The Flywheel of Dads

What I got up to yesterday was kind of interesting. Though it began with a very uninteresting (yet significant) headache. Reporting ahead of schedule to a three o’ clock meeting at an Elwood cafe with a minor celebrity, I quickly scarfed down a vodka tonic to relieve swelling. She meanwhile turned up totally frazzled. We did the interview but she kept worrying about the mobile phone she had just lost on the beach (it was her only way of contacting a former Australian Idol contestant and apparently she needed to be in contact with this person constantly). Also her dog was outside tied to a pole and she kept fearing it would be kidnapped. Nevertheless she provided good value, was terribly cooperative and hardly the brassy tyrant I expected.

Italian restaurants with classic European post-war style are enjoyable eateries. I ordered four plates of fresh seafood for a satisfied party of twelve. My boss said one more plate would have been nice. Did you not have a tiger prawn? I asked. “No, he replied stoically. "I didn’t.”

We quaffed from a 2005 Cabernet Merlot called Annie’s Lane. It was good. I keep wanting to call it Annie’s Lennox (the actual winery might be called Lennox Farm, or I could be imaging the whole thing, I don’t know), seriously buy it if you can find it under $15. I pounded a long black, hailed a cab and caught Flywheel into their second song at The Tote. They have a new drummer now and his name is Greg. Greg has great taste in timepieces and his cool is boundless. The bassist’s wife was sweating his wool jacket hard after the show. He was feeling the love and I was giving it too. Flywheel seriously rocked like Guided by Voices. The whole time I was thinking how great it is to be friends with these guys. They put on one of my favourite shows of the year. There were actually girls screaming.

My Dad got a hole in one today, my Mother tells me. He was inches from a second hole in one on the next hole too. I am so proud of that guy. He’s the Flywheel of Dads.