Thursday went to housesit at my parents’ house. Good Friday went to Boyfriend’s family lunch for smoked cod (ewww: his mum and I had regular fillets) mash potato and steamed carrots and peas. How Aussie, eh?
Anyway, they all either forgot and/or figured I’d be lifting my ‘no chocolate for a year’ ban for Easter, which meant they gave me a World of Chocolate. Lovely of them, truly lovely, but fuck man, there was soooo much chocolate around.
BUT! Now I have officially done the Annual Pagan Orgy of Chocolate (aka ‘Easter’) sans chocolate, I reckon the rest of this year will be fucking easy. W00t fucken w00t.
Anyway, it was a fun day; his family are quite cool (there’s the usual tension of having to behave myself, but yeah, I’m lucky that ‘the inlaws’ are so nice).
Friday night we saw Dylan Moran, sniper-nuzzled (I couldn’t help it! Her jumper was so nuzzleable), and saw Ross Noble.
Moran was great, relaxed delivery, very Black Books. Ross Noble? Well, great, exactly what you expect from him (though maybe he was a tad nastier than previous years, which was interesting and funny) the only problem was Boyfriend and I were both so fucking tired, towards the end of his whopping 2.5 hour show, we were a little over it. (We almost fell asleep in the taxi. Don’t you love it when the only motivation for not dozing off is the fear you’ll wake up in the middle of Sunbury with a bleeding anus?)
Saturday we got our flu injections, went to the farmer’s market and spent the rest of the day watching DVDs and being hermits. Lovely.
Sunday more of the same until my friend Dave (wot’s from Metal City) came over, we recorded some podcasts and then he and I went to Rodriguez. It was great to hear the songs live, songs I never thought I’d hear in concert. The crowd, however, were shitful, music nerds and old people who have no idea about concert etiquette. And whistlers! Fucking whistlers everywhere.
Detour: I hate whistling. When people whistle a tune, it makes me mighty stabby. LET ALONE people who let out shrill, whooping whistles at concerts, piercing my eardrum. Die! Diiiie!
Anyway, well worth going, despite Rodriguez being ranty and unbelievably frail. Also, he didn’t play my second favourite song of his, ‘Hate Street Dialogue’. Still, it was great. My only regret is that we didn’t record Dave and I telling Boyfriend about the concert: Dave’s impressions of the old, old, old Rodriguez spacing out, ranting and being helped to get his guitar on had me in stitches.
Today Boyfriend’s working so I have some loose ends to tie before his birthday tomorrow.
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