Sunday, 7 September 2008

Some might say it's lame

This weekend, we went to Sydney, because, you know, we never do that. That old trip up the Federal Highway is now so predictable, so well worn by us that I don't even bother taking photos for the blog any more. I just settle in for the ride and knit. 

The point of this trip was so that Sean could go to a concert at Luna Park. When he told me he'd be going to see his favourite band, a few Swedish dudes called Opeth, at a fun park, I thought it was a little incongruous. But no, they apparently have a venue there called The Big Top. 

Needless to say, I was not attending the concert. Sean and I are both passionate about music, just different music, although I will concede that Opeth's singer has the most beautiful and resonant voice. For that reason, I'd have gone with Sean and probably had a lovely time, except for one thing. This guy doesn't always sing. In fact he spends a fair amount of time squandering his talent by doing that horrible growling thing (or Cookie Monster voice, as it's sometimes known - I kid you not). What a waste. Sean and I bicker about this constantly. I see no reason why someone who has a beautiful singing voice should do that, but legions of fans love it, so I leave them to it, and don't go to the shows.

Instead, I opted to spend the appropriately bleak and gloomy evening tucked up in the cosy comfort of RoseRed's home. And because Sean took the camera, I have no photos but I'm sure I don't need photos for you to imagine just what the evening entailed.


Knitted socks.


Big bowls of soup.


And, of course, knitting. Lots and lots of it. 

It simply can't be beaten. At one stage we had talked about going out on the town for the night but I recall I wrote to RoseRed and said, 'Would it sound really lame if I said I think it'd be just as nice for us to spend the evening knitting and chatting and watching TV?'

Her reply, 'You are so asking the wrong person if that's lame!'

We made the right choice. Some, like party going young folk, might say it's lame, but with the lovely Mr RoseRed taking on ice cream and chocolate duties, a very, very fine evening was had. By Sean, too. Opeth lived up to his lofty expectations. 

And so ends the weekend. Everyone is happy, we have a roast chook in the oven and Midsomer Murders to look forward to later on. I'll just try not to think about the alarm going off at 6am tomorrow.