Sunday, 6th August.
Small world

It was all very Tasmanian.

In Tasmania, you can't go anywhere without running into someone you know. Or someone you're related to.

(to whom you are related? to whom one is related? whatever.)

London is a city with a population slightly larger than that of Tasmania. I was at the Ealing Jazz Festival with Charmari, Jo, Chris and a cast of thousands. The hub of the action was the park. After chilling out for a while we decided to get a bit closer to the main stage, so Charmari and I scouted for a spot on the grass near the marquee. We spotted a patch of unoccupied grass and Charmari scampered off to find the others.

I was standing there guarding our spot when I heard a familiar antipodean voice. I looked down behind me, and bugger me senseless if it wasn't Kris Jones, a former Fluid employee just like Charmari and me!

I squatted next to the unsuspecting Kris and uttered something lame like "G'day mate" and gave Kris the surprise of her life. Well, the suprise of her afternoon, for sure.

And it would appear that she's now universally known as "Jonah"!

Unrelated story: I rang my Mum today (remember those ads for Pizza Hut, a few years ago now, where the delivery boy would ask for a tip, and the response was "Be nice to your mother"??) and she was telling me about her trip to the footy. A long-suffering Tigers supporter (now there's a tautology), Mum was crossing the road from Fitzroy Gardens along that street to get to the MCG. (the streets have names, I just can't remember them!) A young couple were walking towards her, and as they approached she just made out some of their conversation. She was castigating him, saying something about having seen more than enough football. He replied by saying "More than enough football is not nearly enough!"