Monday, March 29, 2010

A mixed sort of day yesterday.

Tides and winds indicated a set of beaches east of home so that way I headed, with the thought nagging like an itch inside my head that there were other possibilities. Nevertheless we pressed on and after several dead ends and the tide working against us, Richie and I settled on a very fun left hand bank that delivered the goods for a couple of hours after we spent a couple of hours trying to find it.

The net result was tantalisingly good, and frustrating at the same time as there was that little... "if only we'd come here first".

Late afternoon I settled down to watch the Australian Grand Prix on the box, an odd sensation where we live as, while I watch it on the telly, I can hear it out the door. The track is less than a kilometre from home.

Add to that the fact that an F18 doing a fly by overhead just prior to start time and there is no way the event can be ignored. Great if you're a race fan but those with timid pets beware.

Come the evening and I went off to see Andrew Kidman sing and play live with his Brown Birds of Windy Hill, to his film compilation Last Hope.

It was great to finally meet him as he'd been a great moral support to me via the phone in the early days of Musica Surfica, a lovely guy, a generous one, and a man surprisingly self effacing. I had imagined someone much more comfortable talking to an audience, but whether he was tired or this was his natural way, it was just a quiet banter introducing songs, and a gentle end, at the end, to the show.

Afterwards we managed a chat, it being good for both of us to finally shake hands and say hello.

I have to say the guy has an absolutely brilliant voice and musicality. I'd love to see him climb to deserved heights and get some exposure beyond the world that knows him for his wonderful films.

Pics for the day... a couple of walks back from dead ends, shot one of a dad and his kids, the wetsuited lad frustrated by the lack of quality at the spot we'd just checked. I hope he eventually scored, at least as good as our pot of blue at the end of an imaginary rainbow.

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