Having sat through one Dan Sultan opening set I wasn't too concerned about missing the start, but wanted to be settled in for Hunters & Collectors. No need for anything substantial in the tucker department, so once I'd directed others to the appropriate entry I headed around, took myself through the entry procedure and headed up to check out the seat.
They'd managed to put the show out on sale before I realised it was on, and The best I'd been able to manage was a seat in Row Z, right up in the nosebleeds. There were a couple of blokes already in place when I arrived, beer in hand and suffering from exertion involved in the ascent, so I finished the beer and headed back down for anotherie without bothering them overly. The area was pretty sparsely populated as Dan Sultan started up, and I headed back down for beer and a bucket of chips around half way through his set.
Back in situ in the set break, musical matters provided a source of time-killing conversation, Hunters & Collectors broke things up nicely, and further discussion of roughly congruent tastes passed the time until Bruce's set.
There was, however, one major disruption, in the form of Drunk Girl, who arrived, plastic cup of what may well have been vodka and lemonade in hand, and proceeded to head back and forth for replenishments in between talking loudly to Male Partner and Mum or Mum-in-Law, making lengthy postings on social media, doing the seated shoulder-barging boogie with Male Partner and apologising to Old Bloke Next Door.
Each apology was followed by a repetition of what had just been apologised about. No wonder Old Bloke Next Door didn't last the distance.
A totally unwanted distraction through what was probably the better of the two shows.
As far as the seat was concerned, it might have been high enough to bring altitude sickness into the equation, but the view was good, the sound excellent, the company next door interesting, and a highly enjoyable time should have been had by all.
In the end, it was, but ignoring nearby distractions took the edge off the enjoyment.
The return journey got off to an interesting start as the main set finished and Twist and Shout wound up proceedings. the population up in the nose bleeds started to move, so it seemed logical to move with them. That got me close to the exit when Bruce appeared to do his food bank pitch and deliver an acoustic This Hard Land.
That meant I was out of the main arena comfortably ahead of the maJority of punters, and I made my way around to the tram stop just in time to clamber aboard the last of the "specially added" conveyances. Springsteen haD run comfortably overtime, and ignored the curfew, which apparently didn't fit nicely with the tram authorities' arrangements.
There were a swag of folks behind me who were going to have to fit themselves onto the regularly scheduled services, but I was on my way back to the city, so that was no real concern of mine.
A suspicion that the tram would continue along Flinders Street towards Market Street proved correct, and despite overtime and curfew issues it wasn't that far past midnight when I let myself into 802 and started tapping out the setlist.