Sunday in bed

Lying in bed on Sunday morning. Too early to get up. The brain cranks into gear……..

‘Wish I could remember the name of Lord Mayor of Sydney. I can see her; always has a choker round her neck, spiky black hair, a bit too black now that she’s getting older. Always wears interesting clothes. What’s her name?Try the alphabet….

A Amy, Angela, Annabelle, Alexis, Alice

B Betty, Beverly, Belinda

C Catherine, Clare……

That’s not working…. She’s just had a big renovation done on the Town Hall, has her own shower and bedroom there. Nice steps, those, leading up to the Town Hall. I can see her doing an Eva Peron on the top of the steps in a long,  strapless, white dress. Diamonds round her neck and long dangly ear-rings, addressing the crowd milling at the bottom of the steps on George St.

Ha! I’m not actually thinking of Madame Mayor, you tricky brain. That’s Tim Brooke-Taylor I can see as Eva. Tim of ‘The Goodies, goody goody, yum yum’ dressed in Eva’s finery, she turns to the two weeping secretaries and sings those immortal lines..

‘Don’t cry for me, Marge and Tina…’ Still can’t hear ‘Don’t Cry for me Argentina’ without changing the words. Loved that silly show.

He was in the office though, not on the steps. We all met up on the Town Hall steps once. They had been to see ‘The Highwaymen’, must’ve been on at the Entertainment Centre. Me to the Town Hall to see the …………..Irish blokes, old, excellent musicians. God, who are they? Audience dancing in the aisles. Great fiddler and that Irish drum thing. What they called? Have to Google it. Irish Rovers?


Clover Moore! Of course. That’s the name of  Sydney’s mayor.

Now that Irish group……’


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