Burning ring of fire

What a weekend. Our first weekend without the little kid and our dance card was full. It was to be an Opeth and alcohol fuelled two days of music, theatre, shopping and eating.


First glitch was at the airport: I had decided that since most of the little kid's textas were stuffed I would buy her new ones at the newsagency at the airport. Except some kind staff member had plonked a very tall and wide stack of heavy boxes right in front of the shelf that housed the textas and the tiny little woman that was serving had no capacity to move them to access the pens. So the girl was trapped on a plane for an hour with no colouring in. She coped reasonably well, I was somewhat flustered however.

Once in the city, the girl having been whisked away by her grandmother, we located our hotel. We had booked accommodation using the points on our credit card and judging from the photos on the net I was expecting something fairly crappy. It wasn't. The room was clean, comfortable and in fairly good nick. The bedspread wasn't hideous and they had foxtel. My only gripe was the Lipton's tea and I thought "if that's the worst of my problems I am doing well". The three levels of rooms looked onto an interior courtyard, which had simple but elegant wrought iron railings and a few palm trees and picnic tables. It would have been lovely – if it wasn't undergoing renovation. We pondered if we had been in a hotel over the duration of our relationship that wasn't undergoing renovation – the only one we could think of was in Venice, but then the entire city was undergoing renovation. We decided it was fine and were happy with what we had.

We headed off into the city to meet with the oldest son and go to the husband's favourite music store. Surprisingly, we didn't buy a thing. Lunch was a pretty good Caesar salad, although the husband's burger was apparently awful. Then more shopping. The new Goth shop in the city had nothing for us so we hopped onto a tram to go to Brunswick Street. At the next Goth shop I bought a hairclip which I can't use because I had my hair cut short last week and a make-up compact which I can't use because my current pressed powder is rectangle and the new compact is round. The son told us that when he tells people his parents are Goths they look confused and ask "isn't that a phase you grow out of when you turn 20?"

After heading back to the hotel for a rest and a shower and to glam-up we attempted to meet my friends for after work drinks but were completely befuddled by the trains and peak hour chaos so decided to give it a miss and go for dinner instead. We chose a Korean restaurant, which was ordinary. They were playing Air Supply and we couldn't decide exactly how bad it was that we not only knew the songs but some of the lyrics.

There was a huge queue outside the Metro, where Opeth were playing, and it seemed to be composed entirely of young, long haired boys having a shouting competition. I asked the bouncer if there was a second queue for old people as I couldn't possibly join those children over there it would just be humiliating. He said "no". I tried to reason with him but quickly realised I was wasting my time.

We went around the corner to a bar for a glass of wine to while away the 15 minutes before the Metro opened. The cheapest glass was $10.50 so we thought why not just get a bottle? Why not indeed. Because there was not a single bottle on the list for less than $100, most of them being several hundred, and even one bottle for $10,500. The waitress asked how we were going with the wine list and I replied "it's highly amusing", she looked down her nose at me and said "I'll get you some water". The $10.50 glass of merlot was very nice and while we were drinking and wondering who the hell pays $10,500 for a bottle of wine, why, and if it could ever possible be worth it. The man at the table next to us finished his drink and bolted. Usually I would be disgusted at such uncouth behaviour, but after the derision from the snooty waitress I just laughed, suggested we do the same then dealt with the disapproving looks from the husband (15 years in hospitality - he doesn't take kindly to disrespecting waiting staff).

So we eventually wandered into the Metro, to be confronted by a sign announcing that the support band was Virgin Black and I momentarily added my wails to the ongoing shouting competition. I can't stand Virgin Black. Their music is boring, unoriginal, self indulgent waffle. I was not happy.

We managed to get a good spot on the balcony and we waited. I heckled Virgin Black as loudly and as obnoxiously as I could. I had a small amount of support from people around me – apparently Virgin Black had supported Opeth at a previous gig and had been booed for the entire time they were on stage. Mercifully their set was short. But by the time Opeth started it was late; I was very tired and had perhaps indulged in a tad too much wine. I sat on the floor and rested my head against the railing. Eventually the husband woke me and we left. He was disappointed in the music, only one original band member remained - he said it was like watching a cover band.

The next morning we were woken by workmen hammering in the courtyard and then our hangovers hammering in our heads. Once out in the world the yellow hurty thing in the sky made us feel worse.

By evening we had recovered significantly and glammed-up again for our night out at The Burlesque Hour. What a hoot! We got splattered with milk and well and truly entertained. The only drawback being that neither the husband nor I can now get the song Total Eclipse of the Heart out of our heads.


Afterwards we found a Schezuan restaurant and gave our mouths and stomachs third degree chilli burns with some of the best food I have eaten for a long time. I pondered on how all the regular endorphin producing activities like skydiving, vigorous exercise, child birth etc only upset me but a good chilli meal – without fail – leaves me feeling elatedly happy. It was a lovely end to a hectic but thoroughly enjoyable weekend.


Back at the hotel we discovered that a mob of teenagers had moved in, were unsupervised and had decided to party all night. We would have gone out and yelled at them but the husband saw signs of ICE usage so we stayed in our room for fear of being stabbed. When we were leaving the next morning I took the "Do Not Disturb" sign off their door and threw it in a pot plant. It was a petty act, but the thought of them being woken by housekeeping amused me.

So now we return to the world of Blandberra, of work and of parenting. Are we too old to go to a death metal gig? Are we too old to stay up drinking all night? Are we too old to dress as we do? Absolutely. Will we ever stop? Absolutely not.