Sleeping at Woodford is a fine art: everyone is under thin canvas; there are no designated quiet or noisy areas, so you might be next door to a quiet family group, a single snorer or a mosh of drumming teens. Around 6am, when everyone except the most foolish have had a modicum of deep sleep, the garbage trucks rumble around the larger roads.
The secret to a reasonably successful sleep is a good set of earplugs. We used to swear by wax plugs, but were talked into 'better' foam plugs by a kindly chemist chick in Taree. Since it's been two years since I had to use the wax ones, I can't truthfully compare, but the foam ones have been good. Once they are in, the world takes on an underwater quality perfect for sleep, and the rumble of the drums and trucks just add to the texture of your dreams.
Of course, good sleep comes best to a calm mind. I slept badly last night because we got back to the tent to find the back flap open and my stuff spread around. It looks like someone had come in in the dark, grabbed and upended my backpack, had a quick rifle through BB's less accessible backpack, then got spooked and left before they could get to the next 'room' containing Bumblebee's things and a bag of electrical cords that also absent-mindedly contained BB's iPod.
Luckily we hadn't left any other valuable things in the tent - we're quite careful that way - so all they took was my cheap but useful torch. But, as with all invasions, they robbed me of my peace of mind, and my faith in Woodford as somewhere beyond all that petty crap.
Anyhoo, it's the second last day, and anyone looking fresh is definitely a day visitor. We didn't get rain last night; we had a promising roll over of clouds as I was blogging, but it bypassed the festival, and today is blindingly hot and dry. On the first day I bought myself a fab red parasol in a lovely curved 'Empire' style, pulled from the seconds box and for my pains turned out to be the last of a batch of water-proofed stock, and it has been my BFF in rain or shine. I noticed this morning as I waited in line for a beet & carrot juice that people were standing close to take advantage of my shade.
I've spent most of today sitting behind the stall in S&E's 'living area' under a thick tarp, slurping the excellent local water and reading every newspaper we can get our hands on. I'm about to soak a silk scarf in water to drape around my shoulders under the parasol and brave the heat to do some shopping. It's Colonel Duck's birthday tomorrow and I forgot to do anything about it before I left Canberra. Trying to find a suitable gift for a tree-changed ex-army officer here is a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. If I fail, there's still places to find things on the slow journey home.
New Year's Eve at Woodford is notable not only for it's excellent entertainment choices, but also for the 3-minute silence at 11:30. The entire festival stops still at the sound of the bell ring, and if all goes well the next 3 minutes are so quiet that the cicadas and frogs are deafening. There's always the odd 'WTF??!1!? from ignorant punters, but they are quickly shushed, and the silence wins. It's pretty spectacular for a crowd of around 25,000 people.
Candles are passed around for people to hold, and Best Beloved fondly remembers a fellow who once stopped, gobsmacked, hands full of fresh Pizza Loco slices (BEST PIZZA EVA), looking around, spooked by the silence, and accidentally holding the pizza over someone's candle, setting the slices alight. Someone pointed this out to him, and the rest of the silence was punctuated by muffled curses, stomps and quiet laughter.
I hope you all have a wonderful change of the guard. It's been another ace blogging year, and here's to many more (raises imaginary drink full of crushed ice). May your 2009 be everything you want it to be (and possibly more). Cheers!
-- Post From My iPhone
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Woodford Files 4
I think this is day four - I'm losing track of time. Last night we were hit by a huge but thankfully brief storm, full of lightning and cooling rain. We had a minute's blackout of the whole festival site, which was very exciting. And it looks to be the festival pattern: today it's hotter than hot, with a storm due later on.
Half an hour ago I was sitting in a deep shady patch on a hill beside King Curly's concert, sipping a UDL and catching up with an old friend from the days of my first uni degree.
Right now I'm sitting on a smaller slope, still in deep shade, beside the Blues tent, listening to my constant festival fave, Kristina Olsen. KO is my idea of a Real Woman. She's gutsy, funny, brave, honest and very open to life. Martin Pearson calls her 'the only American I've ever liked' and it's probably because she doesn't wear her nationality like a badge or entitlement. She spends ten months of every year performing, and gets fully involved in whatever she participates in: at this festival she is performing, speaking, debating, and teaching both dance and musical workshops. And still manages to look great every time I see her.
Her music is sensitive yet earthy, and she accompanies it with lots of joy and humour. She just told a good joke:
What did the blues musician have on her tombstone?
I didn't wake up this morning.
Heh, oldie but goodie.
She was, as usual, on the panel of Martin Pearson's FYI show this morning, along with Sandy McCutcheon, George Negus and Kerry O'Brien: trifecta! What a morning. Times like that you can only really appreciate by being there. One good bit was George being given the chance to ban one Australian from our shores: who would you pick, George? He didn't take long to decide upon Phillip Ruddock, which led to a great discussion of PR's soullessness.
Another fab find today was Dev'lish Mary, hailing from Melbourne. I was attracted to them by the posters in the loos (best place to advertise yourself at Woodford), and I'd noticed Liz Frencham amongst the group. Anything containing Liz cannot fail, and this group is certainly no exception. I was delighted to find a wonderful quartet of women, all as talented as each other, playing kick-ass country, bluegrass and gospel. They hail from Melbourne, so if you do too, take up any chance to see them.
The grey clouds are encroaching, but I think people are more prepared today. Yesterday's storm was quite sudden for most; luckily we have a habit of looking at the sky a lot, and the lightning had been putting on a good show for a while. S&E are very experienced stallholders, so they'd battened down the hatches in good time. If nothing else, at least the storms freshen everything up.
Heh, another classic Kristina lead-in to a song:
I don't know bout you, but I've had my share of men say 'I don't love you, but you're welcome to hang around and have sex with me until I meet someone that I do love'.
The song is all about getting rid of that sort of person and being brave enough to be alone & give yourself the chance to meet someone decent.
Hallelulah, sister.
-- Post From My iPhone
Half an hour ago I was sitting in a deep shady patch on a hill beside King Curly's concert, sipping a UDL and catching up with an old friend from the days of my first uni degree.
Right now I'm sitting on a smaller slope, still in deep shade, beside the Blues tent, listening to my constant festival fave, Kristina Olsen. KO is my idea of a Real Woman. She's gutsy, funny, brave, honest and very open to life. Martin Pearson calls her 'the only American I've ever liked' and it's probably because she doesn't wear her nationality like a badge or entitlement. She spends ten months of every year performing, and gets fully involved in whatever she participates in: at this festival she is performing, speaking, debating, and teaching both dance and musical workshops. And still manages to look great every time I see her.
Her music is sensitive yet earthy, and she accompanies it with lots of joy and humour. She just told a good joke:
What did the blues musician have on her tombstone?
I didn't wake up this morning.
Heh, oldie but goodie.
She was, as usual, on the panel of Martin Pearson's FYI show this morning, along with Sandy McCutcheon, George Negus and Kerry O'Brien: trifecta! What a morning. Times like that you can only really appreciate by being there. One good bit was George being given the chance to ban one Australian from our shores: who would you pick, George? He didn't take long to decide upon Phillip Ruddock, which led to a great discussion of PR's soullessness.
Another fab find today was Dev'lish Mary, hailing from Melbourne. I was attracted to them by the posters in the loos (best place to advertise yourself at Woodford), and I'd noticed Liz Frencham amongst the group. Anything containing Liz cannot fail, and this group is certainly no exception. I was delighted to find a wonderful quartet of women, all as talented as each other, playing kick-ass country, bluegrass and gospel. They hail from Melbourne, so if you do too, take up any chance to see them.
The grey clouds are encroaching, but I think people are more prepared today. Yesterday's storm was quite sudden for most; luckily we have a habit of looking at the sky a lot, and the lightning had been putting on a good show for a while. S&E are very experienced stallholders, so they'd battened down the hatches in good time. If nothing else, at least the storms freshen everything up.
Heh, another classic Kristina lead-in to a song:
I don't know bout you, but I've had my share of men say 'I don't love you, but you're welcome to hang around and have sex with me until I meet someone that I do love'.
The song is all about getting rid of that sort of person and being brave enough to be alone & give yourself the chance to meet someone decent.
Hallelulah, sister.
-- Post From My iPhone
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Woodford Files 3
9pm, Sunday
I'm sitting close to the top of a huge natural ampitheatre FULL of people, waiting for Josh Pyke. The rain has moved on, the stars are out and the crowd is very happy. The trees that ring the amphi edge are lit from below, and while I know from daylight experience that they are gigantic, they seem dwarfed by the enormous teeming energy swarming below me in the lights of the stage.
While I'm waiting, let me tell you how much I liked Roger Loves Betty. Much. Especially the Betty bits, because Jodi Phillis can make *any* song gorgeous, but her own songs are especially good. And she captures women's emotions particularly well, especially that push-me-pull-you existance of being a creative woman that Wendy James also captures in The Steele Diaries. Jodi Phillis' album Red Whine and Blue got me through the years I was at art school with a young baby, and to my utter delight, she plays a small selection of those songs as part of the RLB act.
I sat at the front of the gig on my ownsome and scored a free cd for my pains.
Monday, 2.30pm
We've been really lucky with the weather. Sure, there's been a couple of rainstorms, but nothing major, and each day has been relatively cool and overcast. Today, however, the sky is blue and the sun is out in FULL FORCE. Hats are selling fast, and the kids are using their water sprayers on grateful passers-by.
Bumblebee and I and his new friend Sam have taken refuge in the shady but stuffy Empire venue for the Monday Mayhem Variety Hours. Armed with our water bottles and a paper fan each, we've been watching acts like the Ayres Rock Surf Lifesaving Club (excellent clowning), the Mad Hatter juggling act, Ross Vegas, and some puppeteers who are just about to come on.
Best Beloved is in the Village Green, a leafy spot near a bit of water, and is reading the paper. On days like this you can't wait for the sun to go down, and you lie low and wait for the fun that sunset brings. Then the street performers come out, the bars get busy and we all start strolling.
3.45pm
The sun hasn't gone down but the breeze is up. I'm waiting for The Ellis Collective at the Concert Tent. Should be good, I'm right at the edge where I can keep one eye on the band and the other on the crowd meandering past.
I can't get over how many people can't handle the basic premise of sticking to the left, and all the gravelly walkways are constantly jammed by gangles of teens trying to decide what to do next, just like those people who step off the top / bottom of a crowded escalator and then stop and look around, banking up everyone following.
Ok, music starting. I'll enjoy this one for you, Crit...
-- Post From My iPhone
I'm sitting close to the top of a huge natural ampitheatre FULL of people, waiting for Josh Pyke. The rain has moved on, the stars are out and the crowd is very happy. The trees that ring the amphi edge are lit from below, and while I know from daylight experience that they are gigantic, they seem dwarfed by the enormous teeming energy swarming below me in the lights of the stage.
While I'm waiting, let me tell you how much I liked Roger Loves Betty. Much. Especially the Betty bits, because Jodi Phillis can make *any* song gorgeous, but her own songs are especially good. And she captures women's emotions particularly well, especially that push-me-pull-you existance of being a creative woman that Wendy James also captures in The Steele Diaries. Jodi Phillis' album Red Whine and Blue got me through the years I was at art school with a young baby, and to my utter delight, she plays a small selection of those songs as part of the RLB act.
I sat at the front of the gig on my ownsome and scored a free cd for my pains.
Monday, 2.30pm
We've been really lucky with the weather. Sure, there's been a couple of rainstorms, but nothing major, and each day has been relatively cool and overcast. Today, however, the sky is blue and the sun is out in FULL FORCE. Hats are selling fast, and the kids are using their water sprayers on grateful passers-by.
Bumblebee and I and his new friend Sam have taken refuge in the shady but stuffy Empire venue for the Monday Mayhem Variety Hours. Armed with our water bottles and a paper fan each, we've been watching acts like the Ayres Rock Surf Lifesaving Club (excellent clowning), the Mad Hatter juggling act, Ross Vegas, and some puppeteers who are just about to come on.
Best Beloved is in the Village Green, a leafy spot near a bit of water, and is reading the paper. On days like this you can't wait for the sun to go down, and you lie low and wait for the fun that sunset brings. Then the street performers come out, the bars get busy and we all start strolling.
3.45pm
The sun hasn't gone down but the breeze is up. I'm waiting for The Ellis Collective at the Concert Tent. Should be good, I'm right at the edge where I can keep one eye on the band and the other on the crowd meandering past.
I can't get over how many people can't handle the basic premise of sticking to the left, and all the gravelly walkways are constantly jammed by gangles of teens trying to decide what to do next, just like those people who step off the top / bottom of a crowded escalator and then stop and look around, banking up everyone following.
Ok, music starting. I'll enjoy this one for you, Crit...
-- Post From My iPhone
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Woodford Files 2
2pm: I'm sitting in the First Aid tent, holding a bag of ice to my leg, calming a mysterious insect bite that has festered for a few days and is now large and swollen, angry red with a dull yellow centre. I think the culprit was a green ant, but I can't be sure since I felt only the bite, early Friday morning.
3pm: I was a bit harsh on poor Juzzie, wasn't I? I guess I was so surprised at the contrast between his music and his lyrics; I think he desperately needs a lyricist.
I had a Chinese massage just then, just on my head, neck and shoulders, and heard not one, not two, but THREE ambulances struggle past us through the crowded dirt streets. On the way back to the stall, my shoulders plastered with deep heat patches, I wandered past Juzzie's concert and found it silent, an area cordoned off, and all three ambulances parked beside the venue, the crowd hushed and anxious. I didn't want to stay and gawk, and I haven't heard any goss, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Juzzie himself. What a bummer of a thing to happen in a gig!
7.00pm: it's raining. S&E (my bro & sis in-law) have had a rush on their rainbow umbrellas, handing them out & taking money so fast none of us could keep count. Suddenly all the venues are standing room only. Entire families walk past in those cheap temporary rainsheets, looking like groups of ghosts in various pastel colours, looking, in fact, more exotic than some of the street acts.
I spent this morning life drawing. The teacher was fantastic, taking a bunch of mostly absolute beginners through an intense 3-hour drawing expedition: quick poses with charcoal, contour drawing, working with tone, working with line, and finishing with a great drawing exercise that forced us to really think about composition. She was great, and I came away completely invigorated. Best way to spend $35 ever.
7.50pm: I had a great Woodford moment last night... We got (free, necessary for crowd control) tickets to the Mutant Barnyard, and while waiting for the next session, went for a wander up to the nearest loo. It was near The Muse, and it only had a smattering of people in it, but the voice drifting out from the stage was haunting and familiar in an 'oh, I know that song so well, but can't remember her name' sort of way. I asked the bar staff who this was, and they said 'Roger Loves Betty', which was NOT what I was expecting. By the time I came out of the loo I'd cracked it: Jodi Phillis, who used to be half of that glorious 80s duo, The Clouds.
Dammit! I had to go back to the Barnyard, a room stuffed with stuffed and skeletal mutant animals - interesting but not where I wanted to be at that exact moment. Afterwards I dashed back to my programme and researched the rest of the gigs for Roger Loves Betty.
So here I am, staking out my claim in the shamefully empty Empire, awaiting more of Jodi's voice. There should be more people here. Anyway, they're starting. I'll tell you how they were, tomorrow.
I hope you're all having fun too! I'm not reading comments or other blogs at the moment, but will when I get back to (your) civilisation!
-- Post From My iPhone
3pm: I was a bit harsh on poor Juzzie, wasn't I? I guess I was so surprised at the contrast between his music and his lyrics; I think he desperately needs a lyricist.
I had a Chinese massage just then, just on my head, neck and shoulders, and heard not one, not two, but THREE ambulances struggle past us through the crowded dirt streets. On the way back to the stall, my shoulders plastered with deep heat patches, I wandered past Juzzie's concert and found it silent, an area cordoned off, and all three ambulances parked beside the venue, the crowd hushed and anxious. I didn't want to stay and gawk, and I haven't heard any goss, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Juzzie himself. What a bummer of a thing to happen in a gig!
7.00pm: it's raining. S&E (my bro & sis in-law) have had a rush on their rainbow umbrellas, handing them out & taking money so fast none of us could keep count. Suddenly all the venues are standing room only. Entire families walk past in those cheap temporary rainsheets, looking like groups of ghosts in various pastel colours, looking, in fact, more exotic than some of the street acts.
I spent this morning life drawing. The teacher was fantastic, taking a bunch of mostly absolute beginners through an intense 3-hour drawing expedition: quick poses with charcoal, contour drawing, working with tone, working with line, and finishing with a great drawing exercise that forced us to really think about composition. She was great, and I came away completely invigorated. Best way to spend $35 ever.
7.50pm: I had a great Woodford moment last night... We got (free, necessary for crowd control) tickets to the Mutant Barnyard, and while waiting for the next session, went for a wander up to the nearest loo. It was near The Muse, and it only had a smattering of people in it, but the voice drifting out from the stage was haunting and familiar in an 'oh, I know that song so well, but can't remember her name' sort of way. I asked the bar staff who this was, and they said 'Roger Loves Betty', which was NOT what I was expecting. By the time I came out of the loo I'd cracked it: Jodi Phillis, who used to be half of that glorious 80s duo, The Clouds.
Dammit! I had to go back to the Barnyard, a room stuffed with stuffed and skeletal mutant animals - interesting but not where I wanted to be at that exact moment. Afterwards I dashed back to my programme and researched the rest of the gigs for Roger Loves Betty.
So here I am, staking out my claim in the shamefully empty Empire, awaiting more of Jodi's voice. There should be more people here. Anyway, they're starting. I'll tell you how they were, tomorrow.
I hope you're all having fun too! I'm not reading comments or other blogs at the moment, but will when I get back to (your) civilisation!
-- Post From My iPhone
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The Woodford Files 1a
I'm still not used to this phone; I accidentally sent that last post a bit early, bit never mind.
As I write this time, I'm sitting in the Blues tent listening to Juzzie Smith, who surprises me. His music is fantastic: slide guitar, harmonica, didge, various percussion bits played as a one-man setup, but his lyrics are absolutely awful. I'm sitting here wondering if it's worth missing out on the Empire Variety Afternoon (magic, comedy, puppetry) in favour of this, where the music is transporting but I keep cringing. Luckily most of his music is instrumental; he knows his strengths.
Kristina Olsen, who played first in this session, is absolutely up to scratch, with her songs vying with her comic and poignant stories for your attention. If you ever get a chance to see her, DON'T ever miss it.
I just looked around me and noticed that the place is PACKED. mostly with tanned young skin flashing tatts, vaguely clothes. The only way out is if I duck under the (cloth) wall next to me. I think I'm stuck here.
AND NOW I'VE GOT A HEARTBEAT
AND I CAN PLAY THE HARMONICA
AND IT'S ALL REALLY COOL AND I'M CREATING A VIBE
AND I'M PASSING ON THAT VIBE
SO THAT WE'LL ALL FEEL THAT VIBE
AND LIVE IN PEACE AND HARMONY
I don't think I quite got that right but it's pretty damn close... I'm not doing his rhyming any justice, but neither is he.
Now he's playing harmonica with his nose! That's cool. Ooh! He's inviting Kristina back on stage. See you later...
-- Post From My iPhone
As I write this time, I'm sitting in the Blues tent listening to Juzzie Smith, who surprises me. His music is fantastic: slide guitar, harmonica, didge, various percussion bits played as a one-man setup, but his lyrics are absolutely awful. I'm sitting here wondering if it's worth missing out on the Empire Variety Afternoon (magic, comedy, puppetry) in favour of this, where the music is transporting but I keep cringing. Luckily most of his music is instrumental; he knows his strengths.
Kristina Olsen, who played first in this session, is absolutely up to scratch, with her songs vying with her comic and poignant stories for your attention. If you ever get a chance to see her, DON'T ever miss it.
I just looked around me and noticed that the place is PACKED. mostly with tanned young skin flashing tatts, vaguely clothes. The only way out is if I duck under the (cloth) wall next to me. I think I'm stuck here.
AND NOW I'VE GOT A HEARTBEAT
AND I CAN PLAY THE HARMONICA
AND IT'S ALL REALLY COOL AND I'M CREATING A VIBE
AND I'M PASSING ON THAT VIBE
SO THAT WE'LL ALL FEEL THAT VIBE
AND LIVE IN PEACE AND HARMONY
I don't think I quite got that right but it's pretty damn close... I'm not doing his rhyming any justice, but neither is he.
Now he's playing harmonica with his nose! That's cool. Ooh! He's inviting Kristina back on stage. See you later...
-- Post From My iPhone
The Woodford Files 1
Woodford Folk Festival, day one, and everyone is wearing their best festival gear. I should know, I helped sell a lot of it to them from Wild Chilli, my bro- and sis-in-law's stall.
I also mean 'festival' rather than 'hippie' gear, because the range of outfits is vast, from full-blown Goth to eccentric circus to surfy-wurfy kids accompanied by batik- saronged grandparents. Very colourful, as entertaining as the programmed entertainment.
At the moment I'm sitting at a hard-fought for table in The Muse, waiting for Martin Pearson* to get on stage for his first FYI morning show of the festival
Martin is a festival staple, both here and at the National, and this year he starts at 10am rather than 9, hurrah, so things can be done beforehand or sleep-ins can be slept.
I won't be coming to Martin tomorrow because I've enrolled in a morning of life drawing at the Visual Arts festival. But I do hope (now writing after the show) that he chooses his next batch of guests carefully; today he introduced as his regular panellists the marvellous Kristina Olsen and the fantabulous Sandy McCutcheon, and then added two of his (married) mates as the guests for the day, and they sucked all the oxygen out of the session. It will be a lot more fun when he starts pulling the daily guests from the amazing pool of talent whirling around this festival site.
Today I'm hoping to see (hoping, because plans change by the second around here): Jigzag, The Ellis Collective, Pirate Brides, Kristina Olsen, Juzzie Smith, Lior (I'm chasing down a few of my East of Everything favs), Dev'lish Mary and Doch. The Tiny Top is back this year, and The Space Cowboy has brought a freak show he calls 'The Mutant Barnyard' that has Best Beloved salivating.
The weather is perfect so far: warm with cloud cover and a cool breeze that hits every now and again refreshingly. There are threats of rain, but we'll see.
*I can't seem to do links or photos yet from this blogging app, so you'll have to do your own google about things if you want more info. I'll mount photos when I get back.
-- Post From My iPhone
I also mean 'festival' rather than 'hippie' gear, because the range of outfits is vast, from full-blown Goth to eccentric circus to surfy-wurfy kids accompanied by batik- saronged grandparents. Very colourful, as entertaining as the programmed entertainment.
At the moment I'm sitting at a hard-fought for table in The Muse, waiting for Martin Pearson* to get on stage for his first FYI morning show of the festival
Martin is a festival staple, both here and at the National, and this year he starts at 10am rather than 9, hurrah, so things can be done beforehand or sleep-ins can be slept.
I won't be coming to Martin tomorrow because I've enrolled in a morning of life drawing at the Visual Arts festival. But I do hope (now writing after the show) that he chooses his next batch of guests carefully; today he introduced as his regular panellists the marvellous Kristina Olsen and the fantabulous Sandy McCutcheon, and then added two of his (married) mates as the guests for the day, and they sucked all the oxygen out of the session. It will be a lot more fun when he starts pulling the daily guests from the amazing pool of talent whirling around this festival site.
Today I'm hoping to see (hoping, because plans change by the second around here): Jigzag, The Ellis Collective, Pirate Brides, Kristina Olsen, Juzzie Smith, Lior (I'm chasing down a few of my East of Everything favs), Dev'lish Mary and Doch. The Tiny Top is back this year, and The Space Cowboy has brought a freak show he calls 'The Mutant Barnyard' that has Best Beloved salivating.
The weather is perfect so far: warm with cloud cover and a cool breeze that hits every now and again refreshingly. There are threats of rain, but we'll see.
*I can't seem to do links or photos yet from this blogging app, so you'll have to do your own google about things if you want more info. I'll mount photos when I get back.
-- Post From My iPhone
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
*
I forgot, in the excitement of writing yesterday, to include my footnote so carefully asterisked along the way. I am typing on a computer today, in the cool beauty of my friend Sacha's house in Redcliffe, recovering from an oversupply of good G&Ts last night. It's the first time I've had carbonated fluid since 'me op' (all you need to know is that gas was BAD) and I'm happy to report that they went down a treat, so I must be doing ok. So, the missing footnote:
* I had a marvellous (and long) conversation in theTelstra T-Shop (snort) with the Tech Dude as he transferred info from my old phone to my new (which seemed to take forever, because, as I discovered later, the iPhone stored multiple numbers for the same person as separate entries, the sorting of which contributed to the Lost Hours). He is Muslim, and we discussed at length how boring Christmas Day is for those who don't celebrate Baby Bejeebus. Mind you, it can't really be much worse than Canberra on a Sunday night...
While we were talking he was playing some sort of game that involved humiliating an effigy of George Bush. I told him about my favorite one of those, the Bubble Game, and as he played and chortled I wondered aloud whether he would get into huge trouble if I was a less amiable customer. 'Oooh, yes,' he said, 'it's amazing how paranoid people are. I'm not supposed to play political games at all at work. But you have sharp eyes, and I'm very lucky.' I bet!
So my best wishes for the season are trying to be inclusive of those who don't have a season other than a boring couple of days. Have a good whatever :)
Also, if you want something close to a meme read from me, nice Perry at Matilda picked my brains a bit for his Summer blogger series. I felt like the comic relief when I read eveyone else's answers, but that's how I usually feel in company, so no biggy. Scroll down and read the others too; it might give you some decent summer blog reading!
Oh, should mention, because it was marvellous, my visit to the Barratt Galleries in Alstonville yesterday. Run by the charming and energetic Julie Barratt, it features works on paper with a special emphasis on artists' books. It's a beautiful old house converted into gallery spaces with a print studio and a shops space. Only an hour and a half from Brisbane, a quick ten minutes from Ballina and just off and beside some major highways, the gallery is really worth a visit if you're heading that way.
Goodness, it's Christmas tomorrow. Have a good one (if you're having one)!
* I had a marvellous (and long) conversation in the
While we were talking he was playing some sort of game that involved humiliating an effigy of George Bush. I told him about my favorite one of those, the Bubble Game, and as he played and chortled I wondered aloud whether he would get into huge trouble if I was a less amiable customer. 'Oooh, yes,' he said, 'it's amazing how paranoid people are. I'm not supposed to play political games at all at work. But you have sharp eyes, and I'm very lucky.' I bet!
So my best wishes for the season are trying to be inclusive of those who don't have a season other than a boring couple of days. Have a good whatever :)
Also, if you want something close to a meme read from me, nice Perry at Matilda picked my brains a bit for his Summer blogger series. I felt like the comic relief when I read eveyone else's answers, but that's how I usually feel in company, so no biggy. Scroll down and read the others too; it might give you some decent summer blog reading!
Oh, should mention, because it was marvellous, my visit to the Barratt Galleries in Alstonville yesterday. Run by the charming and energetic Julie Barratt, it features works on paper with a special emphasis on artists' books. It's a beautiful old house converted into gallery spaces with a print studio and a shops space. Only an hour and a half from Brisbane, a quick ten minutes from Ballina and just off and beside some major highways, the gallery is really worth a visit if you're heading that way.
Goodness, it's Christmas tomorrow. Have a good one (if you're having one)!
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