Dinner and a show

It was one of those lazy afternoons. I was making a coffee in the kitchen when Shane came in.

“Oh,” sigh “My quiet afternoon going to see the Muppets, on my own, has been turned into an event by Sebastian, who insisted on drinks and nibbles and now everybody is arriving at 3pm to drink vodka.”

Oh yes Shane. Of course. I’m sure you objected to an event of yours being aggrandised and made more fabulous. “Really? Who?”

As it turned out it was just Sebastian and D and Ashley.

You see, even Shane’s rhetoric is grandiose. Please, who are you kidding? Three people, thank the universe.

Really, I thought. The Muppets? Apparently is it a childhood thing.

I wondered if Shane was going to ask me to go? He doesn’t tend to ask me to things. I don’t know why? I think it is that he is far too self focused and I’d need to be pandering to him more to make him feel as special as he’d like to feel. I’d need to blow far more smoke up his arse, like his other friends do.

Or maybe I’m just a sour bitch? Smirk. Either way…

Oh, I didn’t really want to go. I should have been bike riding instead, trying to exercise some of this fat stomach off. But, that would mean trading social outings for doing something at home, on my own, again. How would it feel? Hiding away? Would I regret it? Probably not. Wince.

I didn’t exercise yesterday either.

Oh, I should say yes, I should stop saying no to things? Shouldn’t I? Convince me. Yes, I should. Say yes, be apart of it all. Or am I just being as sucked into a constructed social whirl as I think other people sometimes are?


We've all got to be more fabulous, don't you know.

Shane did ask me and I did say yes. He then said he had to go out and buy vodka and nibbles. Reluctantly make an impression, no doubt. Ha, ha, I jest. He likes approval, does our Shane.

I made avocado toast and a nice cup of tea for lunch and retired to my room with my laptop to wait for the onslaught. The shadowy world of my bedroom, it is where I like best.

Everyone would be here at 3.30. Of course, the first ring on the doorbell sounded before Shane hadn’t returned from the shops… now there is a surprise. I was lying on my bed and I was so comfortable that I ignored the first couple of rings. Well, I could have been asleep. I would claim that I was asleep… if I had to, if I cared enough. Oh please let it be D, I thought, as I finally headed down to open the door, on the third ring. It was Sebastian.

Oh, try not to groan, Christian.

Sebastian cooked sausages, immediately. They were lamb and had paprika in them and the fat in the pan turned the most glorious red colour.

There was cheese and pate and meat loaf and gherkins and beetroot relish and olives and gluten free biscuits, which tasted like old bits of parchment that had been dried in the sun, on a rock, in a desert, on the hot side of Mars. Shane made martinis, which are really just pure shots vodka in a glass, after all, mixed with a little water from the ice, when stirred. We talked about the skill of making a dry martini. I was a barman way back when and I can wank on about the subject with the best of them… as though, I am masturbating in a playground with a trench coat. But, I never really drank them. I’ve always been a vody and tonic boy, ever since I was a kid.

D and Ashley arrived pretty soon after, with Ashley reeling from the pot, which had been, one could on assume, forced down his throat at Perry and Wes’, where they had just come from.

Shane produced the dope cookies for he and I. Sebastian can’t eat them, of course, because of his gluten intolerance. Poor bitch. Sly smirk.

D drove us all to Victoria Gardens, to the picture house. He was the designated driver for the after noon. I hadn’t been in his fully imported, German design, whatsit, replacement from his parents after his last car, Korean, drowned in a blocked rain in one of those torrential down pours we had. It was smooth.

The Muppets were on in Cinemas 7. No problem. We weren’t as much of a disturbance at the box office as we could have been, in fact, I think we brightened up the box office/candy bar chicks afternoon. We were funny and charming and colourful, well, that’s how if felt on my side of two martinis. We stumbled into Cinema 7 relatively on time. There were only about four other people in the cinema, which seemed odd. Surely, this movie is practically in its first few weeks? The lights went out, the trailers started. After a few adverts and shorts, there was a trailer for Toy Story 4, some therapy session for Buzz Lightyear. It seemed to go on and on… and on.

I thought, this is a long trailer. Then I thought, this is a very long trailer. The third time I thought that it seemed inordinately long, I followed that thought with… this isn’t a trailer at all.

“Are we in the wrong movie?” I asked.

We all started to laugh, as the Toy Story 4 trailer continued… and continued.

D and Ashley went out to investigate. When they didn’t return, I went out to investigate too. The two of them were heading back to the cinema doors, as I stepped out into the main walkway.

“Apparently, it is on now in here,” said D. We headed back in and the Muppet movie had started.

WTF?

So, I don’t know what went on there. If it was a combination of the booze and the pot we had consumed, or if the Toy Story trailer was a particularly long trailer, you know, just for effect, some new marketing ploy. I don’t know.

The movie started off with some Muppet kid being befriended by two humans, who were concerned about the old Muppet Theatre because it was about to be demolished for oil drilling. It could be saved if they could raise 10 million dollars and the way to raise 10 million dollars would be for the original Muppets to put on one final show.

So that is the premise of the film.

After the first half an hour, or so, of the show, it was shaping up to be a very bad Xanadu. I turned to D and said, “This movie is worse than tragic.” Everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seat and giggled nervously.

The dope cookie was kicking in, sure it was. It felt good.

There had been a couple of songs, a few big production numbers and apart from the Muppet kid, no Muppets.

I turned to Shane and said, “Where are the fucken Muppets?”

He started to laugh.

It was the Muppet Movie after all, and thus far just some dopey looking humans and an even dopier looking, unknown, puppet kid.

Well, the Muppets did turn up, eventually. We rounded up the crew with Kermit in his Rolls Royce. I quite liked how they gave the Muppets a life in the real world, that much I liked.  But, it was a weird movie, strange. Sheldon Cooper turned up announced at some stage. They tried to make it eclectic with different realities and that nearly worked, but in the end, it was just a strange little movie.

There were car spaces in Victoria Street, unusually, as we headed towards home. “Do you want to eat now, or go home for more martinis?” asked D.

We went home for more alcohol. I think it was me, unusually, who suggested we head home for more martinis. I’m not really sure why I did. I think it was that “moreish” feeling of feeling, shall we say, “enhanced” and wanting to feel it even more. Maybe, my logic had been diminished by the pot and the piss.

Once at home, Shane threatened to pike and not make it out again, he was so fucked up, as he put it, sitting back on the couch, that he wasn’t at all sure if he could stand again. I'd had the same as him, I scratched my head.

D was keen to get going, as he was designated driver and he wasn’t having so much fun remaining sober, so we told him he certainly didn’t have to drive, not if he didn’t want to. It wasn’t far, we could walk, if we had to.

We caught a tram back to Victoria Street. It was kind of nice walking to the tram stop in the fresh early evening air, as it was kind of nice standing under the shade of the elm trees in the middle of the wide plantation in the middle of Victoria Parade waiting for a tram to romantically slide down the steel rails and stop at out feet.

A breeze blew, cooled by the giant trees.

We went to the bottle shop and bought Mai Tai Vodka and four bottles of rose. Really? Six bottles of alcohol amongst the five of us… two of them spirits, well, spirits’ish.

Sebastian wanted to eat quail. He was very keen to eat quail. He calculated how many quails we would eat. He’d been banging on about the quail all afternoon. He led us to the restaurant that specialised in… the… quail. Unfortunately, it was full. We would have to wait for at least half an hour for a table. Sebastian, of course, was keen to wait.

Now, I’m sorry, but in a street, which specialises in food and is jam packed with restaurants, I have never been able to see the point of standing around for a table for any one particular establishment, I’m sorry.

“No, I’m not waiting half an hour for a table.”

So we went to Minh Minhs, which was full. Then we went to Ha Long, which was full. Then we went to iSpicy. Sebastian ordered the food, you know, it gives him some credibility. It is his one claim to authority. Only claim. (Oh, other than being the child of Satan) Sad that Luke thinks his food is unexceptional, at best.

Luke shrugged. “Sorry, I’ve tasted much better food.”

Sebastian, the great chef. Well, you know, ever since I have known Sebastian he has been the great waiter. Luke is the one who has made a living out of cooking, so...

The food was nice, except for one sausage dish. Other than that, lovely. Sebastian had asked quite clearly that all the dishes needed to be mild as far as chili content was concerned. Thai food and chillies, eek ads! you have to be careful. Right at the end, the pork belly and greens dish came out, which was so hot we were all visibly burning up. You could see it in all our faces, red and glossy. I said I was happy to send it back, which I did.

“This is too hot, we can’t eat it, can you please cook us replacement dishes.” There is no point being vague – be direct, ask for what you want and more often than not, you will get it.

Everyone said my directness was a consequence of going out with Santo and seeing how he treats Asian waiters and restaurants. Sebastian, yet again, related it to him living with James Wang. It’s a funny kind of racism and simply not true.

It left me wondering, how did I get so undervalued amongst my friends? (Maybe, I should read back over this a couple of times?)

This was at the end of the meal and we ordered the bill not long after requesting  the replacement meals to be brought to us. As we were calculating what the bill was, D and Ashley were outside having a cigarette, or something, so Shane, Sebastian and I paid. Then they came back and we left.

Shane wanted to catch a taxi, but my head was spinning and the last thing I wanted was to feel enclosed in a confined space, somewhere airless. No thanks. With some idiot taxi driver asking for directions for what amounted to one right hand turn.

“No, come on, we’ve all got tram tickets.”

That didn’t sound very convincing, even as I said it. But, some how, the foggy-headed, collective pissed brains amongst us simply seemed to accept what I was saying and they started following me. (This was how Jesus started out)

There was no tram in sight in Victoria Street.

I was really happy to walk it off, let me tell you.

“Let’s walk to the corner of Victoria and Hoddle. There will be a tram here by then.”

But, there wasn’t, once we got to that corner.

The tram stop had been moved to the other side of the intersection, as is the fashion at the moment, which for this intersection, one of the largest around, seemed all the way “over there.” But, as luck would have it, the lights turned green and the little man appeared green in our favour, as far as I could see, so rather than ask, I just lead the way and the motley selection of drunks followed me without question, yet again.

A born leader? No, I wouldn’t say that.

We continued up the middle of Victoria Parade, like the Night of the Living Dead, almost silent in our inebriation. The green grass stretched out in front of us, slipping along under the elms like a giant pool table, wide and expansive, separating us admirably from the rush of traffic all around us. We seemed to be in our own little microcosm of stillness and serenity floating towards nirvana.

We pushed forward up the gentle incline and the rest of the world seemed to fade away, if only momentarily.

The shiny things in the Porsche show rooms took our attention for a time, as we stared at the magnificent machines with our mouths open at phone numbers for price tags.

At home they sorted out the bill, however, I think, it was Sebastian who got the extra money. You’ve got to watch him really – even Shane has confirmed this – male Italian child… he’ll take what he wants.

Shane tried to buy some show on Apple TV, but was too pissed to manage it, despite trying for an inordinate length of time. He seemed to be focused on it, but I’m not sure that the rest of us knew what “it” was.

Everyone departed.

I woke up on the couch around midnight, with Shane on the opposite couch, limbs akimbo. I took myself off to bed, after switching off all the lights I could manage without leaving Shane in the pitch black. I knew he would eventually get up and stumble off to bed without switching off anything. I felt remarkably fine and sober, as I nestled into bed.