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.
All tagged Travel
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.
And this is the magic of Kelly’s stuff, isn’t it?
Our lives – all of us – track along, filled with times and events and things and stuff and interactions and conversations and arguments and sights, sounds and smells.
Most of us, the overwhelming majority, don’t notice these points along our personal timelines. They’re not notable, they just are.
Paul Kelly notices them, though.
Which means I don’t think about London much anymore.
I mean, when it comes up part of me hears the echo of that longing to be there, amongst the history, stories and life.
(And the strawberries. Greatest strawberries I’ve ever had)
But it’s a fleeting attack of wondering.
We made our choice when confronted with that junction - left to London, right to Melbourne.
One of my favourite things about my runs to Maryborough – besides the biscuits and finding crumbs in my shirt on the long drive home, with an embarrassed smile and lick of the thumb to get them all – is the drive.
It sits between Bendigo and Ballarat, so it’s off the main highways.
Then you drill down into the lyrics and you realise the boppy tune is all about the dangers of a night out. The thin line between fun and a punch in the face. The risks that the local constabulary could pose when you’ve had a skinful and lost your primary faculties: