Farewell Flummery
So many goodbyes, Auf Wiedersehen Pets and toodle-pips! From my Festival of Farewells last week, to dinner at the yummy Harvest and various drinky-poo-poos, it's time to head to my hometown for the last hurrah.
Today I'm flying high with Sir S in a little red Virgin plane to the City of Churches, for the final round of "byieees" with various locals. Another element of our mission is to relocate our pussykins, Grandmaster Flash, to his retirement villa in legoland suburbia. No more will he have to cower under the thunder of low-flying planes and meow plaintively during the infamous Pea and Ham Pause; no more will the cross-eyed Siamese cat of the Back Lane serenade him from the balcony with its shrilly caterwauling, sneak into the house and hump his favourite cushion at an awkward moment.
Instead, the Grandmaster can savour the acreage of space in my parents' home: two spare rooms, a rumpus room, and - gosh - his own study. What more could a grumpy black-and-white cat desire (besides more cushions for his harem?)
My time in Adelaide will be filled with high society and glamorous gala evenings and other divine things, including:
* buying my fave coffee and marinated ricotta/mushrooms/olives from the sumptuous Central Markets;
* swanning about Rundle Street and getting squiffed at the Exeter (Excreter) and Crown and Anchor (Cranker) hotels, plus a brief sojourn to the Apothecary for absinthe adventures;
* entertaining relatives at the relly-bash function rooms of choice, the Golden Grove Tavern bistro, with the best all-you-can-eat salad bar since Sizzler (including dubious chocolate mousse);
* bracing myself for a night of pagan rock and rugby (in that order) starting with Sprial Dance and Inkubus Sukkubus (a four hour show with 30 minutes interval - almost like a Bollywood short film festival, minus choreographed outbursts of song and dance from the punters, bouncers and cleaning staff) and then All Blacks v South Africa, where I will swoon over five-second shots of Doug Howlett fiddling with his heavenly curls on the sidelines.
Then it's whizz-bang back to Sydney for three days of packing hysteria before I go up-diddly-up and crash-land in Osaka, sushi-side.
Most importantly, there is a mere 11 more sleeps until Brett Anderson's Fringe.
Today I'm flying high with Sir S in a little red Virgin plane to the City of Churches, for the final round of "byieees" with various locals. Another element of our mission is to relocate our pussykins, Grandmaster Flash, to his retirement villa in legoland suburbia. No more will he have to cower under the thunder of low-flying planes and meow plaintively during the infamous Pea and Ham Pause; no more will the cross-eyed Siamese cat of the Back Lane serenade him from the balcony with its shrilly caterwauling, sneak into the house and hump his favourite cushion at an awkward moment.
Instead, the Grandmaster can savour the acreage of space in my parents' home: two spare rooms, a rumpus room, and - gosh - his own study. What more could a grumpy black-and-white cat desire (besides more cushions for his harem?)
My time in Adelaide will be filled with high society and glamorous gala evenings and other divine things, including:
* buying my fave coffee and marinated ricotta/mushrooms/olives from the sumptuous Central Markets;
* swanning about Rundle Street and getting squiffed at the Exeter (Excreter) and Crown and Anchor (Cranker) hotels, plus a brief sojourn to the Apothecary for absinthe adventures;
* entertaining relatives at the relly-bash function rooms of choice, the Golden Grove Tavern bistro, with the best all-you-can-eat salad bar since Sizzler (including dubious chocolate mousse);
* bracing myself for a night of pagan rock and rugby (in that order) starting with Sprial Dance and Inkubus Sukkubus (a four hour show with 30 minutes interval - almost like a Bollywood short film festival, minus choreographed outbursts of song and dance from the punters, bouncers and cleaning staff) and then All Blacks v South Africa, where I will swoon over five-second shots of Doug Howlett fiddling with his heavenly curls on the sidelines.
Then it's whizz-bang back to Sydney for three days of packing hysteria before I go up-diddly-up and crash-land in Osaka, sushi-side.
Most importantly, there is a mere 11 more sleeps until Brett Anderson's Fringe.
posted by Miss Ember at 12:01 pm
2 Comments:
You forgot to mention your new Glamourpuss bag! Are you bringing your glam glamourpuss swimmers to Japan?
x
Ahh, sweet sweet Excreter.
Personally, I think you should get in an evening Chez Le Mars also, and have an honorary dirty dancing sesh with me there. Will be the last time for a while, after all...*sob*
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