Ya better not shout, ya better not cry (reprise)

Back in Sydney, after a little side trip to Newcastle. And apparently there's been riots and gang warfare and everything over the weekend. Geez Louise, most be something in the water! Must be too many people drinking carbonated french mineral water or something. Although I suspect it has more to do with the rather nasty anti-terrorism and updated sedition legislation that the Lord of Ruin rammed through parliment last week.

I suppose one of the great things about being caught up with your own dramas is that you miss out on the bad news happening in your own neighbourhood.

So, I'm going to continue to ignore the neighbourhood and get on with my own drama.

Scene: The night of the erection of the Canadian Fir.

I'd been informed by D that Friday night was the night and I'd better be home or else! It was the night of the yule tide dressing and the inaurgural outing of the Canadian Fir. As an artist, I'm told that it's my repsonsibility to do the art direction of said production. And as D's best friend, I know if I don't I will never hear the end of it.

So I agree. Friday night it is.

My jobette in Melbourne has now picked up pace and I'm very busy. The maker, also a friend, that I've employed for the gig, needs tlc and reassurance. Things at this point, aren't going well. I'm tired and home late.

Thank fully, C, D's boyfriend is a calm, endlessly sympathetic fellow and generous with his $600 a bottle scotch. I know that a very smooth double scotch on the rocks is waiting for me. I walk through the door and C takes one look at my face and pours me a triple. D is waiting. Impatiently.

Now D, is the one of the loveliest people in the world. He's also bossy. Extremely funny and completely direct. If he doesn't like you, he tells you. In a way that will have you and everyone in stiches - and he'll be completely serious about the underlying feeling.

D also has a fondness for my anti-anxiety drugs that I use when travelling.

I know this. I also know that if I hide them, he will find them. So I don't and tell him that these aren't the usual and stronger than what I ordinarily use. So don't eat them all.

It's decided that we'll have dinner first.

A lovely meal is on the table and D decides, suddenly that there is something he needs to take care of in the laundry. So off he dashes downstairs. C glances at me across the table and I just shrug. And then, I begin to laugh. At first, a little chuckle, but soon it's big huge guffaws of uncontrollable mirth. "What's going on?" demands C. "Nothing!" I splutter. "I'm laughing at myself."

I'm staying in the guest bedroom, downstairs next to the laundry.

And I know D so well that I know he's gone to get some mother's little help from my stash. And I know he'll know better than me and eat too many. They kick in fast!

Sure enough, after an interval, D reappears. He's found a great big white terry towling dressing gown. His back is ramrod straight as he floats into the dining room. He's off his trolly.

C and I are now treated to an intimate and incredible performance of "Doris Day on a night out on the town with Prince Valium".

The resulting farce is only really funny to the people who know the performers, but in the end, at the finale of the Royal Gala, the Canadian Fir is finally erect and magnificent in it's festive regalia. C and I by this time have wilted. And D has left the stage and caught the express to the Land of Nod.

And this time, I wearing the very comfortable slippers of friendship.

Merry Xmas C and D!