My Super Fun, Happy Weekend of Joy: Rose Sees Crowded House

Never one to treat myself (other than with wine, cake and a stroll through my mansion), when Ben first suggested I catch Crowded House for a one-off show at the Sydney Opera House for which they were reforming, I thought little of it. “Who me?” I asked, drawing a ciggie from my white tee sleeve and a hand through greasy hair. “I ain’t nothing to nobody, mister. Nothin’ but trouble.”

“’Choo talkin’ ’bout, motherfucka?! You gotta take life by the balls or dey gon’ eat you ’live!” he spat from under dirty dreadlocks. And so it was agreed upon. I would traverse the treacherous skies to Sydney and risk our savings for a chance at joy. And if I was to find a new, better life up there, I could never return and that would also be ok (an unspoken clause which flashed briefly in his eyes).

The truth of the matter is, I bloody love Crowded House and when I realised Ben wasn’t kidding, I didn’t need convincing. When I was 8, my mother started listening to Woodface after the death of a family friend who I adored, so for me this album is emotionally laden. My siblings and I used to sing the more playful tracks together, directing the line, “Here comes Mrs Hairy Legs” to our unkempt mother. I loved Neil Finn’s soulful, somehow savoury voice and came to appreciate the band’s politely suggestive lyrics. While modern songmen will f@#k you in the club, Crowded House ask that you “read me like a book that’s falling down between your knees, please,” striking an improbably chord of chivalrous lust. To summarise their inventive analogies would be to “try to catch the deluge in a paper cup.” They sing of the bliss and torture of domesticity, perfecting the art of making the ordinary extraordinary. They’re just the best you’re gonna get and to argue otherwise would actually be rude, at this point.

The two shows sold out in 2 seconds, but my sister snapped up a Flight Centre package for the two of us and our brother and the time finally came for us to pack our 7kg luggage. Never having brought only carry-on, I took my packing very seriously to avoid a fee (or, you never know - heavy jail term) and even removed unnecessary cards from my purse. My pyjama pants didn’t make the cut but my siblings and I used to share a bath, so I figured it would be nostalgic. Bec and I lamented our abandoned high fashion but agreed it might be lame to be the only people arrested for smuggling in shoes up our butts. As I placed my bags upon the airport scales, shaking with fear and looking for the nearest exit, my perfectionism peaked when the total weight was revealed at 7kg exactly. It seems these scales were provided for our convenience only, however, as no one officially weighed our bags; So, I was traveling to Sydney pantsless while  Bec and Johnny snuck-in their 8.5kg brick sacks! I tried to find somebody to bust them, but the staff seemed more concerned about ‘real security issues,’ whatever that means.

I’d planned a healthy weekend for some demented reason and even told myself, “I won’t need alcohol to have fun." This literally lasted until 10 minutes before boarding when we saw our first bar and couldn’t pass up a beer.. at 9:30am. We drank CC and champagne on the plane and sung “I’m So Fancy” so many times that the other passengers knew t’was so. I pledged our souls to Satan if he’d only crash us on the way home, and we arrived safely in Sydney.

The next point in my notes for this blog was simply, “Johnny eats a pigeon.” Yep, that line jogged the memory! We had lunch (and more booze. Why not?) at one of those skin and bones Chinese joints with the more traditional, scary dishes, and Johnny ordered  sky vermin like a matter of course. When quizzed, the gentleman only answered, “You’ve gotta try everything.” We’re in Sydney, mate, not an exotic country. The poor street bird came out with crispy head and all, which was fortunately not on Johnny’s list to try.

The big event that evening was to be held outdoors with the stage facing the Opera House, and general admission included the steps and standing room – or, ‘old people mosh pit.’ Arriving shortly after the gates opened, we were surprised to find most of the prime seating already taken and found a spot along the front steps. Our view would eventually be obscured by the standing crowd but we realised we’d done quite well as we watched people pour in for hours and fill some out very average positions. Right before show time, a baby boomer dressed wholly in white, like a shining beacon of arseholedom, asked whether she and her daughter could sit between our feet.. I said she was welcome but demonstrated that we wouldn’t be capable of tucking our legs up any higher, and she took the opportunity to sit right on the bottom step and spread her food and drinks across the walkway. Bec was furious that we’d made the effort to arrive early and someone could still squish us in for the rest of the night. She refused to budge her feet, which the entitled woman tried pushing aside, and gave our new friend what my husband has famously termed a ‘Bec look.’ The ladies behind us witnessed this interaction and encouraged Bec to kick White Woman’s drink over. When the old girl managed to do this herself, we were satisfied that justice had been served.  She later shoved through the standing crowd and disrupted some other early patrons, and we were able to sit-dance freely.

The opening act was one Kirin J Callinan, who I’d never seen before but will certainly remember with his tight orange tank and grey slacks combo, dangly earrings and, most notably, magnificent mullet with bleached tips. The music was unusual instrumentally as well as vocally, Kirin speaking some lyrics, singing melodically and occasionally dipping into a deep, metal tone. Thrusting and almost prancing across the stage, we initially wondered, “Where the hell did Crowded House get this guy?!” but were quickly won over by his confident grin, cheeky banter and complete commitment to his unique style. I did have to giggle over his last bizarre, acapella track written from a toddler’s perspective, which he also performed shirtless. I particularly liked Embracism: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_gtwhDklaQ.

We’d enjoyed the supporting act, sure, but when those beautiful bastards Crowded House stepped out (or, ‘the Ch,’ as they’d been named while we waited), the rumble of applause was put to shame by a pandemonium of cheer. They launched straight into Mean to Me, which happens to be my top pick these days, followed directly by my other most played track of late, World Where You Live. It was at this point that I looked up at a twinkling star and thought I could climb into space and happily die. The boys’ voices were still like honey, their energy palpable and their suits a symbol of ongoing professionalism - for indeed, they truly ‘brought it.’ Neil was the stand-out in purple and had a jovial rapport with the crowd to match. He involved his fans by leading us in harmony and it was simply unreal to be singing along in person with my favourite band. They shared that typical Aussie/Kiwi offbeat humour - as we joined in with Neil, Nick called out, “All the Catholics!”

For our concert-going experience to really feel complete, we agreed we’d need to join the standing crowd and made a dash for it close to finish time. Bec squeezed us through the groups while Johnny yelled from the back, “Get closer! You’re a girl, they’ll let you,” and I absorbed all the unimpressed glares from the middle (an innocent hostage, I swear!). I realised we were just like that a-hole who’d pushed in front of us, but it had to be done. (We stopped halfway in, so we were only half bad.) Tim Finn made a surprise appearance at this point and the encore was a perfect selection of Don’t Dream it’s Over & Something So Strong. I felt I was floating on air as my physical body crunched over the plastic bottles and wrappers like popcorn when we left.  

We spent the next day wandering around Elizabeth Bay and laying under fig trees, like people who don’t have any kids. We lost Johnny in a Kings Cross toilet at one point (lengthy dunny stops being his thing, not hooking up with Cross types) and began to wonder if he’d somehow walked off unnoticed. It was one of those always-gross electronic toilets with a big metal door, which Bec noted would at least automatically open after 10 minutes if he was stuck. A mysterious alarm sounded for about 30 seconds, which turned out to be the toilet goer's cue to finish their business. We watched in hysterics as Johnny’s door roll wide open and was followed by his hand trying to close it, again! Oh, man.. Get your shit together, Johnny. Literally. 
We stayed with our cousin Lal and her partner Amshu that night in their beautiful apartment overlooking the bay. Lal had kindly sourced us some bedding, which Johnny chose not to use. He'd planned to blow-up his own mattress when he got back from meeting a friend but we found him sleeping on the flat plastic in the morning, ‘padded’ with 2 sheets. Haha, open-toilet, no-bed Johnny. Lal and Amshu took Bec and I out for Thai and vino and were just bloody lovely hosts, might I add. On the plane home in the morning, we held hands cryin’ like Thelma and Louise, but we landed without a hitch and returned to our lives (changed forever. Long live the Ch!).

First Family Holiday with Our Number One 1 Year Old

Mornington. Where the beaches are plenty and the café life, booming. Perfect spot to have a dalliance.. Or sit outside a motel room while your baby sleeps.  This was the venue of my first family holiday, so whilst there was more structure than dallying, fun was had and memories made.

Day 1.
Arrived at the motel and realised one puny room between the three of us would indeed be a challenge. That problem was yet a distant night terror though, as we tended to our first point of business – showing 1 y.o . James the beach. He’d last seen it at 6 weeks old when his hobbies included screaming and pooing, and as he now loved playing with water, we were excited to see his reaction. Hes been trialing facial expressions which don’t always fit the scene, so I shouldn’t have trusted his look of disgust. Excitement overtook him when we reached the water and he struggled in my arms to splash with hands and toes. We were fully dressed for a look-in, so Mum got sandy and soaked, but this was luckily of no concern to James.
Our day was quickly wrapped with a cuppa and grocery shopping and we returned to that little motel room with a mission to Get a Boy Down. As per the home routine, we fed James first then popped him in the cot where he was instructed to go to sleep happily while we ate our dinner. He misheard the plan, so we spent a speechless meal behind closed curtains pretending we didn’t notice his head popping up 2 feet away, yelling out to us. Ben and I exchanged one of those new-parent looks (which I’m starting to understand will recur for the next 40 years) of, “I have no idea how to stop this,” and after waiting it out another 15, allowed him to hop into bed with us for Operation: Watch Movie.. “Yeeeah,” we whispered. “He’ll just lay back and chill and when he passes out, we’ll watch undisturbed to our hearts’ content.” Or he’ll crawl on the bed and our faces, natter endlessly, push all the laptop buttons and try to unplug it. Riiight! Next plan! The kid went back in the cot while we left the room, as we would at home.. Except there were no other rooms to go to, so we walked up and down the motel driveway in view of the other guests, looking insane (especially since we hip-checked each other while we walked, to amuse ourselves). When the whining stopped, Ben decided, “We’re going out to dinner, tomorrow. I’m not spending another night of our holiday eating a microwaved meal silently in the dark.” On that apt, ridiculous image, we laughed the deranged laughter of tired, relieved, completely bat shit crazy parents.

Day 2.
Our little Water Boy did not know what was coming to him when we took him for a proper go at the beach. He thought the sand was as good as it gets – good for playing and good for eatin’. Ben gave him a spade as a distraction, which he accepted as a giant spoon and after a few scoops to sustain him, he set to work cleaning the beach.  He passed me a twig, a feather and a stone which were really messing the place up (and were handed to me again when accidentally set aside). We earned ourselves a paddle in the shallows and James could not believe how much better the water was than that sand crap. He has taken to throwing himself on his back in excitement and got a bit of a shock with his mouthful of water when he tried this before I could stop him. I whooshed him over the surface like Superman, truly cementing his love for the sea. The classless kid was entranced by his first sight of seagulls which he chased with slow persistence, crawling head-first into the waves. I felt disoriented watching the little red suit and hat from above as he plodded in all directions. When little teeth started chattering, it was time to learn the hell of cleaning sand out of a baby’s butt with cold water. James screamed like I’d dragged someone else’s kid into the toilets and I held him down for a nappy while waiting to be arrested.

Day 3.
They say to eat breakfast like a king, which is something I don’t take lightly. Literally... We stopped at the lovely looking D.O.C. on morning of Day 3 for the explicit purpose of inhaling some bacon, eggs and other sludgy delights. “I’m having poached eggs for once,” I declared (while inspecting manicured nails), “cos I’m tiiiired of sharing scambled with James.” When the menu came, however, we read from an anticlimactic list of paninis and lacklustrely chose the pancetta with fried eggs. Well, son. I am not ashamed to tell ya that that little sanga was one of the best damn breakfasts I’ve ever had. The sunny side eggs were cooked to perfection and the pancetta was quality, salty goodness. I also like how the bread didn’t cut my mouth (like some ‘artisan’ types). I accidentally ordered James the fruitiest fruit toast on the market which sated his little sweet tooth, so everyone was happy.

We perused a mid-week market on Main St after breaky and I stopped for a squiz at a crystal stall. I was tickled to overhear an unabashed request “for something to heal a broken heart and to treat a sleeping disorder, which is a result of that broken heart?” Equally amusing was the stall-keeper’s prompt and confident answer, “Yes, I have this Sleeping Kit, here, which will also help with the broken heart.” Sold! (Her next sale was of a clear quartz leather necklace to me. I love that shit. Not sure if it’ll help my heart but the weight of it hurt my neck, so it did have some effect.)

We visited friends who live nearby in the arvy, enjoying a drink on their spacious deck while James stormed their sandpit and ravaged their toys. He was happily pushing a ride-on along when the slightly older boy, Reeve, tried handing him a truck. He dismissed the toy with a flick of the hand and a grunt, but Reeve missed the signal and tried again. Well, I have never seen such silent contempt from a one-year old as when I witnessed James’s response! He stopped, took the truck from Reeve and, with deliberate, soul-destroying eye-contact, placed it down firmly before continuing on his way. Good god, kid. Make a friend. We were ready to leave and I had James in my arms when sweet little Reeve also gave him a blackberry, which he did accept..  And squish in his hand before rubbing it all over my hand and across my beige bra. Ugh… I saw that coming a mile away and still allowed him to take it. Almost made it out alive. It was interesting to see how far a single blackberry could go, though, I must admit.

Day 4.
There was a time when Ben and I frolicked on the Peninsula as young and free romantics. On our final day, we took James to the place where we were married 5 years ago, the Briars in Mt Martha. We stood in the spot where we exchanged vows and clicked our heels together 3 times, but when we opened our eyes, we were still parents. Nnnnooo, parenthood's alright.. S’pose. It was very lovely sitting in our reception venue, which also functions as a restaurant, and enjoying a cuppa while we reminisced. From there, we were homebound, ready to bask in the memories of family-time from separate rooms of the house.

Ben and our spy kid outside Josephine's, the Briars.