You feed off my mind like a jackal

On Saturday night my three companions and I (yes, was with Thommo and those still rather lissome and very blonde sisters Bimbo and Bambi; i fagged for the gels when they were in the Upper Fifth and i was in the Lower First) must have been the few Sydneysiders to see Keating! for the first time. Still it's pretty nice for Thommo to have a first at his ripe old age; even that son of a gun can't be a trailblazer all the time.

Keating! was absolutely brilliant. It was sheer comic genius and a superb melange of musical genres. The Bob Fosse inspired entrance of Keating, the soulful duelling duets, the wappy rap and Dr J (Hewson), and the lugubrious Gareth who was very Caiphus-like (as interpreted by Lloyd Webber & Rice) . I couldn't even begin to elaborate on the spectacular that was I want to do you slowly or the gyratin', galootin' Lexie Downer hot gossip floorshow - grrrrrrrr tiger.

My dears, the utter captivation and thrill of such a show. Sheer heaven and mirth.

It was so spot on and really rather flawless. The only time i could not laugh was when jwh became centre stage, that was too, too sad and chilling, positively sick-making.

I tell you what, nsrs, how grand was it to remember Keating as that dashing, sharp tongued, clever progressive rather than the bileous Panto Dame he has become in recent years. A source of the Mistress reveals that PJK has been to see the performance several times, i guess in between watching Joe Hockey playing Shrek on the Kerrie Anne Kennerley show.

Only pollie there on our night was Peter Garrett. But you know, when don't you happen upon that dude. He is like very tall and bald. Presented quite the contrast to a lot of those diminutive, luxuriantly snowy haired alp types.

In other news, not much to report. Have been working night and day, flat out. So much so that my dreams no longer feature pop stars, celebs or jaunty little trips to Ravello on a motorcycle with Gore Vidal in adjoining sidecar but entail my chasing paper, negotiating minefields with spinners, trying to beat the clock (not sure whether it's in a 39 steps or Sparx fashion - hey it's always your choice on NSR) and hearing people talk at me - so i'm living and dreaming the nervy B. Jim Dandy is so not 'ere. Perhaps he'll return in the spring?

Oh, you might be interested to know that "shit happens nude dude" from across the eastern way of Tupper Mansions has plum sold his digs and demenaged! I only realised this yesterday (see i've been like way too busy to peep) when I noticed that his impressive stash of long neck empties no longer lined his kitchen window sill. And then i saw lots of young men in overalls painting the walls.

I've got a hacking cough and have been wondering whether it's the old superpooperwhooping cough. Surely not but I do double up and almost vomit mid-splutter, haven't had a booster shot since 1985. So i've treated myself to a bottle of single malt whisky which i'm imbibing while i type making me feel very Gordon Jackson but i don't think he knew how to type, or coughed with such a lack of decorum for that matter.