Roots and Shoots

I recently had the good fortune to spend a long weekend in Brisbane. It was to be my ‘last hurrah’ through Brisbane to visit my friends and history before following my wife on a two year posting to the frozen wilds of Canada. Between the weekend and the coming C (as in Canda) change, I decided to restart my blog. Here goes…

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I knew I was back in Canberra because the air was 10 degrees colder and the people were 10 years older (and generally less attractive at that). What a great weekend it had been. The people, the beers, the people, the games, the people. Best write it up before the fog steals it away.

Day one started by meeting up with Nick and Paul at the airport before the three of us and all our luggage piled into a very small rental car so that Paul could draw upon his wildly out of date knowledge of Brisbane to drive us to the pub. Thankfully, despite all the other ways in which Brisbane has changed, Caxton St has not moved and was located with just one call to HQ asking them to consult Google for directions. We took up battle stations at Kitty O’Shae’s and proceeded to drink, laugh and catch up with the many old friends that wandered in and out as best suited their schedule. It was especially nice to see short Michelle. Given our history it’s a wonder that we even speak, let alone talk in any depth and amuse the hell out of each other.

Anyway, Kitty’s was chosen for a very simply reason (no, not that it is next door to the Velvet Cigar). Kitty’s is an easy walk around the corner to the Brisbane Arts Theatre which has been home to a production of He Died With a Felafel in His Hand. This was their last show and it was tremendous fun. Especially as my friend and former housemate Arian had been cast as JB and Castle Blokenstein (a share house I founded and presided over for a number of years) had been used as the name of one of the first of the sharehouses he transits. Despite association with several characters in the Brisbane tales, I had never seen the stage production. Many beers, 13 of my closest mates and a seemingly bottomless bag of warm flaccid snakes made for perfect company.

Much as I enjoyed the show and appreciated the ‘updates’, I suspect that future productions of Felafel would benefit from being reframed as a historical piece. There has been a pretty comprehensive paradigm shift beneath the surface of student share houses. Sure, students are still sharing accommodation, but it’s a new generation taking new drugs in a new economic, urban and university environment. Talking about a ‘plasma TV’ instead of just a TV feels a bit tacked on. Likewise, the elements of the show dealing with homosexuality are, I suspect, very dated. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to reframe. Maybe start with JB talking to his son, who is about to head off to uni, about life ‘back in the day’. Anyway, just my 2cents over an issue I suspect was well considered by Birmo, Simon and Girl Clumsy when they decided to update the stage show for the most recent production.

Following the show we hung out in the courtyard for awhile, chatting amiably with various theatre goers (including a brief discussion with Girl Clumsy about the difference between US & Oz gangbangs), until finally piling back into Paul’s little rental and heading for the deep, deep South of Brisbane to Humph’s house. Humph had cunningly convinced his wife and child to leave town for the weekend, so arriving late and having a few more wee glasses poured from the more interesting bottles of the highest shelf was no issue. Eventually, I folded myself into the couch’s warm and loving embrace and let my mind drift away into the warm night air.