20 January 2013
On Friday, I was invited to play rooftop lawn bowls. I was pretty excited about this, I mean, rooftop lawn bowls! I don’t actually know what this is, so in my head I have invented an Alice In Wonderland type croquet lawn, with animals rolled into balls and playing card people as ball boys. Cupcakes and jugs of Pimms. All atop a wonky tower, on the beach, spectacular views over the sea.
But the temperature soared to a record breaking 45.8 degrees Celsius in Sydney, and the inner suburbs (where I am) were reaching even higher. I hid in the air-con until late afternoon and then made a break for the train. You know when you open the oven and if you are too close you get that whoosh of hot air in your face? Well, all the air in Sydney was like that. You couldn’t breathe properly.
My three minute train journey takes me to another station where I can get a direct link into the city. It’s a tiny little station with a couple of platforms and a small rig that just about holds a man and his chair. The clocks on the wall don’t tell the time, but the large wooden hands are occasionally turned to show train leaving times. When I attempted to purchase a ticket, I was informed that, due to the heat, the trains had been mostly cancelled, or at least severely delayed. It was a two hour journey with the trains running as normal, and I had work the next morning. I just couldn’t risk ending up in North Sydney with no way home.
The next train home wasn’t running for another hour. Why this train was running and not the others, I wasn’t sure. The ticket officer didn’t seem to know either, nor offer me any idea of where there might be air-con. He was offering me some water when some hot and sweaty guy began shouting at him.
I found a place in the unforgiving heat and stood watching the angry array of people pass through, ranting at the poor ticket man. Even the sky seemed to be sweating, fat, lazy drops splattering onto the concrete. So I stood for an hour under swollen clouds of hot rain, got on my train and ended up back where I started. Only much sweatier.
I may have been muttering under my breath a little.
I sat in my room for a few moments, grumbling and seething, steam literally rising from me, when my phone rang.
Did I want a free ticket to a sold out festival? Leaving now. Taxi’s outside.
I thought I had acquired all the luck in the world, but when I looked at the line up, it seemed there was more to come. Pretty Lights was playing. I have been trying to see this man for quite some time. To say the least. He was amazing. He even played a song I hadn’t dared wish for.
The rest of the day wasn’t bad either – sitting with frozen cocktails, watching Red Hot Chili Peppers. And the weather cooled. The grin smothered my face all day.
There was something very poetic about the coincidence. How everything seemed to tie up and the knots just eased themselves out into this inconceivable picture.
I’ve been told I have traveller’s luck. Perhaps I am receiving all my luck in one chunk. But good things like this keep happening, over and over. I like to think it is because I am making the most of opportunities, but actually, I think my only input has been going with the flow. Denying errors the chance to be a bad thing. This day would never have happened if it had all gone to plan. Long live fuck ups.