By Shirley Higgins-Croft.
Hello Everyone! BTS are in town this is the story about my amazing evening on the night they played the Snake Pit. Readers will recognize that reviewing a pop concert is well outside my usual journalistic scope, which normally encompasses fashion, crime and the international zeitgeist. I hope you’ll forgive a more casual approach to this report as I try to describe this unusual, overwhelming but wonderful experience.
So, how did the most hard-bitten, multi-award winning newswoman* in the Far North get this assignment? Well, it goes like this. Editor-in-Chief Murray Murchison mentioned that his daughter, Melissa, was desperate to go to see BTS, and that his son, Mitchell, had a sleep-over on the night of the concert at the Povah’s place. The calculus was clear. If Murray was able to find someone to chaperone Melissa to the concert, and the mechanic made good on his promise to rectify the radiator issue on Murray’s Kia Cerato, circumstances would align to allow him and Mrs Murchison to slip off to a Port Douglas luxury resort to repeatedly attend to some urgent marital business.
As it happened, my niece, Amy, is a big BTS fan too. So, in the negotiation phase, Murray agreed to provide three concert tickets, a bottle of Swarovski-Studded Alize vodka, a prism of Schoggifest Toblerone, two unicorn costumes, all the receipts and the permission to claim the whole jamboree as my tax deduction. For their part, Amy’s parents threw in a lash-lift-and-tint at Lust Beauty Bar. And it all came together when my hubby Pete agreed to stay in and mind the pets provided I promised to don the Arabian sand goggles after the show. Done! We’re off to see the Bantang boys!
The girls arrived early and were looking magnificent (below). We pre-loaded on some Sav Blancs and we played some rainbow-fart drinking games, truth-or-dare, and practiced our Silver Spoon and Dynamite dance moves. When it was time to go, I got Pete to dial us up a Uber.
As as we drove into the CBD, the scale of the event became abundantly clear. Raushanjeet could only get us as far as Aplin street, so I had him drop us off right there. Aware that he’d been disadvantaged by the shortened trip, I made time to give him a tip ($1) and a rating (2 stars – no Ganesh statue in sight; hint of bad breath, failure to indicate when turning left out of Periwinkle Avenue).
Ahead of us there was a seething mass of humanity. I began to see that in my DDP Bomber jacket over my Tentative Atelier pleated dress all held up by my Stuart Weitzmans, I was woefully under-dressed for the occasion. Never mind. I resolved to put aside this disappointment and make a great night for the girls.
We waded through the crowd. The girls were immediately distracted by YOMG, so we treated ourselves to a FroYo. Then Amy wanted to have her picture taken beside the jelly-babies outside the Contemporary Arts Centre. I picked up a traveller bottle of Lindy Fraise at BWS on Abbot Street, and then Melissa needed to go to the toilet, so we popped into the Railway Hotel to use their facilities. On the way out, we were given a round of applause by the patrons.
I was becoming aware that we were running a little late, so I polished off the Lindy, discarded the bottle and and we stepped up the pace a bit. As we neared the snake pit, I made sure to grab each unicorn by her horn because we were being pressed on all sides by manga characters and I did not want to lose sight of the girls.
We were approaching the entrance when I felt a tap on my back. I was very surprised to see Murray. It turned out that the trip to Port Douglas had been called off. Monica had stumbled across Murray’s browsing history which featured women who looked suspiciously like their cleaner, Kim Soo-minh. Murray kindly demanded the tickets, and expressed regret that, due to this late change of arrangements, he would be unable to provide the Swarovski-Studded Alize vodka or the prism of Schoggifest Toblerone. And I would need to publish the concert review based on his notes.
I called an Uber and unfortunately it was Raushanjeet who picked me up. I believe that he was aware of the poor rating because he did not talk constantly and try to stare down my dress. After he dropped me off, I made time to give him a tip ($1) and a rating (1 star – no Ganesh statue in sight, confirmation of bad breath, failure to indicate when turning right into Periwinkle Avenue, did not try to look down my dress).
Pete was watching True Detective, so I had a nightcap and checked the browsing history (Brunette MILFs – all good). I had another nightcap and meditated on the evening. Such a lot of fun, but a very disappointing ending. Peter went to bed with blue goggles that night.
The review of the concert, based literally on Murray’s notes, is below. Enjoy. Shirley.
Review Notes: Great light show. Noisy, lots of movement. Screaming. Faint smell of urine. Severely broken English full of superlatives and weird imagery. Absence of tragic buzzer-beating, defeat from jaws of victory loss for the Taipans. Tiring. Took two hours to exit the building due girl pathos and hysteria. Indian Uber guy charged me to clean unicorn vomit.
*Sharyn Ghidella excepted.