October’s eve

My husband stated he thought the whole week had been slightly off. I tried not to dwell on the comment while patiently awaiting the arrival of our late night Campari spritzes.

Upon reflection, from leaving the house, to awaiting the arrival of the delayed 232 bus that subsequently caught a telegraph pole and lost a wing mirror; the odds did seem to be stacked against a fun filled evening.

Prior to hearing the graunching noise of metal against timber, I was considering the logistics of our bus, ferry, and walk journey; would we run out of time to be able to get something to eat.

We made up time by going against our frugal endeavours, taking an Uber X. Of course the roadworks on Grey Street led to us being dropped off way past our South Bank destination. After attempting a fast walk hobble with my dickie right leg while negotiating phone wielding zombie pedestrians we were embraced by the familiar surroundings of Julius Pizzeria.

We gladly snuggled into our spots in the worst seats in the bar while the maître d’ apologetically explained the lack of tables was due to school holidays, the ballet, and the show we were going to see.

Thoroughly enjoying perfectly prepared shaved mortadella with crumbed stuffed olives followed by a shared mixed mushroom pizza and rocket, Parmesan salad, we had sufficient time for a bottle of Soave, ricotta dumplings with Nutella and fiore de latte gelato and espresso martinis.

A ten minute walk delivered us to the Brisbane Convention and Exhibition Centre. Purchasing a bottle of water over sauv blanc being the solitary white wine choice, we headed for our seats via the furthest door into the auditorium.

To my left an Amazonian sized person wearing black top and knee flesh revealing faded jeans was reading a book. They appeared to be with others to their left. The two seats to my husband’s right were unoccupied until moments before the performance commenced when a scantily clad wisp of a girl accompanied by a Nebuchadnezzar like blond bearded chap took their seats.

In keeping with the ‘imaginary living room Olympian theme’, a rainbow sequinned leotard wearing Jonathan van Ness thrilled us with somersaults, splits, and jetes across a gigantic rainbow flag coloured gymnast mat. We were hooked!

While Jonathan exited to loosen their genitalia and change costume, we were left in the hands of an English person whose content included jokes about their gran’s dementia that poured icy water on our elated spirits.

We had lost interest by the time Jonathan reappeared in a short black sequinned dress and matching capelet. The side view we had of the stage was okay however, I had difficulty following the mostly US focussed monologue. It may have helped if the screen above the stage had been used to display closeups of Jonathan speaking.

My husband’s interest was piqued by the righthand waif’s apparent cerebral connection to Jonathan as she reacted to their every movement and punchline. Predictably they gave a standing ovation at the end of the show.

Meanwhile the lefthand Amazonian spent the performance scrunching their soft drink bottle. Once empty they bounced it bonk, bonk, bonk on their knees. Would it have been rude of me to grab it from their hand to discard it?

We did not need to rush home to Stan as he was having a sleepover, so we headed across Victoria Bridge, picked up bags of cashews and roasted almonds, and strolled to Burnett Lane for a few roadies at Death and Taxes.

After queuing for what felt like an eternity we were seated by the window. A Malvern born (what a small World) waitperson took our order and suggested we should check with fellow patrons before tucking into our snacks as there maybe someone with a high intolerance to nuts in the vicinity. We cautiously opened only the cashews, aren’t they legumes? We were vigilant, no adverse reactions were observed.

The evening wrapped up with an Uber X journey home around 1:00 am.