Brisvegas

I live in Cairns, a small, though developing, and immensely beautiful tropical city in the north of Queensland, Australia, but which isn’t noted for its sophisticated shopping. Recently, I had the good fortune to fly down to Brisbane (affectionately known as Brisvegas) to do some much needed networking for my new editing business (which in my case was really a euphemism for ‘shopping in decent shops’). I had this silly romantic notion of a sophisticated, intelligent woman (sic) jetting down to the big City to ‘network’ with fellow editors and promoting her business. Maybe I would also meet a dark stranger or two on the plane, be invited to sip expensive coffee/wine or out to a candlelight dinner – well you never know.

However, my sojourn down to Brisvegas didn’t go quite as planned. Firstly, there was no flirting with a mysterious stranger due solely to the fact that instead of Brad Pitt beside me on the plane, I was seated next to Mrs Blob and her husband – not quite what I had in mind. Next, the lovely family with whom I stayed had a very cute, very cheeky but very lively three year old boy (I’ve never seen any three year olds in James Bond films have you?) Anyway, being a kind and generous person, I had taken him a present wrapped up in blue tissue paper and a big red bow. I’d had forgotten, however, that if you give a 3 year old a present, they expect you to play with it again and again and again. He was cute but hardly Pierce Brosnan.

Anyway, the next day, I was due to attend a grammar workshop. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a bit of a disaster, most notably because the guest speaker couldn’t speak (well not loud enough for anyone to hear) and she made the fatal mistake of projecting her OHP onto a ‘side’ wall. So unless you were an owl, it was also impossible for the majority of the audience to see her notes. Much mumbling of, ‘What did she say?’, ‘Can you read that?’ and craning of necks and straining of ears ensued. I was luckier than most because I’d arrived 10 minutes late and the only seats left, of course, were those at the very front. I could hear and see everything but spent much of the workshop being tapped on the shoulder and questioned by everyone else who couldn’t. In addition, there were only two men there, neither of whom resembled James Bond in any way accept that they wore trousers, but so did most of the women.

We also did some grammar exercises. Being an English language teacher, I scored very high marks in the 'naming the verb tense' category. The speaker came round and patronisingly applauded me for correctly identifying my sentence, "Future perfect - yes that's right, well done!" (Only she called it a ‘perfective’ – which is a first for me and my dictionary.) I smiled back as ingratiatingly as I could but otherwise kept my gob shut. Most of the other 'ladies' didn't know their verbs very well (particularly the passives) but were very good with their commas and clauses, so it all balanced out nicely. There were other ‘exercises’ that I needed help with but alas wasn't offered any and wasn't given the answers so I didn't actually learn anything. Ho hum!

At break time, we were offered some stale buns and a coffee queue by way of refreshment. Needless to say, I didn’t get any coffee but made good use of the queue to eat several buns. In addition, having recently had my hair cut from below my shoulder blades to above my ears (a common style with many of the women in the room, but who were all over 60) I saw what I was to become in 20 or so years from now. To say I had a momentary moment (it figures) of regret for the loss of my lovely long hair was an understatement.



I also decided to visit a Gold Class cinema while I was there. I am sure we have these in England (my home country) and they must have them in other countries too but I have never been to one before. In case you haven’t either, they are luxury private screens (incorporated inside a cinema complex) that have large, plush, very comfy, fully reclining seats arranged in ‘couples’. Or, ‘on ya bleedin own again ya sad git’ if you happen to be me. They are expensive but worth it just for the experience. You rock up to the Gold Class private bar, separated from the rest of the cinema by very James Bond style opaque sliding doors, and order what you want to eat and drink and they bring it to you, via waitress, at your requested times during the performance. I went crazy - I ordered chilli nachos, wine, diet (?) coke AND hot chocolate - a lethal combination if ever I ate one but asked for it to be staggered for delivery throughout the film.

[BB]

There are a maximum of 50 seats arranged in 25 couples and I found mine and snuggled down (complete with blanket) to watch Nicole Kidman's new movie, The Interpreter and wait for my ‘refreshments’ to arrive. Not a bad movie by the way – well if you like Nicole Kidman, which I don’t very much, but I’d already seen everything else. I wondered if anyone had booked the vacant seat next to me and thought that perhaps my luck would change on the tall, dark handsome front. Alas not, well not unless the spy everybody loves to love has turned into a geek!

Anyway, all was going very well (geek aside) until they brought me my hot drink. On the saucer was a small, gold-wrapped, minty chocolate, which I promptly scoffed (as you do), only to have the juices of the offending article go down my throat the wrong bloody way. This started me off in a paroxysm of choking which went on for a really, really long time mostly because I was trying very hard not to choke, or at least not to choke loudly. It also wasn’t helped by the fact that I was ‘fully reclined’. Several heads turned and “tuts” and “shushes” followed, and I had tears rolling down my face in an effort to stop myself. Meanwhile, I also managed to drop chilli/tomatoey/cheesy nacho stuff all down the front of my new white t-shirt – well eating in the dark is not as easy as it looks especially when one is, as I said, horizontal AND one is trying to wrestle with Mozarella cheese! Serves you right for being so greedy I hear you say.

Suddenly the City Cinema in Cairns (sans reclining seats or any sophistication of any kind, particularly hot chocolate) seemed far less complicated, especially when it came time to get out of the aforementioned comfy chair. (Oh no! Not the comfy chair - Python fans rejoice). The problem was, I couldn't ‘unrecline’ it and ended up doing a very passable 'Frank Spenceresque' performance when I got myself and my lovely blanket trapped and couldn't get up. More stares and tuts. It would seem that reclining chairs and eating in the dark are definitely an acquired art and need lots of practice, my performance obviously identifying me as a mere ‘first timer’. So much for sophistication, and if there had been a lonesome, dark haired, Sean Connery look alike in the cinema, he would have legged it as fast as possible, probably in a car that grew wings and jetted out through the roof.

I must have lived in Cairns for too long because I was also much too easily impressed by the 'order a taxi lamp posts' they have down there. (No doubt Q has been at it again.) In case you are as deprived of technical invention as I obviously am, these are little yellow boxes fixed to lampposts, into which you insert 2 dollars, whereupon a ticket comes out with a number on. Mine was 53. Lo and behold, a few minutes later a taxi turns up, the driver checks your number and off you jolly well go - ingenious eh? I suppose it does away with the need for lots of staff in a call centre. Is that good or bad? Not sure, but it certainly is an efficient system. No, don’t scoff at my naivety, the people I was staying with hadn’t heard of them either.

After staying up for two nights in a row and drinking red wine until 3 am (unheard of for me but the closest I got to being sophisticated) my ‘family’ and I were joined on Sunday morning by some of their friends, a young couple with a cute one year old daughter. Let me tell you, eating croissants, fruit and yoghurt and bacon and egg with a one and a three year old is nothing like having breakfast with 007 would be. He, I assume, can at least use a knife and fork – enough said.

Overall, I had a great time in Brissy but didn’t do very much shopping in the end, mostly because the cinema had cost me an arm and leg, but it was worth it and the film was certainly very memorable – I still have the Nacho stain.

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