365 Pink Feather Boas All in a Row - Day 183 : Miss Bowditch I Presume?

I can be such a ditz at times!

I spent the week telling all and sundry, up to and including my gorgeous guy that we were off - no, not to see the wizard although that yellow brick road does look mighty sparkly and what gay man worth his salt doesn't love some sparkle now and then? - to see Sarah Blasko in concert at the Opera House. In fact, and gosh their names are oh so similar - of course I am kidding as you will soon see - we were off to see Claire Bowditch, she of the quirky pop, deeply poetic lyrics, mesmerising voice, and as I found out at the concert, a ready stellar wit! She was so funny and clever, and her singing so sublimely good, that it was soon a case of Sarah Who? (No disrespect to Sarah, naturally, who is uber-talented also.) Her support acts were also wonderful, and the entire concert was one of those events that was so rich, rewarding and intimate that you are a thousand times over glad you came!

Claire Bowditch - so good!

For that we can thank my lovely cousin, Ngaire (pron. Ny-ree) who had the idea to see this wonderful Aussie talent, and with whom we had a yummy steak and salad dinner over at Phillips Foote pub in The Rocks. Yes you have to cook the steak yourself - something Ngaire wasn't too thrilled about initially till we assured her that she could sit back while my gorgeous guy or I did the cooking - but its such a nice setting in their courtyard that time passes quickly, aided by lots of wine naturally!

The only downside to this stellar night was a woman who can only be described as a homophobic bitch who took me to task after the concert in a very nasty way for daring to ask her and her gauche white trash drunk friends to stop talking during Claire's singing. They had started during the support acts, and while they claimed to be uber Claire fans when she called out to all the Melbourne fans in the audience, they kept talking while she sang to. It showed phenomenal disrespect to the artists, the audience around her - when I asked the woman to be quiet, the lady next to her (we were seated at tables of 6 cabaret style) turned to me and thanked me - and I was staggered she could be so rude. She made it a thousand times worse by calling me a "little fag" when I pointed out, nicely I thought given how vile she was being, how rude she had been, and why I had done what I did. What an awful end to a delightful concert.

Thankfully the night was redeemed by drinks at Customs House, with my guy, Ngaire, and my friend Fahmi who had been at the Opera House seeing a play. Ngaire who had witnessed the whole episode was aghast at the lady's rudeness to me - in keeping with her generally rude persona - but we did our best to forget her and just relax and bask in the loveliess that had proceeded the ugliness.