I saw a lovely couple sitting in the park on the way home tonight. I’d estimate they were in their 60s, maybe their 70s. And they were just sitting on a park bench in the dark. As I walked up the street towards home they caught my attention. For just a moment I wondered briefly about their lives.
Obviously they must live in the nearby housing commission towers, because most people who use that park do. And from the look of things, and how they were dressed, I’m guessing they both came originally from overseas. And then I guessed for a moment they probably had grown up children, and probably grand-children too. And that’s when I guess the story ran out of its narrative. But I looked at them for just a moment, and loved how they were sitting in the park at night, having a good old chat and obviously enjoying each others company. It was a nice moment which I thought I’d capture as anonymously as possible.
It was a welcome moment of reflection and enjoyment after an otherwise busy day at work.I’m heading off to do another job for the next six weeks, while the deck-chairs are re-arrange a little further up the tree. It’s a temporary promotion which I’m looking forward to doing. But in the meantime, there’s still a fair bit going on in my job, and I’m trying to make sure I’ve got everything organised for the bloke who is filling behind me.
Even though I live fairly close to Redfern in Sydney, I’ve never really socialised much in the area. Sure, I’ve been to a few pubs. I’ve been to Railz. I’m a member of South Sydney Rugby Leagues Club. I’ve also been to the uber-hip Freda’s. But aside from that, I’ve never really experienced much of the emerging small bar culture in the area. Partly, it’s because this small bar culture has developed only in the last few years, and now being in my late forties, friends and I tend to socialise in places which are little less-hip, a little less noisy.
And that’s the one thing you have to remember about small bars: they can be quite noisy. Like us ten years ago, these bars are full of younger types out for a night on the town with their friends. They’re probably out for a pick-up too. But that wasn’t the case for two friends of mine and I on Thursday night: we were just out for a few drinks and a catchup. We had previously called ourselves “The Boozehounds”, reflective of a time when we were all a bit younger, single, and thus able to be fairly spontaneous about our social lives. But when partners and young babies come along, you need to plan such events.
That said, it was a fairly spontaneous night. We started off at Arcadia which is a nice enough bar, though really very noisy. From there we wandered to The Beardedtit, a bar which we all really loved. The bar had a great vibe about it : there was a hip young crowd, but there was also room for 40-somethings like ourselves. On the walls there was art for sale, including one piece I almost made an impulse purchase of. You could also order take-in food from nearby restaurants : we had some really fantastic Chinese. We also chatted to the woman who runs the bar, and she was really lovely. We ended up the night at The Dock. An intimately small bar, we even had a dance to a band playing just a few feet away from us. So yeah, a night of great spontaneity, and great to get “The Boozehounds” back together.
Over the last few days I’ve been gripped by the “controversy” in the Swedish newspapers about one of the artists who could represent Sweden at this year’s Eurovision Song Contest. At the centre of the controversy is the song, “Mirakel” by Björn Ranelid, a sixty-something former football player, and academic, who is one of Sweden’s best known authors.
As I mentioned last week, I quite like the song which is a kind of rap/dance number. It’s certainly not a conventional pop song, but I think it’s good fun. As much as I love a well-sung serious heart-break song, I also like music that can really make you smile, and that’s what this song does. It also carries a fairly inspirational “lyric” about the “miracle of love”.
Love is a miracle that overcomes everything.
Love has the world’s largest hands but it weighs nothing.
Love can travel without a passport in all countries.
Love is a playground for children.
Nonetheless, Swedes are divided over the entry, as is noted here…
(Ranelid)… is as well known for his incredibly tanned face as for his own and unique – and self proclaimed – language, Ranelidskan. He is controversial, he is different and now he has created a massive debate by singing/speaking his way to the grande finale on March 11. The song is a combination between music and lyrics and it’s probably the most criticised entry ever. EVERYONE seem to hate this song, but still, it made the cut, won the public vote and will now compete again.
“The Swedish selection starts to look like a joke…Sean Banan, Ranelid! It’s terrible. So sad for the real artists that take it seriously…” writes one fan. The degree to which this has become a talking point is evident on another blog, where a Swedish bloke who normally writes about serious subjects such as archaeology has written about it. He describes the success of the song as a “collective joke” and goes on to argue the song should be disqualified since it re-uses some of the artists’ lyrics from earlier works.
If that were a real issue, half of this year’s entries should be disqualified :) Many of the works this year are highly derivative. This week’s Melodifestivalen, for example, started off with a song by Charlotte Perelli. Charlotte has represented Sweden twice at Eurovision, having won in 1999 with a complete ABBA rip-off, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of their win with Waterloo. This time around her song hasn’t completely sampled “Mamma Mia”, though it comes pretty close.
There was also lots of “old-style” Eurovision this week with “Allting blir bra igen” (Everything will be fine again) by OPA, which had a Balkan-influenced musical style complete with bouzouki and piano accordion. If you closed your eyes you could have sworn it was from Greece in the 1970s. Meanwhile, Lotta Engberg & Christer Sjögren, who have also been through Melodifestivalen/Eurovision quite a few times, sang a number which could have equally been from thirty or forty years ago.
Why bother with the finals, anyway? There’s a school of thought Danny Saucedo, the final entry for this week’s Melodifestivalen, is already the most likely winner for Sweden this year. With good looks and a good voice, he is the kind of performer who, like Eric Saade last year, could attract a young audience who would vote for him on the night. I really like Danny. In fact, I met Danny at Stockholm Pride this year when I asked if I could take a photograph with him and my friend. He was very polite, which counts for lot for me.
I loved his entry last year, “In The Club”, and thought that would have had a good chance at Eurovision with that song. But this year? Although he made it through to the final, I think there was a bit of a sympathy vote, as he was out of tune for much of his performance. Anyway, I wish him well and hope he gets it together in time for the final.
I also hope Björn Ranelid goes on and does well. After the criticism levelled at him by fellow musicians and members of the public this article in Aftonbladet says he thought about withdrawing from the contest, altogether. The article says what convinced him to continue was the desire to support Sara and the songwriter involved, as well as the huge public response. He says he has received about 6,000 letters/emails from people saying they love the song. It would hugely be controversial if he went on to represent Sweden at Eurovision, but not entirely out of the question. I mean, the UK announced this week, they’re sending Engelbert Humperdink, now in his seventies, to the contest this year.
On ABBAMAIL today, one of the members declared Earlier this week I had an ABBA dream … very unusual because as far as I know I don’t dream much and most of the time I forget it straight away and usualy I don’t dream about “them”.
Throughout my life I’ve also had recurrent “ABBA Dreams” and it wasn’t until I read his email that I wondered about what they might mean. So I surfed the net and this is what I found…
Dream Doctor: Dreams of friendly interaction with celebrities reflect feelings of increased social status – a celeb treats us “like an equal.” Attempts to contact a celebrity reflect needs for recognition, attention, and validation in our lives. If we experience difficulty reaching the celebrity, this may reflect unfulfilled desires for status and approval.
Sleeps: To dream of celebrities shows that you are letting too much pomp and circumstance convince you to act certain ways that are against your better nature, this could be to your downfall in the area of the heart. To dream that you are a celebrity denotes that you desire to fly higher then your social life and means allow. To dream a loved one becomes a celebrity shows that you have a secret fear of losing this person to the world.
Newspaper Article: As the media continues to create stronger icon status for people in the news, it is not surprising that lay people are dreaming of them as well. It is not at all unusual for people to think they ‘know’ particular public figures and so to experience them in a dream. Dreaming of any particular celebrity often reveals a fantasy for friendship or romance. These dreams may also show a sense of being a peer or equal to that celebrity, as if to say, ‘I can do that, too.’ A second aspect of this phenomenon is living vicariously through a celebrity. In this instance, people will assume a peculiar sense of participation with a public figure’s success and notoriety. Another variation of this is becoming a celebrity yourself. This may include performing with other celebrities while achieving your own icon status. This kind of notoriety may be showing you your own talent (or sense thereof) in a particular area, or it may be intended to encourage you to pursue a higher ambition for yourself. Of course, because today’s media completely inundates the public with images and rumours of celebrities, they may appear in your dream simply as extraneous static.
Weirdest of all though is…
http://www.celinedreams.com: celineDreams.com is analyzing (sleep) dreams of Celine Dion’s fans. Send us your dream involving Celine Dion, and it may be interpreted online. It’s free!
There are lots of different theories underpinning dream analysis. So behind each of these interpretations is something much deeper… and they all say the dreams need to be analysed within a broader context blah blah… but anyway…
It’s Monday night and, to be honest, I’m a little tired, though I have no desire to go to bed yet, although I should since I need to be at work early tomorrow. Yes, I’m raving, aren’t I? It’s been a big weekend of boozing, starting off with a night on the turps with friends at the Gaslight Inn on Friday, and ending the weekend with a night on the turps around Oxford Street last night. This is despite promises to myself that I’d have a quiet weekend.
In between I went to Grogblogging at the City of RSL, an annual event where nerds like myself get together to “get nerdy”. The only person from our regular bloggers night there was Glen. A good fun night, and it’s given me a few more blogs to read. Interestingly enough, Democrat Senator, Andrew Bartlett, a regular blogger was there, as were the owners of a couple of blogs I regularly read.
Aside from the weekend of boozing, I did manage to do a few other interesting things, including attend Chinese New Year festivities in Sydney with Kate who came down from Newcastle. Dragon dancers, noisy crackers, interesting stalls, including one selling spam and lunch at my favourite place for yum cha, Hingara.
A reasonably quiet week coming up, though ABBA fan Paul Burt makes a welcome return to Australia for about a month, arriving Friday and Damien has birthday drinks on Friday night, so there’ll be lots more to report on the weekend, I’m sure.
“Are you a city-slicker, mate? How do you cope with all the traffic?”, the bloke in the chair next to me asked, as he started up a conversation, as we waited at the hospital today.
I was in for fairly minor surgery, having a sebaceous cyst removed. “I’m in to have my ear reattached. I blew it off the other week”, he told me, adding they would need to do some significant reconstruction work, and that he already had metal plates inside his head.
He was from Griffith and had been referred to Sydney by Wagga Base Hospital, as they couldn’t do it locally.
We went on to chat about Griffith and Wagga, and in particular the growth of Wagga Base Hospital. Thanks Darryl and Gladys!
Wagga Wagga Base Hospital 2021
He went on to describe the process of driving 600km from Griffith, staying in a caravan park, and then taking a further hour to drive into the city today. “We were hoping to cross the bridge, but missed the turn-off, so ended up in the tunnel,” he told me with a genuine air of disappointment.
His experience was a wonderful contrast to my own reasonably minor operation, and having travelled less than 2kilometres on the 352 bus!
He was one of those lovely friendly country blokes, always keen for a chat. “These knickers are pretty sexy”, he joked with one of the nurses, when asked to put on a gown, and some very unsexy knickers.
The whole process today was seamless. I arrived at 7.30, and by 9.30, I was gulping down the gas. By 11.30, I was awake, but only after the calls from several people asking me to wake up. ‘Sorry, I love sleeping”, I told them.
My wound! You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to do a “back selfie”
Before I knew it, I was picked up by my friend and neighbour, Karina and was home and sleeping again
I have had an operation every ten years. At 26, it was my appendix. At 36, it was a fistula. At 46, it was a sebaceous cyst. And today, at 56, that cyst was removed again. Should I book in now for 66? Hips/knees?
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My parents had been married 57 years at the time of my father’s death. Although they had their ups and downs earlier in the marriage, in their later years they were inseparable going for daily walks, spending several hours every morning at their local McDonalds reading the free newspapers together whilst eating their Senior Citizens’ 30c ice creams and drinking the accompanying bottomless cups of coffees.
My parents had been married 57 years at the time of my father’s death. Although they had their ups and downs earlier in the marriage, in their later years they were inseparable going for daily walks, spending several hours every morning at their local McDonalds reading the free newspapers together whilst eating their Senior Citizens’ 30c ice creams and drinking the accompanying bottomless cups of coffees.
That is such a poetic image, James. Well done!
Nice story Victor. Thanks Neil – not bad for a camera phone eh?