In The Can

So I'm now officially in my late 20s, having turned 27 yesterday. It wasn't scary or life-changing in any way, shape or form. In fact, it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do on a Saturday morning.

What surprised me most was the number of people who remembered and sent me text messages (which I only discovered late at night when I turned my phone to silent as I entered an auditorium for a concert). Mostly because I don't really remember telling people when my birthday is and when I do, I don't expect people to care enough to remember.

Maybe because it used to be so personal. I used to measure my worth by who remembered my birthday, which is a lousy way to measure yourself because there's a list as long as your arm (in 8pt type) as to why people might not remember your birthday. I discovered this when I realised I didn't know a lot of people's birthdays and if I did I wouldn't necessarily remember it in time. And even then it was touch and go as to whether I'd send them a greeting (whether I felt close enough to do so, for example, or even whether I cared enough about the person any more).

Anyway.

My weekdays aren't much different from my previous entries; lots of work on the cards, yet my editor complains she's bored (maybe because she's not taking enough of the load?).

Last Friday Ass and I went to The Vanguard to watch Chase the Sun, supported by The Sins and Tamlin. We were really there to see The Sins but Chase the Sun were a rollicking rock country band, who we entertaining. Their drummer is ex-Leonardo's Bride drummer Jon Howell, who I recognised.

The weekend was spent shopping for work clothes, eating chocolate things at The Grace Hotel, watching The One-Man Star Wars Trilogy, eating a bowl of noodles as big as my head (actually, I had rice so not really...), drinking $3 bevs at Star Bar, singing our throats dry at Big Echo with Gla and friends for three hours then wetting them again at the Edinburgh Pub when we were finally ushered out. And that was just Saturday. Sunday was swimming and domestic chores, so not all that fun.

This weekend I hopped on a bus to Canberra (a bargain $30 return) for the International (classical) Music Festival. And to see my sister. We went for dinner at Alanya, a Turkish Restaurant in Manuka, which wasn't that great (not as great as Safi will be on Wed with my parents) and then Rach and I went to see The Cat's Cabaret at the National Film & Sound Archive, which was odd and amusing.

My birthday consisted of a trip to the Cornucopia Bakery and Electric Shadows, the bookshop next to it, then Gorman House Markets, then Fyshwick Markets where I ate a hot chocolate. It was too thick to drink. The evening was populated by two very different concerts, the Australian String Quartet at 6pm, and a dreamscape performance called Invisible Realities at 10pm, cleaved by a quick dinner of risotto (by Anton) and chocolate cream berry layer cake (by Rach). We followed Invisible Realities with a glass or two of 2003 Lark Hill Traminer.

Today was less full: visited my friend Kylie for breakfast, then dropped in at Koko Black for chocolate and then a massive CD shop where I managed to buy 10 CDs, which barely fit in my bag. Then came home on the coach and wrote an outline for a novel about a string quartet that travels to Paris for a chamber music eisteddfod (which I just discovered is a Welsh word, probably the only one in common use in the English language).

The idea is actually a very old one, I think I began the novel when I was 15 (and got about a fifth of the way through) but it lacked direction so I abandoned it. And it was originally set in Vienna. Attending so many concerts over the past couple of days brought back the imperative to write something now I can see which elements will work and which won't. Still, who really wants to read a concert diary of a string quartet?

It was a good break nevertheless. I wish I had more like it. I want to go to Melbourne next – there are a number of friends I should be reacquainting myself with, but I just don't have that kind of time until August.

Well, here's hoping next weekend will be just as nice. Ciao 'til then.