Leave the house at 11:30am. Walk 40 minutes to the first show. “Hang on, Pete! Wasn’t it stinking fucking hot at that time of day?” Why yes, it was. Arrive, and notice that I’m sharing audience duties with the worst behaved school students ever – zero theatre etiquette. I laughed my arse off when one of their teachers started screaming at them after the show was over. I then collared said teacher outside and mentioned that she should do it again. She agreed. And did so. The laughter was sweet, but taxing.
Toddle into the city. Go to my mailbox – ooooh, parcels, yaaaay! Wait – they weigh twice as much as my normal backpack contents, boooo. So I’m carrying three times my normal load… that’s OK, it’s not too humid.
Decide I want to catch the 3pm showing of Wild Animus – after all, it made the shortlist. Ah – The Guide says it’s on in The Mall, FringeTIX says The Garden. I walk the length of Rundle Mall & Rundle Street twice to ascertain which was true, braving the barbs of buskers who see a bright orange shirt and decide that I’m a good mark. Except that I’m moving, not watching them. Which apparently means I’m worthy of abuse.
Couldn’t find hide nor hair of Wild Animus.
Fallback plan – write some shows up whilst leeching bandwidth at Illy. They’ve been exceptional with my oddball requests, so I ask for a large double-shot lukewarm latte. After losing all sensation in my tongue, I discover they’ve ignored the rather important “lukewarm” bit.
Get some writing done, go to next show. Discover that it’s now lightly raining. Mmmmmmm, humid. Show is downstairs in the Rhino Room. Mmmmmmm, hot’n’humid. Next show at the Duke of York – first time I’ve ever been in there. It’s lovely. Still nasty outside, though. Good to be able to sit down in comfy chairs.
Next show at The Black Lung. Oh look, it’s been sold out. Oh look, there’s sixty people crammed into a small room waiting for the show. They’re running a little late. We wait. I sweat. We wait. I sweat. We wait. I sweat. We go in. I sweat more and more and more. I think I sweat more during that show than I did during the ’93 Big Day Out. Yes, that was the 44 degree day.
Show finished late. Mercy dash to The Garden. Sweat. The Bosco is chockers. Sweat.
Walk home. It’s 1am.
Toughest. Day. Ever.
(…for this wussy little whiny patron.)