Michael Bublé in Melbourne
Billy Connolly and Me.
I met Billy Connolly today. It was an entirely random encounter. And oh so awesome.
I have loved Billy Connolly since I was 12 – since I first started watching his DVDs, and laughing and laughing beyond plausibility.
He’s hilarious; but also right in so, so many ways.
He’s right when he talks about political correctness gone mad, when he expresses his distaste for ‘beige’ people in life, when he goes off at both things and people utterly useless.
He’s clever, and witty, and honest, and entirely devoid of pretence.
I’ve seen him live, twice, one of which being last week. And I was stoked, no, thrilled, to meet him today.
He’s lovely. Just lovely.
In Defence Of Music Festivals.
Sometimes, people like to think the worst. They like to judge, comment and criticise. But sometimes it’s without reason.
I’ve been going to music festivals for as long as I could. And I’ve heard a lot of comments as to why they’re, well, bad. Horrible. Full of wankers. Too this and too that.
In defence of music festivals, I’d like to say the only thing that they’re full of, is, well, love. And dancing. And laughs. Smiles. Friendship. Beauty. Fun. Reflection. Optimism. Mateship. The best parts of people, all merging together.
They’re about having conversations with people you’ve never met – and probably won’t again. Trusting in a crowd of thousands. Sharing glances and smiles.
And there’s nothing wrong with any of that.
Summadayze, Melbourne, January 1st, 2011: