Sure, I’m gone, but you’re all still here and you have each other, and you have what we had while I was there. That’s something to celebrate, and what better way to celebrate than dancing to this rolled gold, 100% classic?
Well, I didn’t take it seriously, took the mickey out of the choir leader incessantly and fell for her best friend.
Joining that choir was an eventful decision, if ultimately rendered embarrassing by my lack of tone, musical ability or willingness to play within a team.
It also eventful because another member of the choir was the only other girl I’ve ever dated.
But I stand by my position – honing a single line of text is so devilishly hard that anybody that tries deserves support.
And anybody that masters it deserves our awe.
Here are a few lines that leave me in awe every time I hear them.
Perhaps it was the time I saw it, perhaps it was my low expectations, perhaps it was the hunger-making scent of whatever he had in that brown paper package, but either way, I was, all of a sudden, very excited to see Paris.
It also immediately takes me back to that musty, timber-lined hall.
The rows of uncomfortable, folding vinyl seats.
The gold lettering on the plaques hanging up near the windows.
The dusty, aged blue curtains on the stage.
Because, for every wonderful element of living here – like being entirely confident I won’t be shot tomorrow, or hot running water, or free commerce, or an educated population, or speed limits, or sewerage, or Bunning’s sausages, or the MCG, or the view from Darling Harbour train station, or the ‘cool change’.
But still, I persevere, riding the cycles between active determination and regretful sloth, with a ready acceptance that if only exercising were as enjoyable as a minimum-chips and couple of dim sims then maybe it’d be easier to get onto that treadmill.