Heading back wasn't an issue, and once I had There was an Olympic Park just about ready to depart. I made my way on board just ahead of a young Yank with a military haircut who was operating under the twin delusions that Bruce's home town was Philadelphia and that Australian Bruce fans had some sort of underlying and deep seated wish that they were, in fact, Americans.One would possibly use the words Richard and cranium here, and, on reflection, the military hairdo did deliver an interesting similarity to the circumcised male member. In any case, I didn't sight him again once the train arrived, and had set off for Allphones Arena following someone who seemed to have some idea of where he was going. The signage seemed to support his navigation, but the result was a full circuit around the former Olympic (now ANZ) Stadium, where the green and red Rabbitoh army was flooding in for a Monday night game against the Sharks.
Under ordinary circumstances such details would slip by unnoticed but you need something to occupy your mind instead of wondering why this bloke in front of you is taking his wife and daughter to the Springsteen concert via the scenic route.
Once I'd arrived I headed off to scope out the actual route I should have take on the principle that there was still plenty of time before the show, and I wanted to be sure of the way back when the concert finished, presumably around eleven...
Things didn't pan out that way of course.
Back at Allphones I had my ticket scanned and headed inside, figuringI wasn't likely to spot any familiar faces by wandering, so I grabbed a serve of fish and chips, followed it with a beer and sat at a handy table, watching the passing parade until six forty-five, which I reckoned was a reasonable time to grab a bottle of water and claim my seat in the actual arena.
Predictably, when I placed myself in the third seat along, I was the only inhabitants of the row, and you'd have reckoned that, with less than fifteen minutes until the advertised starting time on the tickets the venue was only around forty percent full. There were still plenty of unclaimed places when Big Boss Man boomed out over the PA at seven twenty-five, producing a rush of incoming attendees, but it was well into the third of fourth number before the two seats to my right were claimed.
There were the predictable ominous and goings around me, something That continues to baffle since it's ten years since Bruce was down this way, there's no guarantee he'll be back and the tickets aren't exactly cheap. Maybe I'm missing something, but guaranteed around three hours from one of the great performers of his (or any other) generationI would have thought it made sense to be seated by the advertised starting time and remain there from go to whoa...
That doesn't mean I'm inclined to dawdle on the way out. I could possibly have stuck around for another thirty seconds or so but as soon s the last note of Freeze-out had faded and the band had taken the farewell bow I was headed for the exit. These venues hold a lot of people, many of them are going to use public transport and the configuration of the building and exits can mean you'll find yourself towards the bak of a substantial queue if you don't step lively on the way out.
Much of that depends on which exits the venue staff deign to open. Fortunately there was one just along from Door 10 that delivered you onto the concourse, and that made rapid movement much easier. I'm not sure whether they'd just filled and despatched a train, but as I made my way into the station the PA advised us to keep on going towards the very end of the platform since it would make the transfer at Lidcombe a little easier.
The next train scheduled to arrive (and, I assume) depart was due in a couple of minutes, and would have involved a change at Lidcombe, buy another announcement offered what I thought was a far better alternative. There was a train standing on Platform 3 that would be leaving in twenty minutes, proceeding express with a limited numb of stops to Central.
That certainly seemed a better bet than the impending arrival, which would have involved a transfer to something that was quite possibly a member of the stopping at all stations fraternity, and certainly offered a better chance of snagging a seat, so that was the way I headed. There were only half a dozen in the downstairs section I found myself in, so the seat was easy, and it filled gradually, with the space beside me occupied by a shaven headed business dude from Melbourne with extensive Bruce concert experience.
Those matters, and related topics kept the conversation going until Central, and I was back in my room at the Great Southern shortly before eleven, tucking into chilled Yebisus (two) and tapping out the initial bit of the night's concert review before turning in around twelve.