As I sat and watched the singer-songwriter night at the pub last night, I felt slightly melancholic. Watching the university crowd coming in and out, watching them and their friends play, led to some middle-aged self-reflection. “I’m old enough to be their father, or even their grandfather”, I thought to myself. Though it only seems like yesterday when I was doing something similar to them, it’s over thirty years since I finished university, and next year will be forty years since I started high school.

And then I had an drunk men, maybe only a few years younger than me, come up and sit down next to me. After a few minutes he said something to me. “What”, I said. “Are you a faggot?”, he said, this time a little louder and more clearly. “I’m not a faggot, I’m gay”, I told him firmly. Minutes later he was standing in front of one of the singers, having a similar conversation. In the course of our brief exchange, he told me was from Melbourne, had a wife and kids, and was working in Hobart on a construction project. “Me thinks he doth protesteth too much”, I though to myself.

The difference between the innocent young kids listening earnestly to their singer-songwriter friends, and the obvious middle-aged bloke could not have been more extreme. Though the kids were thirty years younger, I felt I had a lot more in common with them than the similarly aged bloke.

But hey, it was a Tuesday night in Hobart, and I was looking for something to do.

Music has always been an important part of my life. And though I love going out and listening to live music, or going out for a dance, I feel like I don’t do it nearly enough. Though most of them also love music, few of my friends enjoy, like I do, going out to a restaurant or bar where music is playing. Nonetheless, I feel it’s something I’d like to do more of, once I end this short work assignment in Hobart.

Aside from Sunday’s big trip to Bruny Island, it’s been work, work, work.

As much as I’d planned a visit to Mona on Saturday, I ended up spending a few hours on Saturday at Hobart Hospital. About a decade ago I developed a cyst on my back which turned problematic, requiring surgery. Last year, unfortunately that lump re-appeared, though so far it hasn’t caused me grief.

And then about two weeks ago, one began to develop on my face. On the verge of turning toxic, I visited the hospital where it was popped. Ahead of the consultation, I sent my niece (a nurse) a photograph of the offending object, hoping she would assure me it was nothing to worry about. Instead she replied with “Ewwww gross, that looks really nasty”. The honesty of family members!!

I wouldn’t have normally gone to the hospital, since it’s something a doctor could easily do in their surgery. But all of the medical centres I tried in the centre of town were closed, so off to the hospital I went. There were clearly more deserving patients than me, and so the wait as a fairly lengthy one, and in the end being cared for by a hunky doctor made it worthwhile. :):)

Work took me to Hobart, and now it’s brought me back to Sydney. I’m also hoping to catch up on the weekend with some friends visiting from the US. Next week it will take me back to Hobart again.