Monday, 17 March 2014

Sympathy For The Devil

L'Wren Scott: Painted It Black.

I cannot fathom the pain that someone would feel if their partner took their own life.  Like a separation, magnified 10,000 times perhaps? Therefore, my thoughts go out to Mick Jagger, who has travelled halfway around the world to be told over dinner on his first evening in Perth that his long term girlfriend, L'Wren Scott has apparently committed suicide.

You could forgive Jagger for now having an utter hatred of Perth forever, with the association this city must now carry for him. Not only that, but of course many years ago (1969), his then girlfriend Marianne Faithful overdosed in Sydney and was in a coma for six days.  He'd almost have a reason never to come back to our big brown land, wouldn't he?

Sunday, 16 February 2014

Vanity Fair!

Okay, today I feel old; Very old.  Blame it on Greta Scacchi.

Confession: Sometime around 1990 I rented a video of a movie called The Coca Cola Kid.  Must have been in the $1 shelf at the video store. Well bugger me.  Filmed in 1985, it featured an utterly stunning young woman, with a magical face, and gorgeous body, by the name of Greta Scacchi.  I defy any hetrosexual male to watch that film and not find her attractive - she played a Lolita-esque nymph to playful perfection...

23 years ago, Mountjoy was mesmerised by this face...

In the decade that followed, Ms.Scacchi appeared in a number of films, and a very "European" sensibility to nudity, apparently - having a penchant for getting her kit off in most of them.  And then I guess she suffered the fate of most aging actresses, and the roles available became fewer and fewer, or she chose to slip into the shadows to raise a family.

Fast forward to this weekend, and it turns out Ms.Scacchi is coming to Perth to do some theatre. Her photo appeared in the Perth newspaper, and I was shocked. If I had not seen the caption, I'm sure I would not have recognised her.  

...and in 2014, I may have walked straight past her without realising it.

The slight, of course, is totally on me. My horrible vanity, of admiring an attractive twenty-five year old almost 30 years ago, and in my minds eye, imagining that she would hold those looks forever. People don't.  I certainly haven't. But you don't expect actors to age, I guess - the screen is so timeless.  

So, yes, I am old. But my memory is young.  I will forever be a 14, 15 or 16 year-old boy, trapped in the decaying body of a middle aged man. I am sure Ms.Scacchi is a wonderfully talented actress, and does not need her youthful looks to be a success any more than I do!  But it's an interesting thought as to how those people who do trade on their looks must fare in their autumn years.  It's a sad truth that men, especially, will always be ageist. And I confess that I am as guilty of that as anyone.

Sunday, 9 February 2014

The Power and The Passion

Do I Have To Say His Name?

It's Monday morning, and time to exhale.  After four days of rock and roll madness, the Perth Bruce Springsteen odyssey is over, and normal transmissions must resume.  And so comes the drop down to reality....

..and it's only such a drop because of the highs.  Despite the maelstrom of crap that surrounded me for the last 15 weeks, I can honestly say that these three shows have been 9 hours of freedom; freedom from adultery, freedom from separation, freedom from the uncertainties 2014 is about to throw up at me.  My musical hero delivered for me and 14,999 others in spades, three times in four nights.

Starting with me going solo, and a place in the second row from the stage, on Wednesday night, I followed up with seats in the B reserves with Heir and Spare, both getting their first Baptism at the Church of The Boss.  Heir and I then went on a quest for a place on the floor for Saturday, and our queue numbers of 89/90 were high enough to get us in the front row up against the stage, directly ahead of Nils Lofgren and Tom Morello.  Heir particularly appreciated this, as he is a budding guitarist, and loved watch these two maestros carve up some of his favourite songs! We both held request signs: Heir's was for Fire, and that got a massive smile and nod of approval from Steve Van Zant when he walked over our way, while mine, for Two Faces, had Nils Lofgren give me a huge wink and a thumbs up, when he saw it. That made my night - even though The Boss didn't pick either of them.

This double was a highpoint - reworks Ghost of Tom Joad backed up by Land of Hope and Dreams (the latter my favourite tune of Saturday night, I think):

So, out of 10?  For intimacy - 10/10; the front of the GA section is what I imagine flying First class would do to you ~ why would you ever go back to seats in the stands, or economy?  Song choices? 7/10; I had hoped to hear at least one bucket list song over the three nights, and 57 different tunes got played, but the fan classics like Backstreets, Racing in The Street, Jungleland - or for me, anything from Tunnel of Love - did not get a look in.  Cruelly, Darkness on the Edge of Town was listed but not played.  But that's me being churlish - any Bruce is great Bruce. Those songs would have been cream.

There were people flying east to go to 9 more shows - and I envy them. Perhaps as a newly minted single man, it is something I will aspire to Next Time...

Tuesday, 28 January 2014

Freedom of Speech (So long as you say what I want)

Mis-truth, Injustice, and The Liberal Way: The Mad Monk speaks.

Our hapless village idiot leader, Tony Abbott, is all over the newspapers this morning, complaining that the National Broadcaster, the ABC, should be more jingoistic, more partisan and less... well, transparent when it comes to reporting possible violations of human rights, Indonesian maritime boundaries, and other alleged transgressions by our Navy.

''You would like the national broadcaster to have a rigorous commitment to truth and at least some basic affection for the home team,'' he told Macquarie Radio on Wednesday.

Unfortunately, he did not detail his thoughts on which of those tenants should be receiving the higher priority when they are in conflict, although knowing how fast and loose the Mad Monk is with the truth, it's clear the former plays a very weak second fiddle to the latter.

Monday, 27 January 2014

You Don't Want To Go There....

I am resigned to the fact I will never be an Olympic athlete,  despite dreams of maybe being one of those ultra cool guys who looks like he spent half his life downing Duff Beer at Moe's, and then strolled onto the skeet range and and cans till snare Gold in the Trap...

So I have no knowledge of the mystical world of Olympic sports, but even I never suspected that an elite athlete's bowel movements occur at such a pace, that one pan could not keep up.

Exhibit A: Laura Cross Country Skiing and Biathlon centre, Sochi

(not shown: the single toilet roll holder, on the left hand wall.  Wiping if you sit on the right is not an option, apparently).

More on this story here.

Tuesday, 21 January 2014

The Two Finger Salute

For all those competitors out there who have ever wanted to slam it to the smug competition, Singkie Knegt, from The Netherlands has delivered:

"Second, Mum! I came second!" Knegt did not say.

Monday, 13 January 2014

That's It From The Archives

Well, for those who you who missed it the first time around - including my much loved children, who, when they are old enough will no doubt find this blog (!) - there are a selection of posts that, when I suspended RFYP almost a decade ago, I thought were worth keeping as a record of my thoughts, feelings and family history. 

I'm glad I did, as there are details there that I would never have remembered - but it was also very sad reading how happy I was, and how in love with my wife I was. One of the allegations thrown up in my face when we separated in October was that I did not really love her, and would one day admit that.

I beg to differ, and offer that history as proof to anyone who says otherwise.

*I do have some other material that The WayBack Machine has preserved, and over time I will inject it into the mix as time permits.