So my darlings, when last we saw each other, I had been ensnared by those dastardly mucous elves and they had finally managed to grab a hold of David as well. The revolting but highly effective hallucinogenic cough syrup was flowing freely, the throat lozenges were being consumed in epic quantities, the fire was ... well... fired up, and we were settling in for the weekend.
David was pretty much out for the count so Saturday passed without incident if you don't count me falling over a log and colouring myself a deep aubergine in some interesting places. I spent most of the day on the couch and managed to read all of The Colour of Magic and half of Light Fantastic [ next one in the series ]
I was seriously considering whether or not I should pass on the 'Made In Ballarat' concert for Sunday... partly because of the unstoppable paroxysms of coughing - always embarrassing at these events - and partly that whole maternal thing of not wanting to leave David when he's unwell. Yes, I do realise that he's nearly 30, but in terms of being able to communicate how badly he is feeling, think average toddler. My head was saying that Graham the Carer knows him and is a fabulous bloke, but that whole mother thing was kicking in big time.
Brilliantly timed phone calls from Corrie in Melbourne and BFF Beryl in Tassie then convinced me that I would regret not going and that no one would accuse me of dereliction of maternal duty for doing so
... and of course on top of all that, on top of wanting to see Corrie, and the concert, there was the long looked for chance to finally meet Alice, frequent commenter on this 'ere blog who was driving down from interstate for the occasion.
Saturday night saw David and I engaged in a contest to see who would be first to cough up a lung. Not a lot of sleep was had.
Sunday morning dawned and as I struggled out to feed the goats, followed by 5 fairly vocal felines, I was starting to rethink my decision to go.
I felt ... and looked ... like something that the cats would've refused to drag in.
...but by 1pm by the grace of a hot shower and large quantities of every cough and cold medication known to humankind, I was dressed, presentable - sort of - and ready to drive nearly 100 km over country roads. Probably just as well the local constabulary were not in evidence. I'm not entirely sure that huge volumes of Hallucinogenic Cough Syrup does a lot for one's driving skills.
Fast forward to Ballarat and me walking out of the car park and as I glance at the passenger of the oncoming car, she looks vaguely familiar. It's Alice... I think... not sure what with the HCS and all ... but I smile anyway ... hoping that it is, in fact, she and not someone entirely different who is going to worry about the strange purple haired woman grinning inanely in her direction.
I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow of the concert which was very good and very long.
Just take it that they were all in sparkling form, especially Mr Hobson
who perhaps overdid things a bit as evidenced by a dreadful crack in his voice at the end of the last number : the beautiful duet " Au fond du temple saint" from Pearl Fishers.
This was sung with Roger Lemke another Ballarat born and bred opera singer but of the baritonal persuasion.
I had a very strong sense of deja vu [ wish I knew how to make this beastie do those little french accent thingies ] ...
The very first time I heard David Hobson sing was at an Australian Pops Orchestra concert back in about 1989, also with Mr Lemke ... they sang that very same duet and I was hooked.
there was some general milling around in the foyer afterwards and before we all headed out into the rapidly darkening streets there was opportunity for some photographic efforts.
THIS is what I look like on no sleep, half an inch of polyfilla and a truckload of modern pharmaceuticals:
first with Corrie and then with Alice
and trust me, these were the GOOD photos !!