BrisVegas.  

Got in from the Gold Coast Friday and had a night off. I missed being by the sea and wished I’d stayed on a bit longer but time and tide… in this case a severe rip tide, the result of strong winds from a nearby cyclone, had closed all the beaches. So we took the Bruce Highway (yes honestly) to Brisbane, a city that has risen even faster in the eight years since I was last here. BrisVegas the locals call it although it seems to have very little to do with that sad artificial place in the Nevada desert. It’s a real city, with history, and old buildings and a lovely water front. It’s a far cry from the old corrupt Queensland, and is now multi-cultured with a huge Chinatown.
 Saturday night the young crowds seemed to be out doing what young people should:  getting out of their heads and replicating….

The most obvious thing about Australians, apart from their sense of humour, is they seem very fit. Also they all take their weekends off. There’s no question they’re going to skip out on not going to the beach, so they’re relaxed, and happy. It’s not the relentless American pursuit of happiness which seems now to equate only with fame and fortune, neither of which, incidentally, lead to happiness. The world seems to be watching the American election process and going “Really? This is what we are supposed to be admiring? But it’s nuts…” Although John did come out with a nice rant about Australians having a new Prime Minister every few days, but maybe that’s a good idea.
Or maybe no one wants to stay in Canberra that long.

John was tired and a little sick after our Gold Coast opening, and stayed in, while Camilla, his long, elegant daughter had booked herself into some comedy sets (at The Sit Down Comedy Club?) so Simon, our Passepartoutian tour manager, booked us into a very nice Italian restaurant, Tartufo, where we ate and I drank, very nicely. When it came to paying however the Chef Owner Tony Percuoco would not hear of it. He refused to accept our money and asked only that I sign a couple of bottles of wine. Most generous.
And he cleverly alibied himself, saying he was too busy to come to our show.  It’s not that bad Tony….

Saturday morning John was feeling much better and we attacked the opening of the show. We felt we hadn’t grabbed them sufficiently from the off on the first night, and so we cut and pruned and made the whole first act go a lot faster. In the event, this was the right thing to do. Of course the audience was a lot louder, and a lot bigger, 2,900 in a mini amphitheatre set up, and we had the benefit of close up cameras, so even those in the distant rows could see us clearly on the screens, but still we got them from the off, and the new running order is much clearer, and tells the story of our 53 years much more simply. So it was a tight, bright Act One. We do it again tonight, so we get a chance to see what more we can do. I cut The Getty Song, because The Goldies seemed to have no idea what that was about (art) and I replaced it with a short rude number from What About Dick. It worked a lot better. Almost all my songs seem to be filthy and thank heaven for Garfunkle and Oates coming along and performing much ruder songs than mine. Check them out on U Tube if you don’t believe me. Also they are a lot easier on the eye…
 

My son came by our hotel in the afternoon and gave John and I needles before the show, so we both felt good and ready. I had foolishly gone for a walk in search of a bookshop which I never found, and so by the time Carey arrived with healing ointments and well placed acupuncture pins I was Sir Limpalot. Too bad he isn’t coming with us on Tour.

Tomorrow we head for Adelaide, where I understand the Comedy Festival is in full swing. I heard The Umbilical Brothers were in town and we have always loved them in our family. Also the extremely funny Ross Noble, though I don’t think we’ll get time to go to other shows as we play two nights and then head off to Canberra. I’m looking forward to both these cities as I have never been to either, and we’re not actually staying in Canberra but in some animal lodge. I’m booked into the Wild Life Suite, which sounds like a room in the old Playboy mansion, when that was the place to be, and not a sad reminder of age and exploitation.

Talking of age I was in Maroomba or Maloomba or Maboomba or something of that ilk on the Sunshine Coast and I went in to an art gallery with Adrienne, my son’s lovely lady. The young artist in there took one look at me and said “Oh the life drawing classes are on Thursdays.” Clearly old men gather there for a chance to Iook at naked models and he mistook me for another one of them. Sadly I was busy Thursday.

It is a sad business getting old, not for the faint hearted as somebody observed, but one thing that never fades is the admiration for the young and beautiful. Of course you have become entirely invisible, but still, the admiration lingers on.

As I quote Tracey Ullman from my play What About Dick.

“I like my vibrator but I do occasionally miss the disappointment of a real man.”

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