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Having enjoyed Brisbane’s sun this week, I was deflated when I landed in a sodden Sydney. The local oval was so far under water that pelicans fished around the boundary fence, while seagulls provided eye-catching attention for the furkids’ boundless energy as they took to the underwater hockey pitch.
As the kids took to the field (read pond) the birds took flight en masse and I marvelled at Melbourne — a diehard fan. Sure, I was missing the compulsory beanie and matching scarf but the poor fashion choices were all there — ’80s pleats, multilayered loose (read daggy) clothing all encased in a shrinkwrap-like waterproof spray jacket.
I didn’t feel miserable for a moment — it all seemed perfectly natural. Rain bucketing down, feet, shoes, socks, and pants drenched, upper body clothing clinging like a cow’s intestine to sausage mince — what’s so strange about that?
I did feel I should be in black gummies, opening and closing gates to let the cows through, but I made do with dogs and seagulls.
It should have been a miserable week, as my midweek volleyball games were washed out with the gym flooded. This gave me time to get ready for the weekend, and a very sporting thing indeed.
With a flair for royalty and the style of the Queen Mother, we headed to a teammate’s high tea. He was happy to be ageing, apparently. Scones, jam and cream in hand, and o a bottle of something a little stronger for Her Majesty, we were greeted by an over-indulgence in high camp.
Cucumber sandwiches, floral arrangements, G&T set out on the sideboard, finest china and glassware, strains of tea designed to make milk curdle, and a bakery array that would be at home in Paris; made for a long, very high old time.
It was impressive to note that more than 80 percent of the guests first met at a sporting club or team, like those available via QSAM: www.queersportsmelbourne.org
Gay sport, so much more than an exercise in physical fitness!