Listening to: Be My Rambling Woman – Rory McLeod

Sometimes I feel disappointed by the most ridiculous things.

On my last trip to Europe, I was so lonely. I spent the whole time feeling simultaneously elated and miserable.

Now my parents are planning their first trip to Europe in 18 years or so, and I’ve been so excited. I’ve wanted them to go back there forever (partly because – when I was younger, at least – I hoped they’d take me with them and we’d never leave, but mostly because I just want to share it with them again in some way). Except that they’re not going to my Europe at all. They’re going to France and Portugal and Italy and Greece, which I’m sure are lovely and which I hope to visit one day, but I want them to follow in my footsteps, so that, even though no one was with me at the time, I’ll be able to share stories with someone about the surreality of Czech Tesco or how unexpectedly moving Haus am Checkpoint Charlie was, or how parts of Amsterdam are just as we left them. Amsterdam is monumental for me, and I was only seven when we left; I can’t understand how, even though they really liked it and lived there for huge chunks of their young adulthoods, they can be so thoroughly disinterested in returning. (How did my parents raise such a sentimental person? Honestly.)

Anyway, I find myself genuinely annoyed with them. It’s really silly, and I hope it doesn’t show. But there it is.

Meanwhile, Adelaide has just been exploding with culture for the last month or so. Film festival, Womad, French film festival, Fringe… The Fringe Festival is on now, and, to be honest, I haven’t been paying that much attention to it (although everyone I know seems to know someone who’s putting on a show), but on Monday night I saw Rory McLeod. He was on at about eleven o’clock, and most people had already gone home for the night (it being a Monday), so there were only about thirty of us squeezed onto the wooden benches of the Bosco Theater (yes, note the spelling – surely it hasn’t travelled all that way, this little wooden circus tent thing?) in the Garden of Unearthly Delights at the end of Rundle Street, and he was phenomenal. Harmonica and guitar and spoons and voice and tap shoes, and he told stories (the man must have lived everywhere at some point) and he played songs (some of which made me cry – I don’t know what is wrong with me lately), and then we all shuffled off home through the deserted streets at around half past midnight. If he ever comes round your way (and he probably will eventually), it’s so worth checking him out. I’ve been a fan of his albums for years, but live was something else altogether. Just really, really good, you know?

It’s slowly getting colder here, and it’s so nice (jumpers! rain!). I have an assignment to do this weekend, but I’m trying to break the cycle and not freak out too much. I wrote a report for Acquiring & Using Information Resources on Monday, and I felt so calm about it that that started to worry me…

ETA: Rory McLeod’s Singing Copper and Live Bits and Interviews (if your’e not a harmonica fan, don’t let the first ten seconds or so put you off) on YouTube.

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