I’m still buzzing after involvement last night in the first-ever ABC float in Sydney’s Chinese / Lunar New Year Parade.
My throat is still hoarse from shouting, my arm is still sore from waving, and my mouth is still sore from smiling so much :)
Tears welled up in my eyes, a rare occurrence over the past several weeks, as I found myself in the company of Michelle and Karran at Sydney’s Beecham Hotel, formerly known as Beauchamp Hotel.
Michelle was sharing the details of the phone call Pat had received on that fateful Saturday morning, right after I had been admitted to the hospital. “Oh, no, no,” Pat had said, before taking charge of the call. Michelle, being a nurse, was uniquely positioned, grappling with the emotions of a close family member in distress, while comprehending the gravity of my condition.
She went on to describe her conversation with Tony, the surgeon, who had sought her consent for the possibility of an “above the knee” amputation. I couldn’t help but express my profound gratitude for the burden placed upon her in making that life-altering decision on my behalf.
It was at that moment that my emotions welled up again. My tears were not solely for my own predicament but also for the immense emotional toll my family and friends endured during those harrowing first 48 hours when my life hung in the balance. Michelle mentioned she had a photograph of my leg in its pre-surgery state, and I conveyed my desire to see it when the time was right.
Later, as I returned to my hospital room, I experienced a surge of emotions once more. While the journey is far from over, there’s a growing sense that we are approaching a conclusion. My room had mostly been packed up in anticipation of my permanent return home on Tuesday.
This weekend, Michelle and Karran were here for a “test run” of being at home, preparing for my eventual return.
Over the past couple of weeks, my recovery has progressed remarkably well. After those initial challenging weeks when I could hardly leave my hospital bed, I now spend most of my days in a chair and attend physiotherapy sessions twice daily, wearing my prosthesis.
I can’t say enough about the incredible team at the hospital. Their dedication and expertise have been instrumental in bringing me to this point. I wouldn’t be here without them, and I’m immensely grateful for the love and support of my family, friends, and colleagues. I truly feel blessed.
The barmaid received a spontaneous round of applause for the way in which she handled the “trouble-makers” seated in the corner. Neither Sue nor I could work out what was going on. As they took their seats at the corner table, it was pretty evident they’d already had a fair bit to drink. But with the exception of Sue and I, so had everyone else in the bar!
Our attention was more focused on the nearby “cougar” and her potential younger “suitor” for the evening. We both agreed she was probably well into her 40s, and he was probably 30 at best. They were both very attractive. They were also both very drunk. By our guess, she was there with her son (and his male partner) and her daughter (and her male partner), and, of course, the hunky looking young bloke.
We had watched them flirt with each other for almost an hour before they finally began to touch each other. Or should “grope” be the more appropriate word? Just about everyone in the bar was watching them, wondering what it would all lead to. And just when they had the attention of just about everyone in the bar, the “incident” with the “trouble-makers” occurred.
The barmaid, for her part, was a fairly imposing figure, being well over 6-feet tall. She dealt with them firmly and fair. Unlike the “thuggish” behaviour you often associate with people being exited from bars, she spoke to them strongly, directly, and uncompromisingly. She was amazing. When the applause broke out from just about everyone in the bar, she seemed chuffed. She laughed out loud, thanking everyone for their response.
“What happened there?”, Sue asked her as she came by to collect our glasses. “They were snorting stuff right off the table in front on them”, she told us. Clearly, both of us lead sheltered lives, as we had no idea.
We were at the Jernbanecafeen, a bar I’d completely forgotten about until Sue noted, in 2010 I’d described it as possibly the best bar in the world. On my blog, I’d written…
In some ways it reminded me of those bars I found in Amsterdam a couple of years ago. Lots of crap on the walls. A bunch of old blokes playing schlager and everyone singing along. For a moment I thought, “This could be the world’s greatest bar”. There were quite a few bohemian characters in the bar, including my favourite, a woman I discovered was from Finland, who offered to sing “Besame Mucho” in Finnish, and who spent much of the evening drawing pictures of people she didn’t know and then getting them to buy her beers.
How could we NOT visit such a place?
For us, it was most definitely a “non-tourist” kind of day. We didn’t visit a single tourist attraction, we just had a terrific day together, hanging out.
The day started “late”, as we enjoyed a Sunday morning at home, doing nothing much at all.
After an aborted attempt to find an English language church service, Sue and I had lunch at a terrific cafe/restaurant/bar called Kalaset. I’d discovered it quite by chance while Sue was tying, unsuccessfully, to locate the church service. Although it’s a place I entered quite randomly, it was oddly enough, a place decorated with old recording equipment, from reel to reel to cassette tape. I felt quite at home. The food was good, and the general vibe was “very Surry Hills”, I said at one point.
The other place we visited today which was divine was Torehallerne, a food hall near the centre of town. As we wandered around, looking at the wonderful variety of food on offer, we both toyed with the idea of quitting our jobs and living forever in Copenhagen just so we could go to this wonderful food hall every day. Sue “indulged” with a rasperry-caramel chocolate which tasted both “sublime” and “orgasmic”.
So all in all, it’s been a bit of a non-tourist day, but a very enjoyable one, and one where we had a chance to explore a few of the things ordinary Copenhagers (is that the right word?) might do on a Sunday afternoon.
We’re back home tonight watching Danish Big Brother (it’s like BB used to be in Australia, but oddly enough they don’t sound as much like bogans when they’re speaking in another language), doing a bit of washing (in preparation for our train trip to Stockholm tomorrow) and eating some wonderful Danish ice-cream. But wait, Häagen-Dazs, isn’t actually Danish!
According to Wikipedia Häagen-Dazs was, in fact, invented by Jewish Polish immigrants Reuben and Rose Mattus in the Bronx, New York, in 1961.
Mattus invented the Danish-sounding Häagen-Dazs as a tribute to Denmark’s exemplary treatment of its Jews during the Second World War, and included an outline map of Denmark on early labels. The name, however, is not Danish, which has neither an umlaut nor a digraph zs; nor does it have any meaning in any language or etymology before its creation.
So there you go…
I love Dorothy Parker and I love Stephen Sondheim, so presumably if both were combined in a cabaret production I’d be extremely happy.
Colin and I found out about this production while attending a terrific play at The Stables called Strangers In Between. During intermission we got to chatting with a woman who was in the show called Buster Skeggs who seemed absolutely lovely. We exchanged cards and a few days later a brochure for the production arrived.
The basic premise for this production was that the words (and wit) of Sondheim and Parker would combine well to construct a narrative about a couple before and after their marriage.
Like Sondheim, Parker, who famously attempted and then committed suicide…
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
has work which ranges the gamut of emotions… though not as she famously said, “the gamut of emotions from A to B”.
Sondheim also has work which ranges from the beautiful “Another Hundred People” which I’ve loved since I first heard it sung by Jodie Gillies to the terrific spoof on “The Girl From Ipanema” called “The Boy From … a little Spanish town called Tacarimba La Tumba Del Fuego Santa Maliga Sacategas Lo Onto Del Sol Y Cruz.”
The vocal performances ranged from ok to excellent… this show worked in so many ways.
Until my friend Patrick messaged me the other week, asking if I wanted to go see Robyn perform live in Sydney, I had only a vague knowledge of the Swedish pop star. Intrigued, I took the opportunity to visit her MySpace page and listen to a few of her songs, which I found to be really quite impressive. It was during this time that I recalled having heard her song “With Every Heartbeat” on the radio at some point earlier. Additionally, I had an insightful conversation with my half-Swedish colleague, Carrie, who shared some interesting details about Robyn’s history as a Swedish child star.
Having attended her live performance, I can now confidently say that I have become a devoted fan of Robyn. The experience was truly captivating, and her talent and stage presence left a lasting impression on me.
As we stepped into the uber-cool Oxford Art Factory, formerly the old Central Station Records on Oxford Street, Darlinghurst, excitement and curiosity filled the air. We couldn’t help but wonder who else would be interested in witnessing the performance of a relatively unknown (at least in Australia) Swedish pop star. “Oh, look over there! A girl proudly sporting a Robyn t-shirt,” Patrick pointed out. “And there’s a guy wearing a Sverige t-shirt,” I added with a smile. As we scanned the room, we noticed a group of young-looking kids who seemed to be gearing up for their HSC exams, alongside a few cheerful gay boys and even a rather eccentric-looking emo-girl.
The diversity of the crowd caught our attention, and we couldn’t help but appreciate the eclectic mix of people who had gathered for this event. Eager to immerse ourselves fully, we secured a spot right up front on the dance floor, near the stage, ready to experience the magic of the evening.
As I stood there, the thought crossed my mind about how I might appear amidst a sea of much younger faces. At almost forty-two, balding, and surrounded by people who could easily be my children (except for Sam and Pat), I couldn’t help but wonder if I looked a bit out of place. It’s not hard to imagine that others might perceive me as a letchy old bloke, a drug dealer, or even an undercover police officer on a drug bust, if I were someone else.
As I made my way in, I recalled one of the bouncers giving me a questioning look, but to my relief, the crowd turned out to be incredibly warm and friendly. I felt welcomed, and that initial concern quickly subsided. Of course, I made sure to keep my “old man dancing” at a level that felt appropriate, but overall, the experience was enjoyable and free from any discomfort. The atmosphere was so inviting that age seemed to become irrelevant, and I found myself simply enjoying the music and the vibrant energy of the night.
No, this was a crowd of dedicated Robyn fans. With one or two exceptions, we were surrounded by people who knew every single word of every single song. And as Robyn sang, they sang along with her in a really joyous celebration of her music.
In response, she graced the stage with an extraordinary display of energy, enthusiasm, and passion, leaving me in awe. Her vocals were nothing short of exceptional, and her dance moves were captivating, making it evident that she was giving her all for the audience. What impressed me even more was how she effortlessly connected with the crowd, locking eyes with numerous people, making each one of us feel a personal connection to her performance.
Not to be overshadowed, her band members showcased an astounding level of skill and dedication, playing their instruments with precision and unwavering enthusiasm. The synergy between the artist and her band was evident, creating a mesmerizing musical experience.
To put it simply, this live gig stands as one of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The sheer talent and genuine passion that filled the venue made it an unforgettable night for all of us fortunate enough to be there.
One of the most memorable moments of the night was when an elderly Swedish-looking couple emerged from the backstage. “Ah, she’s brought her mum and dad with her,” I mentioned to Pat with a smile. Seeing them there added another layer of endearment to the already captivating performance. It was heartwarming to witness her sharing the spotlight with her parents, and it spoke volumes about her character, making it evident that she was not only immensely talented but also a genuinely nice person. Pat and I both agreed that her thoughtfulness and connection to her family only added to the admiration we had for her as an artist and as a person.
“I really like your shirt”, a bloke told me as I stood outside Sydney’s “Hero Of Waterloo”. We had been sitting in a chilly area, and although shorts and t-shirts were fine for the earlier part of the day, I was beginning to feel the cold, and so I wandered out onto the street to enjoy the sunshine.
The t-shirt I was wearing was one I picked up in Sweden in 2008. It’s amazing the number of times the shirt has been a conversation opener, usually from a visiting Swede who looks a little shocked to see a t-shirt that isn’t necessarily the typical of those you pick up in Gamla Stan.
The bloke who came up to me for a chat was middle-aged Swedish bloke (he said he had a backpacker aged daughter) who moved to Sydney about six months ago, loving being here, and thinking he might like to stay for the longer-term. We had a fairly lengthy chat about life, the universe, Sydney and Stockholm until I began to feel guilty about having abandoned my friends.
“You were flirting with him”, my friends joked when I arrived back at the table. “It was in your body language. You’re blushing now”. they added. “Wedding ring?”, I was asked. My friends are such bastards :):)
It was a day of catching up with a broader group of friends, as we enjoyed the company of our friends visiting from overseas.
The day had started with lunch at The Glenmore Hotel which is, seriously, one of the best, most affordable places to take visitors from overseas. In the midst of some of the more expensive places around Circular Quay, the Glenmore enjoys good beer prices, good food prices, and spectacular views of the Opera House (though ours was disrupted by a visiting cruise ship). In contrast to the last time we visited The Glenmore as a group, they’ve had a major renovation to the hotel, and the place was packed. They’ve done a really good job and we enjoyed the renovation.
When the chilly winds got altogether to much, we sought indoor accommodation at the nearby Harbour View (our third pub of the day).
By about seven o’clock I was anxious to get home, do some washing and ironing for the week ahead, and relax on the couch. Entertaining people can be an exhausting business :)
The rise of right-wing populism in the world today is evoking for me, and many others, a chilling sense of déjà vu. For me, it taps into my long-held fascination with the politics and culture of 1920s/1930s Germany, a period I was introduced to during my high school years. Back then, History and German were my favorite subjects.
A trip to Germany during my final high school year to a still-divided Berlin solidified this fascination. It coincided perfectly with the peak of German pop’s influence in Australia, with songs like “Da Da Da,” “Der Kommissar,” and “99 Luftballons” topping the charts.
This period of my teenage years also marked the discovery of the musical “Cabaret,” its captivating score and themes of political turmoil and sexual liberation sparking an obsession.
Delving deeper, I explored the music and stories of the Weimar Republic. Artists like Brecht/Weil and Marlene Dietrich, and many others, captured my attention. This era of incredible liberalism and democracy swiftly descended into fascism, a chilling parallel to the potential dangers of our current political climate.
While I appreciate a good love song, cabaret’s edgy and political side truly resonates with me. This is what drew me to a recent show at Sydney’s Spiegeltent featuring Bernie Dieter, who is described as the “undisputed queen of punk cabaret.”
The show was a whirlwind combination of live music, acrobatics, wicked humor, and a healthy dose of political satire.
Her performance evoked thoughts of the other Nena of that era – Nena Hagen, an East German artist who never quite fit in anywhere, really. Though I loved her fierce political views and eclectic beliefs, including a fascination with ancient aliens, along with her strong vocals.
Throughout the show, Dieter’s audience interaction was audacious. At one point, she landed right on my lap! Later, my friend Michaela jokingly remarked, “I was worried your prosthetic leg might come off!” “I’m sure she would have handled it,” I replied.
The show’s acrobatics were equally impressive, adding another layer of spectacle to the evening. It was a truly remarkable performance, and I highly recommend it.
In contrast, my recent experience with Arthur Miller’s classic play “Death of a Salesman” was more introspective. Though familiar with the play, I had never seen it before. This production, directed by Neil Armfield and starring Anthony LaPaglia, offered a fresh contemporary perspective, even though it was first performed in the 1940s.
As the title suggests, the play follows Willy Loman, an aging salesman nearing the end of his career, who ultimately takes his own life. Accompanied by three friends in their 50s and 60s, I found myself deeply affected by the play’s themes of aging in the workforce, feelings of obsolescence, and societal pressure to succeed. These themes remain powerfully relevant today.
The play also explores the complex parent-child dynamic, highlighting the inevitable disappointments and the importance of letting go of unrealistic expectations. Despite its tragic ending, a glimmer of hope emerges as the characters confront the limitations of societal and personal expectations.
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I think it was great that Our ABC participated and I think it would be great if they did similar in other celebrations around Australia.
Agreed Andrew. We’re a little overdue on this stuff…