I’m old. I know this because I listen to ABC radio in the car, can’t see without my contacts and have an emergency set of tweezers on stand by. But despite my advancing age, or perhaps because or it, I’m headed to a concert next week. Like a lot of people in Brisbane, I’m off to see Adele.
Tickets were a Christmas present from my husband. There was a great deal of hinting. I actually unwrapped the Adele biography. A few moments of frantic searching revealed no tickets hiding in the pages. So I had to ask “does this mean what I think it means?” We had a circular, cryptic conversation that amused him and frustrated me. Happens often.
Anyway, after confirming the existence of tickets, my mind turned to what to wear. There are a few practicalities to consider. It will be hot. We will have to walk a fair way to the concert itself – Gabba parking being horrendous. There shall be dancing. We are going out to dinner before hand. Read more
Last weekend I got a very late call up to attend the polo. As in, a couple of days prior. My husband and I had been to the polo before and had a fabulous time so it was a “hell yes” from us. Last time we went was before kids and my memories are hazy. 10 years will do that. So will the amount of Veuve we drank. But I remembered there being Veuve and that was enough for me.