Split Enz review

 Went to see Split Enz last night, from arriving at the train station en route, my heart sank about how drab and badly dressed matured aged audiences are, in Adelaide, I do remember getting shirty with my Mum for pointing this out, but it's true. Everyone dresses like they've left prison or they were forced to shop for their wardrobe at Millers or Lowes (and maybe they were). By the time we arrived at Entertainment Centre, there were a few glimmers of hope, a guy who had an actual Split Enz t-shirt, looked like a New Zealander. Then, as the band came on, there was relief. Paul and Tim had white hair big and boofy, sharp plaid suits, Neil in Blue and Tim in orange, they shared a retrospective of all the amazing outfits that Noel had made for them over the years, and I was in heaven. Noel is a talent, I believe he did the sets for Play School and/or Rockwiz, and he's good at sewing, screen printing, patchworking but also that higher level of conceptual design. Makes Jenny Kee and Linda Jackson look mediocre (they're not). 

Before the show, an older man, full grey hair, beard, on an e bike wanted to know where everyone was heading and thought I was the best prospect for a conversation, so I filled in the blanks, he seemed impressed enough to keep talking; afterwards an older couple, lady in a pink beanie with a pom pom needed help about public transport. She wasn't happy, kept tutting about the absence of a full convoy of taxis (me-well, this is a train station, why would taxis be here?), and the absence of public toilets at suburban railway stations (I didn't contest that, she was probably from Sydney), then I gave her directions about where to swap trains and insisted that she'd need to use the cross over bridge to be on the opposite platform, before remembering, just in time, no, she needed to stay on the same side. I repeated that correction quite a few times, here's hoping she believed me. Her significant other was wearing a St Kilda AFL cap, and honestly, I should have worn my Richmond tiger scarf, like I thought when I was leaving the house. Solidarity and all that, despite the obvious (different teams, they're now down Morabbin way but in the day when I lived in St Kilda, Richmond was an easy tram ride away). 

I was telling work friend that Paul Kelly had been our around the corner neighbour, close enough to kick a footy into his yard, if I'd had any sense about befriending people, but at the time I didn't think PK was that famous, he was between partners, and albums for that matter, was often spotted with a mysterious male, sitting at the table at the local pizza joint, sipping an espresso or whatever other people drink on a week night when they're out with a friend chit chatting. One evening it was my birthday, a Tuesday night, I dressed nicely for my date night out with my significant other and PK and his mate were the only other patrons when we arrived, but I didn't want to share the limelight, so insisted on sitting on the pavement, waiter said "Madam knows best" and encouraged my significant other to always put my needs and wants before his own. A nice night. PK was a civilised neighbour, attuned to who was who in the neighbourhood, though he kept to himself, nodding at the servo.