I spent some time this week visiting Governor Macquarie Tower, Sydney. I’ve been there a few times before and every time the view gives me a “wow” moment. I snapped a few photographs of the view this time. Unfortunately, the photographs aren’t that great (camera phone quality, window reflection), but still you can see those who normally work in this building have some damn fine views. It was nice to be a short-term visitor.
It was standing room only (and maybe not even that) last night at Sydney’s Newtown Hotel for the final of the Unisex Amateur Stripping Competition hosted beautifully by drag artiste, Vanessa Wagner.
And no, I don’t mean paint stripping. I mean good old fashioned burlesque, with an emphasis on entertainment, rather than some of what I imagine occurs now in Kings Cross strip bars (which I admit I’ve never been to).
I’d gone last week with my mate Paul, and most memorable was the performance by Elizabeth Burton, now aged in her 60s. She performed again last night and was guest judge along with musician, Paul Mac.
Unlike last week, however, it was much more crowded, as word of “The Grand Final” had obviously spread far and wide, perhaps due to this blog. The last time I’d ever been in such a crowded hotel environment was for an FA Cup Final (yes, I do lead a diverse life, don’t I?) when we were jammed in like sardines.
So tight, in fact, it was near impossible to raise your arms to have a beer. Honestly, it was easier to get to the bathroom by leaving the pub and going across the road to another pub instead. I also toyed with the idea of bringing a beer back with me, as it was equally difficult getting to the nearby bar. But, it was a great night and one which I enjoyed immensely. So of course, I had to write about it.
As noted by The Other Andrew, it was so crowded we couldn’t both help but wonder about the potential fire hazard, especially as the winning contestant’s act included flames. It wouldn’t be the first time, however, anyone associated with the Newtown Hotel (not currently) would be linked in the minds of some to a fire in a Sydney gay bar!
And the strippers? Oh, my goodness, they were fantastic. Most memorable was the winner who came on stage wearing overalls and a welding mask, and who then succeeded to play out the role of Jennifer Beale’s character in the movie, “Flashdance”. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in such a long time, as she went through all the right moves (including the famous Maniac running scene) in record time, before finally setting fire to her pasties. Bloody funny.
Stripper at Newtown Hotel
Also memorable was the young guy who came out wearing balloons which, one by one, he popped to rapturous applause. Oh yeah, and there was a young guy from my hometown, Lismore, who I’m still not entirely sure isn’t my cousin’s eldest son. Actually, there was a fair bit of Lismore/Ballina stuff going on, with Vanessa Wagner also talking about living in Ballina (or Bal-nuh, as we long-term locals call it) and handing out “How To Vote” cards last weekend for “The Greens”.
From the Grand Final of the Amateur Stripping Competition in March 2007 at the Newtown Hotel
So yeah, I’m expecting this post will turn up in lots of search engines thanks to its title, though maybe not as many as last week’s post about Hugh Jackman which got a fair bit of attention, according to my blog stats. But I’ve also posted to do something to repair to my reputation, having been heavily defamed by The Other Andrew, who blames ME for HIS hangover today. I was at work this morning at six o’clock bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so I hardly think I can be blamed. Surely Dr Phil might have something to say about individuals apportioning blame to others? Hehehe.
As you travel between Sydney and Canberra, the impact of the drought is fairly self-evident. I mean, there are “green droughts” where all looks okay on the surface, but deep down the soil is dry. But that’s not the case this time, as I noticed kilometre after kilometre of brown as we travelled to Canberra this weekend. Still, I noticed a couple of paddocks were still quite heavily stocked (maybe overstocked) with sheep on a couple of occasions.
Even in the midst of Canberra itself, where they’re currently on Level 2 Water Restrictions, I noticed the environment lacked some of the green evident when I last visited in August this year. Despite the over-arching presence of Lake Burley Griffin and the abudance of evergreen trees, Canberra is a part of the Australian bush and it really shows, and not just environmentally.
In fact, one of the most obvious ways in which it shows is in the gay social scene in Canberra, which mostly seems to be based around just one club, smallish house BBQs (we attended two this weekend, both of which were great fun) and larger one-off events including the annual Bushdance at the Yarralumla Woolshed.
Gay Bushdance in Canberra – held annually in Canberra at the Yarralumla Woolshed
I’d first been to the bushdance about 10 or 15 years ago, and had enjoyed it immensely. And then a few months ago I had the idea of paying a return visit, especially since a good mate now lives in Canberra. As was the case 10 or 15 years ago, the dance was an absolute hoot. Larger than it was then, and maybe less “authentically Australian country”, and maybe a little more “Brokeback Mountain” this year, I still thought it was one of those great grass-roots events that maintains a strong level of authenticity.
I really like the lack of pretension evident at this event, as the inability of almost everyone to dance properly seems to act as a great leveler. It didn’t matter that one of the people in our group was a native French speaker who found it difficult to understand the directions, as we were all in the same boat. Still, I was told by one bloke, a friend of a friend, that I was a good-dancer, so I’ll happily take the compliment. Maybe, like the girl on “Dancing With The Stars” who’d received lessons, I should have revealed that growing up in the country, learning how to bush dance was par for the course.
My mate who came with me, Scottish by birth, also said it reminded him of ceilidh dances, with many of the dances common to both. And I guess that’s how Australian bush dances originated, with Irish and the Scottish immigrants. However, I wonder what my Irish and Scottish ancestors, who during the 1800s would have done these dances in nearby places like Braidwood, Bombala and Cooma and Gundaroo (yes, I’m an authentic country boy), would have made of the site of about 500 gay men (and a prominent sprinkling of lesbians) dancing to the tunes they would have also danced to. I suppose, however, in the days when the men often out-numbered the women 10 to 1, and everyone knew everyone else, it may not have been all that unusual.
But everyone still knows everyone else in the area, or so it seems in the gay community of Canberra at least, where the idea of “six degrees of separation” could easily be reduced to just one or two. As evidence of this, I ran into an old mate from my days in Wagga and we chatted for a while, which was good. I also spoke with another bloke from my Wagga days who I hadn’t seen it about 15 years. We both concluded it might have been the last time I’d attended the dance that we’d seen each other, with him living in Victoria and me in Sydney during the intervening period.
Mind you, the two degrees of separation might just be a gay thing. At the BBQ this afternoon for example, two people working in a similar profession, knew instantly of a third and fourth working overseas. Small world, eh? But maybe that’s one of the things I like most about Canberra – quite local and parochial, but also quite international – leading me to believe it’s probably a place I could happily live.
Overall, it was a great weekend, especially as I was hanging around with some nice people doing some fun things. And then I came back to Sydney where something shitty happened almost immediately, as I seem to have left my phone in a cab. Thankfully, I recognised it was missing pretty quickly, as soon as I got my bag out of the back and had checked my pockets, and as much as I tried to hail Silver Service driver T-7922 down, he was off in a flash. And even though I’d reported it within minutes (like less than 5 minutes of him driving off), so far the people at the Call-Centre have been little or no help. He hasn’t responded to their messages so far, though I remain hopeful since the phone was on silent, and a few attempts to call it have rung out, meaning no one has replaced it with their own SIM card. I guess they – those at the Call-Centre – assume I was just another pissed customer who left their phone behind and ironically, since it was me, I wasn’t. I was just one happy little camper who’d had a nice time in the bush, who was just a little absent-minded.
The photograph above and below was taken at Gamla Stan, the Old Town in Stockholm. Roughly translated it means please give to the homeless, though you wouldn’t need to speak Swedish to understand, as there are similar handwritten signs all over the world.
Though you sometimes see people on the street walk away from, avoid eyesight with, and otherwise “not engage” with people who are homeless, or are asking for money on the streets, I’m not, generally, one of those people. If I have change, and if I’m not in too much of a hurry, I’ll usually stop and reach into my pocket when someone asks me for help. Scammers aside, I figure it takes a lot of courage for someone to walk up to a complete stranger and ask them for help.
But things are changing. As we’re moving to a cashless society, I’ve found myself often without any cash at all in my pockets. If I catch public transport to work, I’ll use my Opal Card. Most days, I’ll order my coffee through an app. At lunch, I’ll usually swipe my debit card. I keep a jar full of coins on my desk for mid-afternoon chocolates or soft-drinks. So by and large, I don’t carry cash anymore.
If everyone ends up like me, what does that mean for people living on the streets, asking for cash?
Please give to the homeless sign in Stockholm
Though it’s an issue here in Australia, I chose to show the photo I took in Stockholm to illustrate the story, as Sweden is well on track to become the first cashless society.
I caught the ferry to Manly to go to Nordic Fusion, a Scandinavian design store, that also stocks a range of Swedish food and drink – Svensk mat och dryck – including, Glögg. I remember having tasted mulled wine many years ago at a dinner party at Wentworth, near Mildura on the NSW/Victorian border. I think I was about 25 or 26 and it was all very exotic for a young man who had spent most of his life living in rural and regional Australia.
Many years later, it was with some trepeditation that I approached the store to purchase three bottles of the stuff to take along to my Swedish class tonight. I’d called Nordic Fusion a day earlier and told them what I wanted and why. As I entered the store, there were a couple of other customers looking at hand-bags, sound systems and other such things. My bottles of Glögg were tagged in the fridge out the back. In an absolute bargain, they gave me an extra bottle for free. And then one of the women began to speak with me in Swedish.
“Oh my goodness”, I thought to myself. This is the real thing, speaking Swedish to a real Swede. I stammed out a few words, explaining that I only spoke a little Swedish, and that I was planning to travel there later in the year. Shyly, I left the store, totally appreciative of the way they had treated me so kindly, especially counting out the change in Swedish etc. That said, I really have to gain some confidence in speaking with real life Swedes, rather than just my classmates.
Glogg
We had a great time at tonight’s class which, focussing on food, involved everyone bringing along some kind of food item. The cakes and sweets were, as our teacher said, the best in the world. I also really loved the pickled herring and meatballs. And the Glögg? Well, I thought it was okay. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, warmed and with raisons and almonds, though it was perhaps a little sickly sweet for me. I still have a bottle left at home, by the way, for those cold winter nights which are almost upon us.
It’s been a day of spring cleaning and re-arranging the furniture.
Ever since I arrived back from Europe I’ve been looking at my lounge and living space in a less than glamorous manner.
“What’s prompted this?”, my frend Sue asked me on the phone.
I guess it’s the realisation deep down that my place hasn’t exactly been the most conducive place for socialising for quite some time.
I’ve had a lot of furniture crammed into a small space, and ordered in a reasonably unsocial manner.
The television and the computer have dominated the space. The dining table moved into a corner. It’s been very “closed”. Oh, and completely messy as well.
And so I’ve moved the furniture around so the dining table is now right near the door as you enter.
I’ve moved the computer and desk from one side of the room to the other.
I’ve moved the lounge and television into a corner.
And suddenly it feels like the space is twice the size. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it certainly feels a lot more open.
Deep down, I guess it’s a realisation I wouldn’t mind socialising at home a little more, as it’s been quite some time since I’ve done. Aside from my annual Eurovision Party, of course…
