LIFE, LOVE AND MUSIC
Mario Millo’s
1975 assertion that Life, Love and Music are the three paramours of today’s man
has always seemed to me a convenient and justifiable description of the male
condition. It’s as apt in 2015 as it was nearly forty years ago.
Sure, one can
get into arguments about the order that L, L and M should be placed but it’s
largely academic and I’m certainly no long hair and have withdrawn my
application form for membership to Sydney’s Push decades ago. I don’t think
they would have accepted me anyway and, besides, I don’t own any black trousers
and still remain challenged by Germaine Greer…… but that’s another story.
If you’re going
to be unfaithful, then the femme fatale known as LIFE is a worthy mistress. The
problem with her, however, is that she is capable of kicking you in the teeth
at the most unexpected of times. When my daughter finished high school I was in
denial for about six years. You see, it’s only a few years since I finished
high school and I’m still wondering what I’m going to do when I grow up. The
mistress appears uninterested in my pain and has threatened to look for someone
younger. Believe me, mirrors in bathrooms and recent family portraits don’t
assist in the therapy.
LOVE may be a
safer long-term proposition (no pun intended) in ‘the affair’ stakes. She may
not wear figure-enhancing galaxy dresses but I’m sure she’s capable of a
tailored, yet fashionable, presence…. at least, you’d think. Not so. Princess
Major, at the Greystanes compound/ ranch, has made it her quest– a ‘passion’ so
to speak– to get me into track-suit pants around the house. “Paul, they’re
really comfortable” and “No-one would look twice at you at Pemulwuy” are
mantras that I’m becoming increasingly subjected to. Is this the torture that I
have to endure in my twilight years? Love be gone!
The temptress
MUSIC unfortunately is, like me, late middle-aged and weathered. Her upper arms
have been dipped in a cellulite vat and her centre of gravity has noticeably
lowered. To add insult to injury, she attracts people of her own age and
non-chiselled gait. I was reminded of this when I recently ‘charged’ towards
Fairfield RSL one Thursday evening upon hearing that Dave Graney was playing in
The Supper Club for free. Whilst Graney’s performance was near faultless and I
had secured refreshments at club prices (the Princess was the designated
driver), I was amazed to see all the ‘old people’ who were sharing the
experience around me. What were they doing there? Was John Farnham playing in
the auditorium? Had a Spin-and-win extravaganza just concluded? I looked for
toaster boxes under some of these punters’ arms but couldn’t see any. Music is
definitely no unauthorised bed-mate.
Come to think of it life, love and music may only
be passing acquaintances. What does Mario Millo know, anyway?
Posted on f/b on 16 February 2015.
These pop-up nursing homes haunt me. I just don't get it either. Somewhere between Peter Pan and Franz Kafka. Life. Love. Music. Very groovy Paul.
ReplyDeletePop-up nursing homes. That's fuckin' gold, Andrew. Might use that.
Delete