In the mid '00s, I worked at a certain statutory authority (won't say who, but I will say that once you work in public service departments that are answerable to a Minister, you start to appreciate statutory authorities, who are answerable to "Parliament" and therefore don't have to give blowjobs to ministers as part of their role - in fact they can deliver six of the best and demand that Parliament beg for more) and met one of the members of what is currently called The Taylor Project. At that time the band was called Because We Can, and clearly their ability at naming bands has not improved at all. Thankfully, there is an almost perfect inverse correlation between how good a band's name is and how good the band are. The Taylor Project have an album out, and a Myspace. You should look them up and see them.
Last time I was in Ballarat was the last time I saw Uncle Brian alive. At that time, I weighed 90kg and had been single for a piddling 12 months - little did I know that my vow to not sleep with anyone for any reason other than clitoral (in other words, only because I'm horny - not because I'm lonely, bored, depressed or any other excuse) was going to collapse into a tragic punchline. I was 28 and I decided to go on a roadtrip, said roadtrip eventually taking me to the George 2000 Hotel, where the concierge/waitress/bouncer was legally obliged to warn me about the over-28's disco downstairs. My plans to go to bed early were disrupted by the fact that, actually, the over-28's disco downstairs was every bit as obnoxious as the concierge/waitress/bouncer had led me to believe, so I went to the movies at the lovely old cinema next door. I chose Bridget Jones' Diary.
See "tragic punchline" above.
The next morning I caught up with Uncle Brian and Auntie Maisie - strictly speaking my mother's aunt and uncle. We hit a few op shops, where I picked up a goodly selection of trashy novels, including Paula Christian's excellent Love Is Where You Find It, and went for coffee. I had a lovely time, and Brian kicked off a few years later at quite a decent old age. It's a nice way to remember him.
I would just like to say to Chris whom I spoke to at the Espy on New Year's Eve - I wasn't politely giving you the flick, I gave you my Facebook details because I figured it was less invasive than giving out a phone number. I swear I'm not mad at you for squashing me the first time we met.
In which Sarah and Liz somehow make grinding inevitability sound sexy.
Frank Bongiorno, Of Tinnies and Sheilas, Inside Story, 02/01/09