It’s just not afraid to be likeable? Brisbane is okay with enjoying itself.
And it’s a totally manageable size. No need to feel swamped by the hordes, and yet, you couldn’t really say you’re in the boondocks.
Take this River City Rollers thing what I went to the other stormy, rainy, humid, beautiful one day torrential the next evening night. About 60 or so nice folk. More than you could fit in your loungeroom, enough to make a very appreciable din, less than you’d call a mob but more than enough to create a feel of being at a fight for your right to.
And, in the likeable sort of a vein, the whole thing is hosted in some lovely big, white warehouse design studio with affordable beverages (no ginger beer, though I shall say) and attractive toilet art to complement the local colour.
(As an inevitable aside, Mister Bic Chic was sporting a rather fine moustache which I actually found rather dapper, and considering we’re hot on the hells of Movember, really only proves I am a sucker for both red heads and stripes.)
There were ladies. Not ladies galore, but not none neither and a couple gave it a spin on the rollers. (yes there was roller racing going on, but I’ve never been one for paying attention, presumably you can google some sort of description of what went on. Maybe start with the nice peeps at Gear who were helping to keep the whole thing going.) I had a chat with a few and all seemed friendly and open for a chat, which is very nice and should perhaps be put on the tourist slogans, “Brisbane, the people are up for it” rather than anything positive about the weather which is – stunningly – but rather disappointing at the moment.
I saw a few familiar faces.
Some of whom had ridden far enough recently to get a faint tan. Like Gypsy, who gave me a nod at the lights a few weeks back. See that – friendly. Up for it. And not so many you’ve gotten intimidated by the crowd. Though I’ll reserve judgment, I’m always prepared to get intimidated once or twice. I’m hopeful of a no.
And finally, in a Kate Ceberano kind of a way, this young fellow.
Cos at 17, I – no shit – had a bed time of 8.30pm, and I totally respected it and I no way no how no jokes no time not ever would have had the balls to sneak out and go roller racing on a Wednesday night and sometimes, you know, I think my life would have been a little richer for it.
That said, son, stay in school.
(tee hee)
eleanor j jackson 