Sunday Night

It is Sunday night. Le Bon David and the VeloDrone are walking down North Terrace admiring the Northern Lights. All the grand public buildings are lit up in a magical fashion, and look like story book illustrations.

Ooh, says the VeloDrone. I like that one. See the little gnome!

Vello, that is kitsch. I'm surprised at you! says Le Bon David. Now this one is much better. See, the Museum is covered in grapes.

Yes that is more classy, agrees The VeloDrone. Brrr. I'm cold. What's happened to the hot weather? A-choo!

Come on Vello! I want to see the Artists' Bar and the Spiegeltent down by the Torrens. Stop sneezing!

I can't help it. I think I'm coming down with something.

They cross King William Street, and stop to admire Parliament House which is, inexplicably, lit only at the back, and the Festival Theatre, where it appears to be interval for Le Grand Macabre. At last they reach Elder Park.

There it is, down by the river, says Le Bon David. Look at all those screens.

A-choo! says Vello, buttoning his coat. There's too much water and too much wind. Let's go home.

No, says Le Bon David. I want to go up on that jetty.

They walk out onto the jetty. They look down over the sides of the jetty and see people sitting in wobbly boats on the grass, near a fence made of illuminated bicycles. The people are few. The people look cold. At one end of the grassed enclosure is the Spiegeltent. Sounds of gaiety are coming from the under the closed doors.

We can't go in. says The VeloDrone, it's full. So let's go home.