Post-Bluesfest Blues.

So it's been a while. It appears this blogging caper actually requires time and effort, time and effort that seem to evade me during the average working week. I have recently been so fortunate however, as to have eleven WHOLE days off work. Eleven days in which to reacquaint myself with the hours after 10pm, eat at varied (and many) hours of the day, and fill my hours with generally enjoyable and largely non-productive activities. Bliss.

Five of these wunderbar days were spent attending the Byron Bay Bluesfest for the third Easter running. For anyone looking to while away five days in the company of good friends, amazing weather, delicious food and excellent music, I'd highly recommend it. We stayed in a charming (yes, read small yet cozy) house in nearby Brunswick Heads and enjoyed passing our mornings cafe-hopping, beach swimming and Easter egg eating, before heading to the festival in the afternoons. Unfortunately I have arrived home with a serious dearth of photos, however I blame the fact that I was far too busy having fun/eating/singing/whinging about how heavy my bag was to worry about taking too many pics. That and the fact that unless you have a super lens and a swag of practice, gig photos all tend to turn out looking rather similar.

Anyway, here are a couple of simple photos we did get around to taking..

It would be optimistic to attempt to condense five days of music into one blog post, even for me. Some of the highlights included..

Cold Chisel - I actually forgot these guys were playing until arriving on Thursday and feeling rather conspicuous with my lack of an appropriately branded t-shirt. I must admit, as the day and mullet count progressed, I began to get rather excited about singing along to some Australian pub classics. Jimmy Barnes bounded on stage come 10pm, looking resplendent in leather pants and a rockin' vest, although disappointingly the rumoured bottle of vodka was nowhere to be seen. The band played a two hour set, rather impressive considering the energy levels they maintained throughout. Despite finding it hard to suppress my nerdy horror at what Barnes must be doing to his vocal cords, the songs simply wouldn't be as much fun without his signature raspy touch.

Buddy Guy - the 75 year old appeared happy as punch to be playing Bluesfest again, treading a fine line between amusingly cheeky and slightly seedy as he bantered with the crowd. A group singalong to 'Someone else is steppin' in' was also rather fun.

Ziggy Marley - although plenty of his own songs were really quite decent, of course the one we'll all remember is his hearty rendition of his father's Jamming. The closest our generation can hope to get, awesome.

Brian Setzer - I honestly had no idea who this gentleman was, and caught his set owing only to our desire to hold our spot for the following headliner. I soon had the pleasant sensation of thinking I'd mistakenly wandered onto the set of Grease, and was simply amazed at what his band could do with a trio of double basses.

John Fogerty - Although likely nowhere near as excited as the hordes of middle aged ladies at his Saturday show, I was definitely looking forward to the mass singalong promised by the former Creedence Clearwater Revival frontman. I was not disappointed. Regardless of the obvious monetary incentive, Fogerty appeared genuinely pleased to be there, and put on a brilliant show. He happily played Creedence hit after Creedence hit and it really was pretty special to sing along to such iconic songs.

Busby Marou - I had high hopes for this duo from Rockhampton and they were exceeded in every respect. Playing early in the day, we secured a prime position from which to watch guitarist Jeremy Marou weave his magic. The album belies how very talented this young man is, at one stage playing the guitar with a ukelele. Thomas Busby provided the perfect vocal accompaniment and peppered the set with amusing stories and anecdotes. The hour ended long before I was ready.

John Butler Trio - My third time jumping with joy in a JBT audience, and it certainly hasn't gotten old. Butler and his two offsiders ran through their bevy of tunes with enthusiasm, warmth, energy and simple talent, keeping the crowd positively hooked for the full two hour set. The horn section of the Melbourne Ska Orchestra joined the stage for a truly fantastic rendition of 'Zebra', and Nicky Bomba had everyone cheering during his drum solo. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face all the way home and well into the next day.

Ashleigh Mannix - This new discovery was a real highlight of day five. An acoustic set relying only on her voice and her guitar (and her lungs alone at one stage following a broken guitar string) showcased Mannix's raw and gritty vocals and amusing songwriting. We certainly weren't alone in rushing to the CD shop afterwards.

Far northern musings.

I've been living in far north Queensland a little over a year now, and I must admit it already feels more like home than I'd ever dared to imagine in late 2010. How strange it feels to think back to the uncertainty of that time, making frantic organisations about where I'd live, wondering how I'd meet people, how'd I cope in a brand new job with no senior to look up to or keep me in line. Leaving the boy in Brisbane and scheduling in weekend flights back and forth. All made more complicated by the non-relenting rain and already swollen creeks threatening to imprison us at the farm the day before departure.

Fast forward a few weeks and I was plodding along in my new home, plodding along the riverfront on my afternoon jogs, picturing every distant log as a snoozing croc. I'd never seen so much rain, didn't even believe it possible before I encountered FNQ. The threat of cyclones hung ever present in the stifling air. "It'll be right", the locals assured me. Lulled into a false sense of security by Larry only 5 years prior, we watched stunned as a cloud the size of a European nation barrelled steadily towards us. 10 hours spent huddled in a makeshift hallway bunker as the wind masqueraded as low flying jumbo jets, the rain hammered horizontally onto the glass and the sound of screeching metal heralded the loss of another neighbour's roof was an eye opening introduction to the tropics. An introduction also though, to the genuine kindness and resourcefulness of my new colleagues, neighbours and and remarkably, cousins.

In the months since, I've really come to love and appreciate the north. I might even go so far as to suggest I've learnt a thing or two about it. Reflecting on the past year as I was driving to work yesterday, I thought I might share a few of these realisations.

Brisbane is not humid. People living in Brisbane cannot claim to have any real understanding of humidity. They may argue otherwise but they are mistaken.

Speed signs are less about road rules and more about providing suggestions for visiting drivers. Probably southerners. Anyone actually abiding by the speed limit (usually southerners) are merely inviting you to overtake them.

If overtaking is not a viable option, it's perfectly acceptable to tailgate, preferably combined with a meaningful glare in the rear view mirror.

10am does not always mean 10am. In fact it is more likely to mean anywhere in the general vicinity of morning.

Yes it can rain continuously for three months and yes, it probably will.

Venturing outside involves a carefully calculated risk. Any number of things are waiting to kill you. Even if you manage to avoid crocodiles, stingers, flash floods, snakes, mosquitos and local drivers, various tropical diseases are simply waiting to take their place.

The scenery is among the most beautiful in Australia, and tempts people to take calculated risks every day. Cloudless winter days are particularly alluring.

It's perfectly normal to be somewhat confused if you don't run into at least five people you know on any given outing in Cairns.

Backpackers proliferate during the summer months, and provide a welcome distraction for one with a penchant for eavesdropping on Germans in public places.

The crowds swarming Rusty's markets on any given weekend know what they're on about. Mangoes are simply better in the tropics.

No one's told the numerous hitch hikers that their luck probably died with the '70s.

Finally, if you find yourself dancing on the table at the Woolshed at 3am, it's an undoubtable sign you've had a very good night.

A nod to self-indulgence.

Blogging. The most 21st century of terms. Why have I decided to join the legions, sign up, jump on the proverbial band wagon you may ask? I certainly did. I suppose I have always considered blogging to be a relatively self-indulgent practice, one engaged in by those who believed the world simply needed to hear what they had to say. I must confess though, I was ill-informed. In recent months I have actually ventured into this world and spent many a Saturday afternoon occupied by the stories, recipes, ideas and photos of some people I know, and others I will most likely never meet. The blogs I enjoyed most were written by everyday people, about everyday events. Everyday events a little bit out of the ordinary perhaps, or bringing a smile to someone's face. Beautiful photos, delicious food, but yet ordinary people sharing their ordinary lives. The only conclusion I can draw here is that we, as humans, are an inherently curious bunch. Yes, these may be ordinary people but for reasons I cannot describe, I remain interested in what they saw, what they thought, what they cooked, drew and said. So perhaps blogs are, in fact, self-indulgent. But they're also an excellent way to while away a lazy afternoon.

The main attraction of blogging lies, for me, in the chance to write. I don't pretend to have a spectacularly exciting life. I enjoy travelling, reading, good food, good wine and good friends, but then, who doesn't? I have recently acquired a decent camera and intend to turn my love of good photography into an ability to actually produce good photography. What I don't have, is a creative outlet. Somewhere to record these adventures, memories, everyday events. Once upon a time I studied journalism in the mistaken belief it would allow me to indulge my love of words, a belief that was effortlessly quashed by our lecturers within the very first minutes. Needless to say, I never got around to completing that degree. So herein lies the beauty of blogging, I can write. 

Finally, "waffling, present participle of the verb 'waffle': to speak or write, especially at great length, without saying anything particularly important or useful." My senior English teacher was very fond of peppering compliments with requests to please reduce the amount of waffling, dear. Unfortunately, I don't believe I ever quite mastered that knack. I do believe, however, that my penchant for waffling may be quite the handy tool with which to enter the blogging world. That and I just really, really like waffles.