Having alighted at Boondall station she teamed up with her companions, introductions were made, the boyfriend looked slightly askance, and I sort of led the way to the venue. Scan the tickets, roll on inside, then spend the rest of the time roaming and waiting for the doors to opens the customary procedure in these circumstances, but the next ninety minutes' wandering failed to turn up any familiar faces and when I headed in just after seven-ten I was pleased to note I was sitting right beside the aisle.
This, I thought, could be a major plus when escaping the venue after the show.
It took awhile for the half dozen seats on my right to be claimed, and when they ere the occupants arrived in two shifts. four females looked to be Mum and three daughters (or some similar cross-generational blend) and the last two went to a couple of blokes who appeared to be partners of two of the kids, were obviously fans, but also needed frequent topping up, shout for shout, with what appeared to be rum and coke.
Hughesy's take on the concert appears here, and totally magnificent it was, though the looming issue of the return leg meant I wasn't inclined to stick around too long once Bruce left the stage. There was an army of hard hatted road crew obviously about to descend on the stage and it's contents and it might have been interesting to have watched the start of the demolition process. They needed, after all, to break everything down, truck it on to Sydney and reassemble same before (I guess) lunchtime Monday, so I guess the stage, half an hour after the close of proceedings, would have resembled something under attack from an army of green hard hatted army ants.
Half an hour after the end of proceedings, however, I was well on the way back to Bowen Hills having got out of the blocks early (seat beside the aisle and all that), got through the lobby reasonably quickly and passed a substantial portion of the people on the foot path through the wetlands on my way to Boondall station.
Tap on the Go Card, head across the foot bridge, passing about a dozen more relaxed individuals on the way, down the other side in time to hear someone looking to go to Bowen Hills being directed to the second bus and within ten minutes of the close those logistical matters had been attended to.
Things weren't quite as clear at Bowen Hills, since a train had just pulled in and disgorged its population as our bus arrived. It remained beside Platform Two while the PA advised against attempting to board. I wandered towards Platform One, noted the impending arrival of a train that was ultimately bound for Cleveland and figured I was in the right place.
Other people around me, understandably, weren't so sure. I heard an American accent ask whether he and his wife were in the right location, and a Kiwi accent respond that he wasn't sure. I suggested that we probably were since I couldn't see an alternative, and hat led into a discussion of shows, travel and related matters.
The Kiwi couple had flown in earlier in the morning and were headed back across The Ditch at four-thirty in the morning, something that probably relates to concert-going devotion above and beyond the call of duty.
Until, that is, the Yanks revealed they'd flown out of LA on Thursday evening, arrived DownUnder on Saturday morning and were going on to the three Sydney shows. Would have been more but the guy who was providing the detail didn't want to be away from the business too long. He'd run across an acquaintance who was doing the whole eleven or twelve gigs before the show, but when you're one of LA's successful restauranteurs you can do that sort of thing, can't you?
The train arrived around that point, and with a two stop trip back to Central I was back at The Rothbury just before midnight, which was, I thought, exceptionally good going under the logistical circumstances