Most bloggers are too young to remember, or probably to care, what Billy Thorpe looked like in the 1960s, but I do.
Killer smile.
And now that he's dead of a heart attack at 60, and I reflect that that's only seven years older than I am, please just excuse me while I go and write a novel, learn Indonesian, master more than just the first few bars of Debussy's Claire de Lune, swim with dolphins, go to Uluru, Montreal, Bali, Prague, Louisiana, Marseilles and the Scottish Highlands, update my will, apologise to three or four people, throw out three-quarters of the contents of my house, and get back into my size 10 (hahahaha, sob) Japanese-influenced black-and-white pure silk George Gross and Harry Who dress from 1986 that I've never been able to bear to throw out.
Tonight.
13 comments:
Billy Thorpe sang Love Letters better than anyone.
The boldness in his voice was unforced; he could have sung onstage, or in the street, and sounded the same.
Why Indonesian? (Just curious)
You only have to apologise to three or four people? Wow, you've been good!
Look, I'm just guessing here having never seen the piece of clothing in question, but probably the 1986 George Gross and Harry Who wouldn't look that ummmm...what's the word...well, you know. I don't remember Billy Thorpe in the 1960s, but I was pretty aware in 1986. So, you know, move away from the stairmaster.
Apparently he often did sing unmiked and sound the same, RH.
Cristy, Indonesian because I 'did' French and German at school and can sort of get by in both, and the other Romance languages are similar enough to French to kind of scramble around in, but Indonesian I've always just liked the idea of knowing. There's a pragamatic edge to this as well, given the ongoing tensions; I can imagine future situations in which it could make my life and possibly others' easier (as could knowing Arabic). The really antsy Year of Living Dangerously stuff happened in Indonesia just as I was beginning to be politically aware, so it sort of haunts me.
Meredith, I've got a bit of a fetish for apologising at the time, so that ledger is pretty balanced. My problem when it comes to that sort of reckoning will be all the people I've upset without realising it.
3C, the stairmaster? Moi? Come on, even I have a bit of pride left. Were I ever to get into that silk dress again (six months on the stairmaster eating lettuce might do it; that or galloping TB, or I could take up smoking again), it would probably look all right -- it wasn't a '1986' garment, more timeless than that, and actually a beautiful piece of clothing in itself. Besides, ten years from now it'll be 'vintage'.
The ankle socks, on the other hand, won't get worn again.
What a strange, small coincidence to read this news on your blog. A colleague of mine who teaches and researches popular music was only last week insisting that I go an read Billy Thorpe's auto(?)biography as it is evidently a cracker of a read.
PC, you're doing just great. Try to get all that done and you'll end up with a hear attack all your own.
Well that makes sense. Apparently it is a fairly easy language to learn.
I always change my mind about which languages I would like to learn and am beginning to wonder if this will mean that I learn no more. I guess it will probably just be determined by whichever country we happen to live in next.
Pardon this, but I thought my above comment was so nice I gave it to the Herald Sun letters column, who published it today
-all of which is testament to my regard for you, Miss Pavlov.
all i can say, from my less-near-to-death position than your good self in that death is the price we pay for being born.
Don't know if it helps, but it made my grandma smile
:)
How was Prague?
Prague was pretty as far as it went, but I had my head down in the Indonesian grammar and the score of Clair de lune, and I kept passing out from the low blood sugar, so I didn't get to see much.
There are no dolphins in Prague.
Ben, age is no guarantee of being near to or far from death.
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