Last night I attended the launch of the second edition of The Sea Coast of Bohemia: Literary Life in Sydney's Roaring Twenties by Peter Kirkpatrick. I anticipated that I would have a mildly pleasant evening, have a free drink or two and make my way home to sit on the lounge feeling slightly lonely.
I was wrong. I don't know what happened but from the moment I lurched down the aisle of the rapidly accelerating bus to the moment I lurched through my swaying front door I had a fabulous time. I was warmly embraced by friends and strangers alike. If I happened to say anything odd then the person I was talking to just ran with it, got to love a room full of writers and academics. It is a joy to be in a room where thought and conversation were leapfrogging over me in shining arcs.
There were many men in attendance, lovely intelligent, funny and kind men. It was good to be reminded that they're out there. Maybe one day I'll meet a new one, a shiny one, one capable of carrying the good simple message 'I love her' in his heart.
I was wrong. I don't know what happened but from the moment I lurched down the aisle of the rapidly accelerating bus to the moment I lurched through my swaying front door I had a fabulous time. I was warmly embraced by friends and strangers alike. If I happened to say anything odd then the person I was talking to just ran with it, got to love a room full of writers and academics. It is a joy to be in a room where thought and conversation were leapfrogging over me in shining arcs.
There were many men in attendance, lovely intelligent, funny and kind men. It was good to be reminded that they're out there. Maybe one day I'll meet a new one, a shiny one, one capable of carrying the good simple message 'I love her' in his heart.
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