After weeks of planning, organising and scheming to have a week filled with fun, so far, this has been a week of misses.
I missed Miss.Carol‘s 40th b’day celebration, a slick rooftop party for the hip and happening folk, which I’d been looking forward to for weeks. I had my dress picked out to match my fabulous original Pink Saki purse which was custom-made just for me by Miss.Carol herself. We had photographed some beautiful pink flowers, which we used to make a little b’day card up, and Gerry was already talking about how he *finally* got to meet Miss.Carol. But then, just after lunch, a roaring headache kicked in and would not let go. Not even liberal self-medicating, dark rooms and plenty, I mean PLENTY of advil, would touch it. I was prone on the couch while my friend celebrated just over two and a half blocks away at her kickin’ soiree. Poop!
I was there with plenty of time. Hours ahead of time in fact. I even left an excited little comment on her blog about how psyched I was. Gerry joined me at 6pm and we wandered over for a lovely dinner at Il Bun Ji (not a cheapeat). We realised my batteries were dead while photographing dinner, and at 8:23pm we found a little Korean market to buy replacements for the play – “no flash please.”
We had schemes of delivering a bouquet of long-stemmed doughnuts to the playwrights but we’d been warned that latecomers would NOT be allowed in. So we decided not to risk it and strolled casually over to the Factory Theatre for the 8:45pm curtain… “Factory Theatre? That sign says ‘Bathurst Street Theatre‘. ACKKKK!!!! Where is the Factory Theatre?”
We freaked. We ran for our bikes. We had left them blocks and blocks away. Stopping only to rip off my flowery-theatre-going skirt and pull on my bike shorts, we unlocked and jumped on our bikes. Flying down Bathurst at a pace that would frighten a cheetah, the lights worked with us nary a red stopped our momentum as we sped down to Adelaide. Yes. On Adelaide. You know — where the FACTORY Theatre actually is.
I whipped into the courtyard, as Gerry locked up the bikes, and swooped in on the Fringe ticket sellers who looked up at me unphased,
“Oh no, the ticket booth is closed” [turning to her partner in crime] “The house was seated 10 minutes ago.”Nope, only 7 minutes ago,” he piped in “but the doors are closed. No one is allowed in.”
It sounded like they were talking about visiting hours at a prison, but Creampuff had warned me about this.
“Is there any way I could get in?”
[In unison and smugly] “Absolutely not.”
I swore and turned. “But there will be plenty of other times to see it,” they added unhelpfully.
You might have heard my pigeon-scaring “FcK” echo through the city… lord knows they heard it at the Bathurst Theatre.
Chris says Mercury is in retrograde for the next 3 weeks. I think I’ll go hide on an island.