Not fully a Sunday. But late on Saturday night, so very nearly the same thing.
I ended up skipping out on the Kurt Vile gig in place of beers with a good friend who needed a hug. But then as I was driving up the Hill to this old mountain house, my sister messaged that she and her hubby were on their way to a friend’s party nearby. In Adelaide, and especially the Hills, most things are nearby.
My old friend Tim Moore plays beautiful music and holds amazing gigs around the country, including, sometimes, in the shed behind his house in Summertown. I parked a ways up the road, in the middle of nowhere, vineyard and bushland on each side of the road and the smell of log fires in the air as I found the long dirt driveway. Inside it was cosy, there was red wine and beers and mugs of herbal tea for the taking, 12 or so couches by an open fire, fairy lights around the crate-stage and some of the nicest people going. The music was excellent, Tim especially - he played a really beautiful song about jumping an old freight train as it railed through our town when he was a teenager, and it damn near had me in tears. I thought of those long cold nights in the Hills that felt like this, when walking home or talking with friends was limitless, we were fearless.
Afterwards we all caught up and talked and laughed a lot under the persimmon tree as we were readying to leave. I love a long goodbye, when the chat is so good you don’t mind the cold.