Saying history never repeats is like saying you can't repeat the past. Yet you can, old sport.
I've just come from a mildly soulstirring Tim Finn concert. There's a world to explore, tales to tell back on shore...
It was the most exhilerating evening with Betty. I realise there were times in my life that would have happened differently or not at all, if she hadn't been there.
The quarry ampitheatre is breathtaking. And in all its romantic beauty I didn't mind that I wasn't there with the love of my life (where the hell is he anyway?).... it was a beautiful night.
I didn't know most of the songs, but their lyricism got me, and there were moments where I caught Betty's eye dragging me back out of too much contemplation.

I live in a home with no imagination. Playfulness is frowned upon here.

Tim Finn brought back buttery high school memories. I love those songs - whose words can swing you, wheeling, desperate through the nights.
The opening guy was called Andy Bull, and if ever I get the chance, I'll go and see him again.
From a song called pretty girls:

Lonely girls, are what pretty girls become..; anyway, I don't remember the exact words...

So we drove home, after having our souls massaged, and champagne dotted like perfume behind our ears (I can't explain what that winey scent on my fingers reminded me of) talking about respect and finding that after much debate we were on exactly the same page.
Is it 22nd December yet? Freedom and wide open spaces are scratching at the outskirts of my mind ...

I can't wait for tomorrow.

You were just eighteen, grasping with both hands, holding desperate to anything that could have been. You would have believed anyone, and you read more into the slightest gesture than you should have.
A night at the Fringe bar on oxford street, and a salty naked day and night on the beach do not a relationship make. Yet you followed the line of his details down the phone-book page, with bitten nails and red-tinged hope. I'll just call and he'll come back, you thought. Solver of everything, in a world where everything really was possible.
You didn't stop to think that Darwin and a kingdom of pearls was more important, more real, than a girl in a mauve singlet standing at the Dural Village caravan park, hoping for a promise.

So, tonight was beautiful. And history probably does repeat. And for now, I am happy. And fully aware of how fortunate I am.

. . .