I posted this today but in light of events took it down for fear of being insensitive. If you need a break from the tricky times we live in, its just a light continuation of my island journey. Thoughts and prayers are with those in Sydney. Believe me, Ive never been more aware of the blessings around me. It took some consideration before posting this one. Firstly I know people wont believe me but thats nothing new. It actually happened! It also contains partial nudity and drug use. Im not sure what Facebook rating that earns but basically if you are a student or an employer, perhaps, give this one a miss, or just put it down to temporary insanity on a tropical island?oh well, here goes... At home It is a frequently wish of mine that I might clone myself! A few months ago, I opened a show (lovebites) at the Hayes theatre and raced out of the opening night party to tech my other show (pool-no water) which was opening the following day. Lovebites closed a month later and within hours I was on a plane to direct assassins and it continued in this manner, culminating in last month when I opened a show, left at interval to host a concert I produced then raced back for the curtain. Yes, a cloning machine would certainly come in handy! It is because of these scheduling crisis that I find it necessary to schedule annual collapse time on a remote island called Gilli T. But what is that old adage-wherever you go, you take yourself with you? Well, my diary is certainly filling up, even on a remote island. This has not been helped by the fact that Ive lost a day! I simply miscalculated and I leave tomorrow-Monday not the Tuesday as I had been planning! It was always this way but with the headiness of arriving on the island, Id gotten confused and somehow lost a day, which is not great! Having 24 hours taken from you is quite a shock to the system. Theres still so much to do- Ive still got a novel to finish, a musical to conquer, a remote island village to establish myself as spiritual leader in, a snorkelling expedition, a...what?!? Hang on a sec...I realise with dread-oh dear, I cant go visit hendras villiage 50kms South of Lombok cause... I will have already left! I spend the rest of the day trying to cram some more writing in, knowing Ive lost precious hours; I want to see if Tobey gets the girl in the green hat and whether Bruno reacts the way I expect him to when he meets a new friend. I cram writing. Meanwhile, Hendra sits in the corner rocking silently. Oh dear. When I told him, he- unable to even vaguely mask his feelings...cried! He cried! Over my mixed omelette. I went into saviour mode-what could I do to help this? I know merchandise! That always works! I gave him one of my cds. He forced a smile. Look, there are the songs on the back! oh very good Mittar spencer...he responds, concentrating tearfully on, reading the tracks in his best English , number one- I remember...oh I remember! And again he is in fits. Later at lunch, I ask the waitress, wheres Hendra? He usually does lunch, doesnt he? She responds ever so tactfully with; Hendra having lie down. I think Mittar Spencer broke him Ah, yes, well...thank you for that. Give him my best Shit. Ive broken a boy. A boy has become broke through my doing! And an island boy at that, which is surely ten times the sin. Eventually Hendra emerges weary and bloodshot and fresh from cancelling his Facebook event, Mittar Spencer come to village and spread big happy! I am struck for a moment about the craziness of technology and the crazy vision of Mark Zuckerberg; In a small settlement 50kms South of Lombok, several of the villages barely have electricity but they all have Facebook! The inhabitants toil in the rice fields all day and then come home and trawl through the various invites the younger generation have posted for events such as visiting messiahs from the west! Crazy times people, crazy times. Look Hendra, next year, next year Ill come! You promise me? Yes, yes I promise you. Youll come visit me? Of course I will, Id love to! For a week? Well, ... my mind races to hendras one bedroom house 50kms South of Lombok...a week is a long time Yes, yes for long time! A festival of Mittar spencer! Though the festival of me does have a certain ring to it, I must be careful, theres a human life at stake here. Well...its not quite as simple as that...I cant say for sure Hendra... He is again in tears. The all-knowing waitress passes behind him collecting disused coffee cups and raises one of her I told you so eyebrows. Yes-fine now, except you didnt, you didnt tell me so, so you have no right to use the eyebrows that suggest that you did! Eyebrows at ease thank you miss-know-it-all. My parents were so excited and the priest was going to do a ceremonygargles Hendra, causing other guests to put down their toast and look on quizzically at the act of heartless destruction I am so publicly partaking in. The waitress folds her arms and stares at me, no doubt knowing she will have to nurse this shell of a man for the next week in my absence. Well, ummm...you have tomorrow night off, shall ... I take you to dinner? Hes delighted. Oh dear. Its set. Mittar spencer and Hendra are having a date night. Well, What was I supposed to do?!? I half imagined a mob of angry villagers traversing the 50kms then hopping an old style Viking boat, flaming torches over their heads, angry and determined to rid the island of this fast talking liar from Sydney who broke their favourite son. About now would be a good time to try for that cherry picker-come helicopter but its busy today. As you can see below, theres a big line up... Of goats. Yes, no helicopters in or out today cause the heliport has been taken over by a random bunch of goats. Dont know why but I just put it down to being an island thing and try to get on with the business at hand. I leave the resort for a Hendra-free moment and try and find solace in the ocean. I make a solemn promise; I will try hard not to break any more boys before I get home. I spend the day snorkelling the most completely amazing waters and having an almost spiritual moment swimming with a huge sea turtle. And I dont mean, I was swimming along, I saw a turtle, it got startled and swam off and I can hereby, forevermore state with authority that I went swimming with a sea turtle. I mean, I seriously went swimming and had some kind of deep connection over 20minutes with a giant sea turtle who knew nothing of my barbaric history with island boys and therefore was free to swim alongside me without nature. Ah, The ocean, the last place Mittar Spencer can roam free without judgement. I had long given up on actually finding a turtle, satisfied enough to gaze on the natural wonder that was my diving instructor, so when, after an hour in the water, he started waving excitedly at me, I had almost forgotten the purpose of our mission and I thought he was finally welcoming my silent advances. But no. As I approached I saw it. The continental shelf seems to drop very abruptly here and very close to the shore line. Everything is all sunshine and tropical shallows and as quick as you can break a local boys heart, it sinks away into dark blue nothingness. Of course there were the obligatory flash back to shark movies (dont think of the jaws music, do not think of the jaws music!) especially when considering that human juice was still draining from my massage injury, but I tried to keep my eye on the prize. And what a remarkable prize that was- the turtle emerged and allowed me to swim alongside it, above it even below it. It was beautiful. And, being the fickle thing that I am, I soon forgot the god of an instructor next to me and lost myself in a moment of total turtley triumph! I was the only one on the expedition. Just me, the driver and the instructor for two hours costing $70! Amazing. Though the thought certainly occurred, I didnt want to ask for help applying sunscreen as I couldnt be sure of my physical response to such a gesture from such a god of a man, a dangerous predicament to place oneself in when wearing swimwear and I had caused enough controversy for one day. So, I applied rigorously in a solo attempt. And now, just in case anyone cares to know, I am a physical representation of how much you can cover your own body in sunscreen (and exactly which bit you cant get due to the physical limitations of the human body ) I am now sporting a back that looks like a topographical map. The sea of white flesh has only one continent, a small but painful red desert of a continent, towards the upper middle section of my back. Its painful. But Ive just added it to the massage/burn wounds as a small price to pay for paradise. That, and breaking a boy. I arrive back to my room, sneaking through the resort to try and get through under the surveillance of you-know-who. Theres a frangipani on my pillow. Hendras been on housekeeping. At least hes got something to occupy his mind. We appear to be ok again. I take a quick shower, trying always to avoid the various injured areas of my body with hot water and head out to...cooking class! Yes, Last year I took a class with an awesome entrepreneur named echo who was incredible. I call him echo, echo, echo in decreasing volume and he calls me Mr. Tirran - the skinny guy with the big happiness. I loved him so much, I thought Id give chicken in peanut sauce another try. Its with embarrassment that I realise, as part of my confusion of days, that Im a day early! Tomorrow it shall be then. I, instead go to prepare for an early night but, call it adventure, call it avoidance of the boy I broke and the staff who know my crime and look on accusingly, I thought Id have a couple of drinks on the way home-kinda like a pub crawl along the beaches. Mistake 1. My first and only stop on this pub crawl was a small little beach where there was a fire. I love fires. It was a very hot night but nothing will keep me from a fire. I grabbed a beer and headed down. I was the only person stoking the embers till a young guy from the bar walked up and started the usual chat; where you from?...enjoying the island?...broken any boys lately?you know, just the usual fare. He then spontaneously offered me some of his joint. Mistake 2. Ok, so those that know me, know where this is headed. For those at the South Pacific closing night who witnessed me in the shocked aftermath of answering the door ...to myself, or those in New Zealand where I emptied a packet of favourites chocolates on the bed and conducted a chocolate symphony (a little more caramel...forte on the bounty...pull it back cherry ripe...cherry ripe pull back, I said enough cherry ripe-enough! I cant work under these conditions.) know where Im heading. Or, and heres the doozy, or anyone who has ever met my alias, the one who lurks inside, only to be released genie like, through the magical effects of one puff of marijuana... Yes, Ladies and gentlemen, last night another Tyran landed on the island. Now this alter ego first appeared years ago when I was in a big touring production of a show that I hated. Well, I loved the show, I just hated the cast. It was unanimous, we all hated each other. Back then I was a skinny guy with appropriately thin levels of happiness. Around this time I would have the occasional spliff and one night in a dodgy back alley in Newtown, a character emerged; an international (no one is sure where he comes from as he speaks in a very odd accent suspected to be a mix of Irish and Sutherland shire) man of mystery named Neville...Neville Effluent. One thing that everyone knows about me is that I have a massive response to any substances. Anything from Panadol to coffee, which is why I do not partake in such activities lightly. And joints are the worst. Ive been known to be panicking on a packed bronte beach as I thought my towel was shrinking and eating me with it, Ive got completely trapped inside a household curtain, Ive often thought I was confined to a moving walkway that kept me sliding away from everyone I love. Ive even entered a singing competition in a gay bar and such was my desire to win, I thought Id appeal to every possible audience member by doing excerpts of traditional dance of six countries as well as signing- cause the deaf vote might just get me over the line. I cant sign. Nor dance traditional dances. Neither can Neville. And we wonder why Im single. All this happens on one puff. No word of a lie. Which is why I dont do it, except once in a blue moon with trusted friends who can support me through such adventures. Or with complete strangers on a deserted beach on a remote island where its completely illegal and punishable by death. I have no earthly idea why I accepted this offer but I do know that before you could say Schapelle who?, Neville was on da island. The man talking to me (his name is gone in the hazy smokescreen that proceeded) told me he was a muso. Neville (in his high pitched Irish/shire drawl) told him he was too-which I guess wasnt too much of a lie given Neville and I share a set of pipes that have amassed some acclaim over the years. Oh shame, we already have a singer...we really need a drummer. Neville then proceeded, in his high pitched Irish/shire drawl to yell excitedly that he was indeed, also a drummer! (Why do these things always come in ...) mistake 3. This was a complete lie as neither myself nor Neville (to my knowledge) have ever sat at a drum kit. But theres a first for everything. Perhaps it was a response to the massive arc of the days emotions but lets just say Neville went off! Neville played like it was nobodys business, Neville was king of the drums. Neville had rhythm in his cells and beats in his fingers. Drums; Ha! - Neville owned them. Until...he got ...stuck! Again, those familiar with Nevilles antics know that this often occurs. Its nothing to be concerned about if you know how to treat it. Im just not sure anyone on the remote island of Gilli T had been properly briefed in the safety precautions of Neville Effluent, when stuck. Firstly let me explain the stuck affliction. Its pretty much as it sounds. At any given moment Neville can get frozen to the spot. It happens suddenly but becomes trance-like after a while and there have been occasions where certain friends have enjoyed the break and left poor old Neville frozen for an hour at a time in the corner while they optimised some Neville-free time. He does tend to occupy a room. Except when hes stuck when he occupies only the very mass of himself, no energy omitted, just...well...stuck! For those in the know, its a quick but very specific fix to throw him a lifeline. Back home theres a support group. If someone forgets, they can at least retrieve my mobile and call any number of people who will pass on the only antidote to unstick Neville. All you need to say, and I kid you not, is; 3,2,1...back in the room. And that does the trick. Simple as that and hes back. So you can imagine the surprise when, shirtless and mid thump of his bongo, Neville got distracted and time stopped. It was just as if he caught the wrong thought one moment and it struck him, rigamortis-like, poised in eternal anticipation of the next drum beat. Oh noooo! You see Im quite aware during these moments, I just cant break out of it! Not without the magic of the words uttered externally by a caring citizen. Its like Im can hear everything but I just cant react, like Im somehow under water while being above ground. I was aware of the music stopping and everyone audience and band alike turning. Hey man, are you ok? Is he alright mate? I think hes just kinda...stuck? The words echoed through my head. Oh no, where were my friends? I was condemned to live out my life mid-beat, stuck in this moment like a fly stuck in Amber, preserved forever, mid frame, in a conjunction of time that could never move forward nor retreat into the past. Just...stuck! Id never make it home, Id never make dinner with Hendra, though I was sure he would come to the figure that once was Mittar spencer, lifeless but exactly as remembered in his stuck position, and leave offerings and that would be something. I scrawled through my mind, who knew the password?; Pella! Shes in Milan. Cameron! hes in New Zealand. Nic!hes in England. Everyone else! they are in Australia!!! (As if I was ever going to come across the option of a friend who knew the password and just happened to be strolling round the island!) Then I knew, it was up to me. With a super-human effort, I pushed all my energy into my hand. The crowd, as dumbstruck as me observing this phenomenon, were thrown back into life as boldly as I hit that drum! Neville was back! And not only back but playing to a modest crowd! And he was back with a passion, as if the time spent in whatever land of mid-consciousness it is that he inhabits in such stuck periods, had just provided him a rest. Now, rested, he was raring to go. He even started dancing, dancing to the beat of his own drum, one could say? But Before long, and at the dizzying height of his popularity, he decided to head home. To leave while he still was leader of this small band, quit while soaring the heights of bongo playing in the beach and search for new creative projects to turn his hand to. The ride home was fine except for running into a bush full of wasps that attacked him viciously, buzzing around his head in a cartoon like way. As he frantically brushed, several became imbedded in his post snorkel nest of matted hair and had not choice but to burrow down further to his scalp. More wounds. For those of you that know about my two horns, I now have a third. And today Im resting poolside recovering from this reportedly relaxed environment before tonight where Im triple booked!well, sort of; Mister Tireen, the skinny man with the big happiness has got a cooking class to attend. Mittar Spencer has date night with Hendra And ...Neville Effluent has got a drumming gig! Dead serious! Now wheres that cloning machine? I think I might just stay in with a good book and avoid further complication. Oh, how can life on a remote island prove so complicated?
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 11:49:58 +0000
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