We've had a houseful of interstate visitors. About a third of the Hobart band Hey Mook plus wives and hangers on arrived on Thursday after work and the last of them left around lunch time today. It was so much fun and I'm feeling a little fragile. Panadol and coffee have not made up for lost sleep and three days of saying yeah, I'll go to bed early tonight and then people come over or come home and there's drinking and smoking and talking till well past the hour. And this morning five hours later, there was an energetic Grace standing her cot yelling, hello, hello, hellooo. As if to say get up you lazy mummy. Or daddy, because when she saw it was me, she must have thought it was a work day and she wanted daddy which would then mean it wasn't a work day. And so we had our first earsplitting tanty for the day. As you do.
Anyway, back to the fun times. On Thursday night, Grace went to stay with Nana and we went to see Wilco play at the Palais. Owing to a mix up with taxis we got over the other side of the river just in time to grab a maccas. Now I remember why we don't eat it. But the fast food experience was a surreal fit with the night and we made it to our seats just as the band began to play. The opening was a corker, big loud wall of noise stuff. Not the sort of music I associate with Wilco at all. And indeed the whole performance I felt I was listening to a soundtrack from my life, only rocking right out. I did take some pictures, which I felt really self conscious about, because there seemed to a flash going off or an led screen somewhere the whole time and it just seems kind of rude. Our visitors thought that the Melbourne audience was a bit stilted, or to put it in Tasmanian, had their heads up their arses. Still, a fine time was had by all. Especially me. It was just way too exciting being out at night with a big pile of people.
Afterwards we hailed one of those minivan taxis and went to a Brunswick street bar where I further explored the combination of medication and beer, inhaled a lot of passive smoke and had a little sleep on G's shoulder before waking up again. It was still hours to bed time. When Grace returned home from Nana's on Friday morning, she was a little taken aback by all the strange people crowding round the sunroom table and making their beds in unusual places (at least no-one slept in the shed, although Mr Herbert wanted to pitch a tent in the backyard, but luckily he found somewhere else to stay). Grace quickly found her feet and zoomed about saying hello and watching what was going on and getting away with all manner of scampiness. The rest of Friday was filled with girlie lunch, shopping, challenging shrink appointment, lots of talking, take away curry that was far too brightly colured to be good for you, more talking and drinking and smoking. And from then on it's all a bit of a blur of sensible parent moments and mookish chaos.
There's been coming and going, eating and drinking. Mornings and afternoons. Lots of music sessions in the lounge room. On Saturday night before her bed time, Grace sat next to me on the couch and listened to an awesome practice, her eyes big and darting between the three guitars. My favourite was Don't go in the rock and roll river with your boots on, which in song has tricky phrasing and a very catchy lilt. It could be about the way I'm feeling now or it could have whole other meanings to be revealed in due time. I would have let Grace listen to the 3CR radio show but she was fast asleep. As I should be. You can see the whole thing in pictures here if you really want, but that's probably really only interesting for mooks. Instead, do youself a favour and go listen to the songs at mooksinspace, Drive me Home being another of my all time favourites. Now I really must go to bed because the weekend is over. Sigh. But man, it was good to swim in that river again. Even if it was just a little paddle.