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Daylight savings started today. I woke late to find it was an hour later than usual thinking, bugger that, I'm staying put. It was 10.30 when I got up, and that was only to feed the dog, make a coffee and to collect the paper, which I read proceeded to read in bed.
A late night and many steins of German beer have left me congested and sounding very croaky, though I feel fine. Now I'm up I've cooked a late breakfast for lunch, mushrooms with garlic and rosemary, and scrambled eggs with chives and parmesan on English muffins. The sun is shining, I'm feeling mellow and happy to watch the umpteenth re-run of Pillow Talk on TV, just for fun.
Yesterday was a good day. Now that I've written that it occurs to me that it's only infrequently that I could claim that. Not that most days are bad - they're not - they just blur into an indistinct and untroubling average. Yesterday was just right though.
The morning was unremarkable. I had a gardener come over to mow the back lawn, which had become wild in the last month, and to trim and weed as required. I knocked over a few tasks around the house with a replay of the previous night's cricket on TV.
Early in the afternoon I climbed into the car and drove to Carlton to catch up with Fong. I parked the car and wandered up to meet Fong to see a movie. There she told me that the Nova was sold out, what to do? We drove to the Westgarth cinema to catch Julie & Julia there. Walking down High Street I cast an eye at the locals having a quiet coffee and a chat sitting outdoors, at the bakery with crusty bread on display in the window, and the crowd milling around the cinema. We had a coffee in one of those very particular coffee shops who sell premium beans on the side. Mmm, I thought, I know all this, I liked it, very Melbourne, typically Melbourne, but here with a local twist.
The movie was great - but I'll write about that separately.
Afterwards I dropped Fong back in Carlton then proceeded to the Tivoli Club in Windsor. The place was jumping. Upstairs and down there were people everywhere drinking German beer from large plastic steins, sitting at tables or dancing to the eclectic musical choices. The air was thick with the aroma of bratwurst sausages fried with onions.
I caught up with JV and met his new girlfriend and the others there. Two of the girls had dressed up in traditional costume, both colourful and alluring, and fun too, like dress-ups. Through the night we racked up the steins and loosened up, conversation ranging far and wide, playfully, dancing occasionally, or singing along.
The music was one of the more amusing aspects of the night. The DJ downstairs was a guy of about 60. He had a good, strong voice, but he sang reading from a book to the pre-recorded music, exhibiting not a skerrick of emotion or passion, like an automaton. The musical selection was all over the place: Sweet Caroline; New York, New York; Quango, Quango, Quango; Glory, Glory, Hallelujah; Love Me Tender, and so on. In the end it was just fun anticipating what he might play next, and suggesting diverse possibilities that seemed quitewell on the cards, Like A Virgin, Funky Cold Medina, and the like.
In general the place was filled with a great vibe. A large part of that was the quirky nature of the place - tables of elderly Germans amid young partygoers. The music, the lederhosen, the excess. All good.
It was late we left, back to JV's home 5 minutes walk down the road. There were about 7 of us, by now all pretty friendly. A bottle of wine was cracked, the TV switched on to a music program, the 500 biggest hits of the eighties, people spilled out onto the balcony. I was invited to a party next week by a couple I talked music with. They were into their music big time, but when an old clip of Steve Winwood from the eighties came on the TV they didn't know who he was. Man, I said, don't you know the Spencer Davis group? Mmm, no. I shook my head wondering what the world was coming to, and then pulled out my iPhone to play a few old Spencer Davis songs for them (Gimme Some Lovin', Keep On Running, I'm a Man). Well it was familiar, sort of, and isn't it great?
I left a little while later. It was about 2.30. I drove thinking that it's a sign of the era, maybe the generation, that for all the passion, knowledge of rock roots is shallow. Sure, the big bands like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones are known to everyone. But what of bands like The Spencer Davis Group or Cream, Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Byrds or Sam Cooke?
All these bands are before my time, but I'm of a generation when looking back they are within touching distance. Maybe my generation is the last to look forward knowing where it all came from. All the same, half the fun is sharing these things, and teaching a little as we go along.
All in all, a good, complete day.
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