses her face. You watch her at the theatre, where she sees how Shakespeare has processed his grief by writing and performing his most famous work.
Buckley won a Golden Globe for this performance. I reckon she'll be up for an Oscar as well.
It's stunning.
It's going to be in my top ten movies of the year. If anybody wants to see it, I'll happily go again.
I don't feel like thinking up something to write about tonight. I've been messing with training schedules and other fun things at work, and my brain's a bit friend.
It reads: 'Jot down every single song lyric you can think of. Random order. Fragments.'
Yeah, nah! Do you know me? I always have a song in my head. I could be writing for hours.
Instead, I'll give you the first ten that come to mind. With links to the actual song. And appropriate malapropisms. (You know what they are...) And I'll try not to give you the David Byrne back catalogue.
So, let's go.
1. Breezeblocks - Alt J
'She may contain the urge to runaway
But hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks
Germaline, disinfect the scene
My love, my love, love, love
Please don't go
I love you so
My lovely...
Please don't go, I love you so...'
(Yes, the song is about domestic violence. I still love it)
2. Leilani - The Hoodoo Gurus
'Somewhere on a South Pacific Island,
Sat a buy staring at the sun,
His former girlfriend died a death quite violent
A tribal sacrifice was to be earned,
Oh oh oh oh oh, Leilani don't go to the volcano....'
I could go on. I won't.
3. Buck Naked - David Byrne
'Runnin' naked down the state highway
Runnin' naked in the middle of the day
Runnin' naked like a tomcat's behind
Runnin' naked, but the cat don't seem to mind
Give me your heart, I'll give you mine first
Give me your time and I'll give you my trust
And we're buck naked now like when we were born
When will we find out? And why does it take so long?
And we're buck naked now
And we're buck naked now
And we're buck naked now
In the eyes of the Lord'.
I adore this song. And I reckon it was at this performance, or one like it, in 1992, that I first heard this song.
4. Man with a Gun - Jerry Harrison
'Pretty girl young man old man
Man with a gun
Two people in love (Two people in love)
The rules do not apply...'
Well, okay, this is Jerry Harrison, who used to be in Talking Heads....
5. Ordinary World - Duran Duran
'What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some'd say
Where is the life that I recognise?
But I won't cry for yesterday, there's an ordinary world
Somehow, I have to find
And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world
I will learn to survive...'
Still the best Duran Duran song ever.
6. Song 2 - Blur
'I got my head shaved,
By a jumbo jet,
It wasn't easy.
But nothing is...
WOOOOOHOIOOOOOOO!'
We've transitioned into the 90's. Love Blur.
7. Coconut - Harry Nilsson
'She put the lime in the coconut, she called the doctor
Woke him up and said, "Doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take
I say, doctor, to relieve this bellyache?
I say, doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take
I say, doctor, to relieve this bellyache?"'
So old. So fun.
8. You Can't Roller skate in a Buffalo Herd - ABC School songs from the 70's.
'You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd,
You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd,
You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd,
But you can be happy if you put your mind to it....
All you've got to do is put your mind to it,'
Knuckle down, buckle down, do it do it do it....'
We learned this at school. They used to make us sing from a song book produced by the ABC. This was one of the songs.
9. Shape of my Heart - Sting
'He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He don't play for respect
He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart...'
Another favourite song. Gotta love sting.
10. Nimrod's Son - The Pixies
'You are the son of an incestuous union!'
It's The Pixies. Need I say more.
I could keep going, but I'd be here all night. I love music. But I need to go for a walk.
And I would have given the lyrics to the song of the day, but nobody knows what they are - but James Reyne did a fabulous cover of this on Triple J's Like a Version. Look it up.
