Having had a wonderful time down in Tasmania for the Cygnet Folk Festival last weekend, I’ve settled back into normality (or not) with work and life, and of course preparation for having another wonderful time in Tasmania this coming weekend at the Tamar Valley Folk Festival.

Spend some wonderful days with Jo-Anne and Michael and Harry, Buffy and Toby  and the chookens and immediately started doing that deep sigh “when I retire” type of dreaming.

We had a lovely concert – played pretty well, with the odd ocasional technical glitch which I like to think no one will have noticed. I mean it just sounds perfectly fine to suddenly stop singing lyrics for a line or two in the middle of a very anecdotal song.  And I don’t think going cross eyed at the time gave anything away either. It’s amazing how much you can practice something and how well you may think you know it, but when something happens to distract you, you get… distracted and everything turns to pants.

It’s amazing how, no matter how organised you may think you are with props and equipment, it will always take until the last five seconds before doors open for the slide projector to spring to life. But most of all it’s amazing how kind and responsive folk are despite the weensy hiccups. We had a lovely audience at the Supper Room upstairs in the Cygnet Town Hall who had obviously all gone to bed nice and early (as you do at festivals) so they could get to our show and we really appreciated the effort.

We were equally touched by the sudden appearance of quite a few orange t-shirted folk who slipped into the room just after the Anzac biscuits had been liberated from their airtight bikkie bucket. Definitely a popular drop your scrummy Anzac biscuit from the fair stove of the lovely Moira. She’ll be hard at work again this evening getting the Tamar Valley Folk Festival batch underway.

Now I’m a sucker for a bit of a trip away. I just laaaaaarve planes and even the most ordinary of journeys has me very excited. I don’t actually love delays though.

After a lovely trip from Cygnet to the airport via some very interesting historical spots, driven by our guide and fellow UHAH musician Bruce, we pulled in at Hobart International Airport bang on time for check in. We had caught most of what we had wanted to see, but had run out of time for the Hobart Museum – “There’s a button on a wall in a museum in Hobart...” (The Man and the Woman and the Edison Phonograph), and Neil’s brother’s new seaplane. We piled out of the van and Bruce drove off to continue his plans for the days between Cygnet and Tamar.

We lined up at the check in desk for the first bit of good news. An hour and a half delay. Oh Bother! Had we known, we could easily have pressed the button on the wall and had a cuppa within sight of the sea plane. But no. We were stuck at the International (save me!) Aiport. Despite the fact that it was not yet twelve, suddenly we all felt it was lunchtime so went in search of sustenance. And I’m here to tell you after an exhaustive investigation of  the options, that Spring Rolls are just like they were when I was a kid. Just as greasy and redolent with cabbage. Very nutritious indeedy.

The big lesson I learned there in Hobart airport is that it is sensible practice for a company to completely disappoint and annoy their customers in small, isolated batches. We sat there watching progressive bits of good news – plane now due to leave at 1.15pm (initially due to go at 11.45). Then 1.30. 1.45. Do I hear later? YES!!!!! 2.05pm. And so we sat there watching our lives dawdle past in the luxury accommodations of Hobart airport, witnessing planeloads of passengers board planes which had been scheduled to leave well after us in the first place. Watching AFP personnel sidle up to the boarding gates as the passengers who were not us queued to board – presumably in case one of us rugby tackled one of them as they attempted to step on to the tarmac or decided to completely lose it and have a go at the airline staff. And we all naively said to each other ‘Why can’t they just put everyone back an hour so we don’t have to wait so long?”.

Then the penny dropped. Ofcourse!!!! We were really hacked off when we found out about the first delay, and pretty annoyed at the next one, and gradually became numb to it as each successive delay was announced. So that’s just one plane load of travellers slowly losing the will to live in the gate lounge of Hobart Airport, lulled into indifference by tepid Spring Rolls and passable coffee. Far preferable to having three plane loads of travellers getting jack of mushroom treatment and delays. Very clever I decided, if a little unfriendly. So the few (that’s us) sacrificed our comfort and on timeness for the many. Does that make us Heroes just a bit? Nah! Probly not.

Still looking foward to our next flight to Tasmania tomorrow. Yippee! Excited already… Laaaaaarve planes…