Upon my return from my road trip, and just short of a week of moaning and groaning about how 'boring' Melbourne is, my friends convinced me to slap on some mascara and have a drink with them in Windsor on Saturday afternoon. 'Just dinner!' they said. 'A quiet one!' they said. Yer right. I know when I get together with these lovely ladies, debauchery is only a hop, skip and stumble away.
I took a very skeptical route to my destination, convincing myself I would be hitting the soda waters and waking up early the next day for a Sunday morning walk followed by an afternoon of peaceful illustration.
I arrived at the Windsor Castle to find my friends had scored a great seat in the beer garden, the perfect place to soak up the rays. I must say, Mother Nature really turned it on this weekend. The vibe in the air was friendly. We all had exciting tales to tell of our summer adventures to date. Pots turned into jugs. Jugs turned into 'lets go to Revolver!'. Debauchery had begun, and it was only 9pm.
We headed on down to Revs, a place that automatically begs your excuse for actually being there. We were greeted by a $10 cover charge and a band that was clearly influenced by the Beatles. 'Cool', I thought, it was just like the old days when I used to head down to a club that featured only bands that were influenced by the Beatles, sometimes the Rolling Stones, for something a bit different. That place burnt down.
Then it began. One of those nights that remind you of just how small Melbourne really is. I spent the rest of my night, with a few more beers under my high-waisted belt, attempting to dodge ex-flames, being polite to others and hiding in the corner hoping 'that weirdo one that looks like Jesus wearing cargo pants' wouldn't recognise me. Unfortunately by this stage of the night the beer had slowed down my normally stealth movements, and I was finding myself in some rather awkward situations that required equally awkward conversations to be had.
It used to be so much easier bumping into boys that I once thought had broken my heart 'for good', or had freaked me out by being too 'full on'. [Yes, my vocabulary was a vast one back then, um, not.] So why easier? Well, because I was young and I thought I was the hippest thing hitting Flinders Lane on a Saturday night. I had no reason to feel any less than around these boys! I was possibly also carrying some Dutch courage from the beers on the train ride into the city. But now that I am pushing an age closer to 30, I don't think I have it in me to do the Dark Corner Shuffle or the Lets Pretend I Am Actually Interested In What You Have To Say conversations anymore.
I also started to have some rather unwelcome flashbacks to remind me why I was dodging these people; memories conjured of embarrassing [drunk] events in my past that I will one day work up the courage to share on this blog. For now though, I'm happy to push those red-faced moments back where they belong, in their own Dark Corner of my memory. My bestie agrees, she too spent the night whispering with me in the seedy cavities of Revolver after bumping into an ex of her own.
Its Monday night and I just got off the phone to her having explained how I have been blushing since Saturday night, waiting for the cringe-worthy memories of my younger years to fade again. Of course we have had a few chuckles, you do need to have a laugh at yourself after all, but 'A quiet one!' next time, will be just that. At least until Melbourne simultaneously doubles its population and my odds of bumping into old flames.
C x
Relax, its Queenland. That was the first thing I read as I crossed over the border from New South Wales into Queensland. I read it off a car number plate. It made me smile immediately. Relax; its what I planned to do.
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