...slept all the way from Melbourne to touchdown in sweet spring heat, balmy even. Strolling through Sydney with the band, taking time, coffee & italian cuisine in the bay, feeding on sunlit laughter. Street artists & techno didge jammers sell $10 CDs to tourists as an old ghost with a trumpet tips his hat to no one, drifting through the holiday crowds. Another Charlie Chaplin hangs off another lamp post, mannequin simulations for weekend snappers who’s children jump & squeal when he suddenly moves. The markets are piled high with bright things, hand made artefacts under canvas. Bar bands beat out precision rhythms, mimicking genres for the nostalgic, whilst romantics gather in ex-pat bars to sway to songs from the old country. The puppet shop has gone the way of the fruit bats we also came in search of, but parrots still infest the evening trees with the celebration of their cacophony. We play, ‘guess the flavour of the liquorice’ waiting at the waters edge for the projections to start up on the sails of the Opera House & when they do the crowd cheer & begin to snap between mouthfuls of wraps & coffee. We drift away into the night like lovers, tired & lagged, smiling as we catch one another’s eye to see a light shining there that only genuine happiness could have ignited. A beautiful city on a beautiful day, Sydney, see you at the Opera House tomorrow...
