They hold them in their backyard every so often, with recorded and live music plus karoake and they tend to get loud. Too loud, really, so I escaped inside the house for most of the night.
At one point I found myself at a table caught between two men animatedly arguing the merits of Holden and Ford. For my American readers (both of you), Holden and Ford are arch-rival car companies. Ne'er the twain shall meet, and all the rest.
One bloke, very drunk, was chagrined that, as a Holden man, he was currently working for a Ford dealership. The other was gloating.
In a hapless attempt to contribute – it is as this point that I should have reminded myself, "You're not in Darlinghurst anymore, sweetheart!" – I said it was just like the Sharks and the Jets in West Side Story.
Fortunately, they either didn't hear me, didn't have a clue what I was talking about or didn't give a shit, because I was ignored completely.
It's the last time I'll inject Sondheim into a conversation. I could get in trouble.
No comments:
Post a Comment