Dragon Shoes

Last week of my annual leave.  Kids back in school in a few days.  Counting down like a NASA engineer, I am.  Master Ten starts hip hop dancing lessons tomorrow night, so as well as purchasing his new school shoes and sports shoes, I had to get a pair of black canvas shoes.  Found heaps of such shoes, but fuck-all in his size.  I had to make do with something slightly different, and will beg forgiveness when I take him to the studio tomorrow night, all excited and aquiver (him, not me).  It's only for the first term, and the concert is not until the end of the year.  Any parent or guardian or just plain unlucky person who has ever taken an excitable ten-year-old shoe shopping will know the sorrow and aggravation that accompanies these outings.  Factor into account every other kid in town having shoes bought at the same time, and you've got true torture.  My son picks up every gauche piece of frippery he can find and requests it be purchased.  I say, 'No.'  Eventually I am saying, 'No!  No!  No!' over and over, and sounding like a robotically demented terrier.  In one crowded store (and by the way, can the curly-haired dude in the plaid-patterned shirt buy some deodorant?  Seriously, man, you stink) as I stood perusing the shelves, I heard my son call me.  I turned to see him sitting on the chair, with a pair of lilac sequinned ballet slippers on his feet.  He caressed one of them, and asked, 'How about these, Mum?  They're fine and faaaaabulous!'  Between snorts of laughter, I sternly told him to put them back.  Owing to the dearth of canvas shoes his size, and the fact that he's well, HIM, it took us ages to finalise the expedition and return home with the promised meat pies for the household's lunch.  My husband enquired incredulously to our tardiness. My exasperated response was, 'YOU take the little jackass shopping next time!'  You know what, when I die and if the Devil finds out I'm dead before I get to Heaven, I'm going to say, 'Shove it up your firey, coal-dagged arsehole, Satan.  On 24 January 2015 I took my son shopping for three pairs of shoes, and consider my time in Hell well and truly served.'

Saw Dragon at a local pub on Saturday night.  I dressed up but made sure I wore comfortable shoes.  I looked around at the other patrons, and thought of those days when I would see The Hoodoo Gurus or Icehouse or Boom Crash Opera or Whatever Eighties Aussie Pub Staple at Selinas, many years (and many kilos) ago.  Like then, I still can't really afford to drink too much (and it was oppressively hot on Saturday, so one would be a fool to have imbibed anything other than water - which was mainly my drink of choice that night, anyway).  I did fork over an extortionate amount for a vodka/lime/soda, and thought almost wistfully to those nights when my cousins and I would purchase bottles of Strongbow Cider and sit on Coogee Beach, getting our booze fix, before wandered into the venue for the main act.  I recall visiting the ladies at Selinas one night, to discover a couple were having a knee-trembler in one of the cubicles. As far as I am aware, there was no such debauchery taking place at the gig I attended on Saturday.  But at least unlike Selinas, I didn't get knocked over.  I was at a Gurus gig at Selinas in 1989, and some fuckheads behind my cousin and I decided to slam dance, and almost knocked me out of my uncomfortable shoes (I've since learned my lesson as you can tell).  My cousin was a bit unwell, so I decided to take her outside, but on my way I gave the slam dancing moron a good hard shove that almost knocked him over.  As abovementioned, I was quite skinny in my early twenties, but anger is a good reinforcement when it comes to physically asserting oneself.  I also complained to the bouncer, but doubt anything was done. 

But back to Saturday's gig.  Owing to my monetary status (and I'm trying to stay healthy), I am guessing I was the only sober patron in the audience.  This can prove problematic when trying to watch and dance a little - I was down the front - and having some tone deaf lurching idiot beside you swaying his arms as he drools, 'Take me to the Ay-pril sun in Kyew-BAH, woe-oh-OH!'  Fuck me sideways, he sounded awful.  I did not appreciate his arm being casually slung around me, either.  Oh, and I know it's not the same without Marc Hunter, but Mark Williams is a good singer and performer, and he did a great job as the front man.  They didn't do 'Love's Not Enough For You', which I always liked.  Some don't, because Marc had left band at that stage, but I always liked it. I remember it on 'Countdown', and Todd Hunter in the sunnies.  He was on the stage on Saturday, but instead of sunnies, it was age-related prescription spectacles, and instead of that cloud of black hair, he's a silver fox.  I gave the band a clap as they were walking by, and he thanked me.  I felt so star-struck.

Now, speaking of gig, the protagonist in my latest books attends many of them after becoming the driver for the world's most accurate Marc Bolan impersonator (so accurate is this impersonator, he doesn't drive, just like the real Bolan).  So please check it out at this link where you can read first chapter, and hopefully buy it so I can continue to buy my son shoes: http://www.zeus-publications.com/silver_studs_and_sabre_teeth.htm.