Sep 13, 2011


A week or so ago, Nicole's social life took off with a bang as she finished her dissertation for her Master's Degree in Being Very Clever.

She went to the Riverfire Ball, a work thing, at the Customs House in the city. 

Her afternoon consisted of beautification of the follicular tress variety. Whilst she was undergoing her Calypso-like transformation we mortals went and walked the dog up at Mount Coot-tha, achieving a 5km circuit around the Waterfall Walk in time to pick up the new Goddess of Beauty (and I mean that most sincerely) and take her to Marion's house for a spot of off-the-cuff accessorisation.

At home for a little while, I cooked and we mortals ate whilst Nicole dressed herself.

I could tell you an amusing (if you're male) or frightening (for everyone else) story about the dress she borrowed from her beautification consultant, squeezed into, then tested beyond its integral limits through the irresponsible act of inhaling, but I won't.

Anyway, she was due in town around 6.30 so we set off to drop her at the Temple of Fun before attempting to make a rendez-vous across the river with some friends.

With the fireworks due to start around 7, it became quickly clear that we would be rendez-vousing with no-one, as the bridges were closed and traffic was slowing. Oh, the small fact that we (I) got lost in the grid is a mere detail I feel safe in glossing over.

The city ejaculated us in a Northern direction, and with bearings secure, we joined the slow moving traffic which deposited us eventually at a multi-storey par cark where we de-carred and headed into the Valley, a slow trudge that took in many shop windows and interesting diversions.

As we climbed the final hill and the Story Bridge heaved its ironwork and electric bunting over the crest, the river expanding beneath us and the city monolithic behind, the fireworks began.

Normally I despise the badly-edited hotchpotch of so-called contemporary "pap" that seems to pass for dramatic complement to fireworks. In this case it was inaudible, a considerable blessing. Instead our ears were assaulted by drumrolls of explosive percussion, our eyes constricted by coruscations of light spat from every available iron orifice, and our senses tingled by the untuned Ooohs and Aaahs of the crowd.

Eloise climbed on my shoulders and stuck a cuddle toy in my face. Then she climbed some rocks for a better view. Then she went into the crowd to see what she could. Then she came back.

After about twenty minutes of whizzes, bangs, firework flowers, white waterfalls, searchlights in the sky, but no jets, the fireworks finished and off we went home.

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