I’ve lost my god-damned wallet. It’s 9:30 and we’re gathered round the car on a deserted back-street in Maitland, NSW. Melody Pool’s here, so is her Mum. They’ve cooked us dinner and it’s back at their house going cold.
But we can’t go anywhere because my wallet has vanished. I’m sure it’s been stolen – I couldn’t just lose it – after all it’s about the size and weight of an early-90s mobile phone, stuffed full as it is with receipts and coffee shop loyalty cards and the business cards of the twenty or thirty most recent music industry wheelers and dealers that have drunkenly approached me after gigs.
Shaun and Mat are busy packing and unpacking the car, and I’ve been in and out of the pub to check the stage area about three times. I guess I should re-trace our steps.
We finished our second set at The Grand Junction at about 9pm. It was an early show at what may possibly be one of the greatest pubs in the world. What I’ve noticed about great pubs is that they’re often in horrible locations (ie. the outskirts of Glasgow, or Birmingham, or Swindon) and while Maitland itself is not at all horrible, there’s certainly very little to do in town. Actually that’s unfair, I’ve only ever been there on a Sunday, and each time the only shop to be open has been Kmart – but I do stand by my assertion that the absolute best pastime in Maitland is to drink at the rather grandiose, slightly run-down and almost definitely haunted Grand Junction Hotel. I’ve only been there twice but it has certainly become a personal favourite venue. I suspect my wallet is somewhere within its hallowed walls, but I can’t be sure. I’ll keep tracing back.
The journey from Bangor, south of Sydney, to Maitland was not uneventful. Firstly, we had to detour through Newtown to collect a wayward band-member that had become separated from the group in the very early hours of the morning. We found him looking dapper and refreshed, though we suspect he’d slept little. He and I were also wearing the same shirt – which was highly embarrassing and resulted in a shot-gun t-shirt purchase from the Newtown Salvos store. I guess I’ve already given away the fact that the wayward band-member wasn’t me – so for those of you playing at home that only leaves two.
I don’t think I left my wallet at the Salvos but I may well have left it at a Gosford service station later in the day. In a magnificent display of courage and judgement we managed to run the 70 litre tank in our hire car down to the final 1.5 litres of fuel. I was driving at the time so I suppose, technically, this was my fault – though I prefer to look at it as an achievement. Needless to say it was an expensive refill, but i think Shaun paid whilst I had a refreshing wee, so it’s unlikely my wallet got left there either.
Which takes us back to The Brass Monkey – another favourite venue in the less-bogan-than-you’d-think beachside Sydney suburb of Cronulla. It was an easy show for us, supporting the musically-brilliant Feral Swing Katz – a collection of the finest and most experienced country musicians in the land playing a repertoire of jazz standards, old school rockabilly and western swing. Michel Rose on the pedal steel blew my fragile little mind. I’m in awe of that instrument and anybody who can play it. I’ve tried, but to be honest i think I’d have a better chance of learning to ride a crocodile. Michel makes it seem like he’s just..ermmm…a ringin’ a bell. He’s a fine gentleman too.
It was a pretty full house, and the audience was a bit of a mixed nut selection. There was a gaggle of women at a table down the front that I mistook for being a hens party group. Then there was the couple in the front corner that I suggested (embarrasingly for them) might be celebrating an anniversary (it turns out they were on a first date – which I learned later when I was bailed up at the urinal by the slightly intimidating but essentially friendly male protagonist). Most interesting of all was the old couple (late 70s I’d say) in the back corner, that spent the entire evening kissing passionately. It was a site to behold. After our set, I thought I’d make things awkward and sit right next to them, but it made little difference – they just kept on a-smoochin’…
Perhaps it was their example that influenced our wayward band member.
A fine venue it may be, but the rider is a little tight at the monkey – so there’s a chance i may have gotten my wallet out a few times. But hang on, I was the designated driver…so maybe I didn’t get it out at all. Maybe I’d lost it before then.
Saturday was pretty lazy if I remember rightly. We’d played a good show in Wollongong (Bulli to be precise) the night before, which followed our interview with the most disinterested student radio presenter we’d ever come across at Sydney’s UTS. But The heritage in Bulli is something special – and Shaun’s uke-bass really came into its own in such a splendid acoustic environment. The steak was also good (I’m temporarily off the vegetarian wagon – and into meat with a vengeance) but the fisherman’s basket itself might have been more tasty than its contents (which I suspect had spent more time in the deep freeze than in the ocean).
But damn it – I know I had my wallet there. In fact I also know I had it on Saturday morning when I took Ash (our manager’s son) to his soccer game (yup – I was a soccer mom for a day – and a competitive one at that!) My conclusion is that I really must have lost it in Maitland – which is a worry.
A few years ago, when I was driving round Europe in a slightly diffferent band, it was suggested that I was affected by some kind of cosmic ‘black hole’* existing in some other dimension – invisible to the eye but none the less existing very close to my person. Within it I lost a wallet (twice), many keys, at least one mobile phone, two or three guitar tuners and any number of half finished beers. It was a kind of curse really – and one I’ve worked hard to rid myself of. In fact, in the process I’ve become sort of obsessive-compulsive – I’ll often return to my house or car two or three times to confirm that i’ve locked it, or closed the windows etc etc. Annoying yes – but I seemed to be finally free of ‘the black hole’.
Sadly, it seems to have returned, and found me at one of my favourite pubs, on an evening when I’d drunk just enough to let my ocd guard down.
It’s time to give up, cancel my credit cards and head to the Pool residence for a Kurri Kurri Curry before an early morning flight (which I can hopefully get on without ID).
How frustrating.
Good night.
