What You Learn - Part one

Today I caught the bus into town. It is interesting what you learn on a bus.

The bus was pretty full. I had to perch on a high narrow seat behind the driver, next to a woman who was reading a magazine.

A few seats back was a very fat man, who I've seen on the bus before. He looks like a big brown balloon, or walnut, and every so often shouts WaahaY!!

The bus radio was playing Billy Joel's Uptown Girl. That alone was a good reason not to have caught the bus. Then it got to the bit that goes oh- oh- oh- OH -oh- OH- oh- oh- oh- OH- oh- oh- oh- oh. I'm sorry that I can't really give you a proper impression of the notes. If I had a pencil and paper, I could, and if you could see the paper. Actually that isn't true, as I can't write music down convincingly. But I'm sure you remember the part.

So, what was I saying? Oh yes. Well I'm sitting behind the driver, right? But he can't see me, there's a barrier between him and me. And the woman next to me is reading a magazine. And Mr Walnut is keeping quiet after a big WaahaY! And I realise my eyebrows are going up and down in time to Billy Joel. Or it might even be the entire top of my head that's doing it. And I'm thinking, waaahay! it's amazing what you learn about yourself on a bus.

SALA Interface

It was yesterday, and very chilly at Glenelg. We were looking for SALA things to go to. You could see where they might be, because someone had wrapped the street trees in red and white polkadot jersey material, to mark the venues. Although this turned out to be misleading, because half the time there was nothing there but the tree.

Upstairs at Dymocks, it was warm. People had wine glasses in their hands, and there were dips and crackers and cheese. There was art on the wall, and decorative scarves.

A fashion parade, the highlight of the launch, began. A tightly black suited man with a tightly black plaited ponytail introduced the works of the artist who had produced the decorative scarves and wraps. Her work, he said, shows Japanese and Scandinavian influences, and also, he added, elements of the Portugese fado.

One after another three ladies emerged, wearing elaborate wool and silk creations round their shoulders, each of which had a name, such as Snow Queen, The Kimberleys, Autumn Landscape, and Dog's Breakfast. I am not entirely sure about the last.

The ladies came out through a door, stepped behind the guitarist who was sitting next to a high bunch of spiky painted aboriginal sticks in a pot, ducked carefully under the sticks, twirled, and completed the circle by going back through the door, to a smattering of applause.

I noticed, opposite me, beyond the sticks, a little girl, of about six or seven. She had the same expression on her face as I knew I had on mine. Our heads were slightly tilted to one side, our chins tucked in just a little, so that we looked up and out solemnly from under our eyebrows at the ladies in their scarves.

And yet, I don't think she could have been thinking what I was thinking.