Wednesday, 12 February 2014: Bowen > Townsville
What we have here, in this run of four Bruce Springsteen concerts is a rather convenient excuse.
Actually, as I realised on the walk into town to pay a utilities bill for the unit in Southport, it's a convenient excuse that isn't likely to apply again unless Springsteen is out this way again and I'm free of prior commitments in the period he's touring when the tour is announced.
Springsteen is the only act I'm interested in who's too big to slot into the Bluesfest schedule and capable of selling out multiple nights in a major city. Anyone else will do single nights in a couple of centres, heading from one to the next and probably playing every second day. Not much R&R leisure time in that sort of schedule, folks.
I looked at the schedule when this tour was announced, glanced very briefly at Perth and Adelaide, and duly noted there were slots for extra shows in Melbourne (a second, possibly a third), Sydney (a second, possibly a third) and a second in Brisbane.
What we ended up getting were two extra shows in Perth, seconds in Adelaide and Melbourne, and two winery shows in the Hunter Valley that put the kibosh on any chance of a second in Sydney.
As I walked into town I was thinking that if I'd headed off to the other side of the continent I'd have ended up with five days in Perth, four in Adelaide and to be followed by the bit I'm embarking on as I type this up.
So, an excuse to spend a couple of days in a major city with a bit of concert action thrown in for good measure.
The first bit, of course, is tricky, given the time of year. The game plan this time involved flying out of Townsville rather than Whitsunday Coast or Hamilton Island, given the likelihood of rain and cyclones intervening. There's no radar at either of those, so if the pilots can't see, they can't land.
Coming back from last year's Springsteen run I was flying Jetstar, leaving Sydney just before lunch time. The earlier Virgin flight got all the way up there, turned around and went all the way back. Jetstar landed, which shows the difference an hour or two can make in these circumstances.
Assuming we can get from Bowen to Townsville, those issues are neatly sidestepped. If it looks like the weather's going to cut the highway north from Bowen it's simply a matter of heading off a day or two early.
That's the theory, anyway.
As it turned out the weather issue didn't raise it's ugly head, and we drove off shortly after three-thirty, after a minor scare involving reading glasses that had gone missing on the walk over the hill.
Maybe I shouldn't have been pondering things about Perth, Adelaide and Springsteen playing multiple dates in each city.
I was explaining the strategy and other matters to Miss Behaviour shortly after we'd arrived at The Golfer's Motel. The two and a bit hour run up from Bowen had proceeded without anything in the way of excitement, and the only things worthy of mention were the facts that we decided to fuel up on the day, Hughesy neglected to clean the windscreen when we did, and a convenient shower remedied that as we rounded the Mount Elliot massif and headed towards Alligator Creek.
The Golfer's culinary skills came to the fore once again, the conversation and wine flowed, and Australia went into a slump on Day One of the First Test in South Africa.
With Madam having toddled off to the cot, Golfer and I watched Marsh and Smith set about recovering things. It was a dodgy looking conveyance, and it seemed like the best thing to do was to toddle off myself.
An early morning call from the Dalby Doylamo confirmed the theory, with Marsh on 125 not and Smith in the mid-seventies at stumps.