Sydney by night

In between bagsing seats and pitching tents and portaloos at the two possible locations for NicnKeith’s wedding, I’ve been getting on with my life, it’s odd to have one, and gadding about.

Last night a friend generously treated me to an excursion to the film festival. I caught the bus into Market Street. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a bus on a Saturday night and it was entertaining to see the bus’ corridor being used by the younger passengers as a catwalk which they strutted down, sucking in their cheeks, looking kind of sour but beautiful, of course, and displaying their Saturday best before swinging around and taking a seat. My mind’s soundtrack alternated between Girls on film and Vogue. Being easily amused has been such a passport to happiness in this life.

The State Theatre was its usual glamorously gaudy and magnificent self. We had champers upstairs and our conversation about BB 2006, work, pollies, kiddies, and mutual friends, was often interrupted, I mean enhanced, by a very toey not to mention chatty 20 year old barman who leapt over the bar to come and talk.

The barman told us that he found his job very boring and that this year’s festival was very quiet. In between talking in this fashion he would turn and do a pirouette and then yammer about something else and twirl again. He was rather light on his feet I must say. Private dancers must be a Saturday night special at the State. His shift was about to end and he told us he was off to Newtown. He was disappointed that the Bank Hotel, home to the salubrious Sleepers and exorbitantly priced Thai restaurant, was still being renovated. We were kind of nonplussed. He then twirled off back to the bar and then Newters, I suspect, as he did not return to our table. So we analysed him a bit and then took our seats in the theatre.

No real celebs spotted at the festival apart from a very minor one, and it’s pathetic that I recognised him, hey, that’s what I do, to be so talented is a veritable curse. He is an Aussie actor who played a love interest to one of the gay guys in Secret life of us but his biggest claim to fame was playing Stanford’s rival for Carrie Bradshaw’s friendship in Sex and City. He came and stood by the empty seat next to me and jumped up and down and waved as though he was trying to get someone’s attention, perhaps he’s become an expert in semaphores or works at the airport, I hear there’s a dearth of acting opportunities at the mo, or just recognised me from my time on 90's morning tv shows, Ernie and Ding Dong a particular high point. No doubt the latter, and I was happy to lend him a bit of my limelight. I feel for the Norman Desmonds and am happy to give 'em a break every now and again. Of course, I'm equally sympathetic to those celebs at their peak, and that is why I always make an effort not to disturb them. Fame and notoriety is such a bitch. And let’s not talk about those pesky paparazzi, tsk, tsk indeed. Such a hard life those celebs lead.

Anyway the dude left without asking for my autograph and I’m really touched and grateful for his respect. Nice to have it reciprocated.

Now why was I out on Saturday night? Oh, yes for the film festival. We saw two films, neither of which were much chop. A short Welsh one and a long, turgid French one starring France’s Judy Davis, Isabelle Huppert. A drama set in the 19th century about a very grim and unhappy marriage that made Madame Bovary seem like I love Lucy. We couldn't wait until it ended, too bored and sleepy. It was 10.30 after all.