Part A, Part B, Part-ay

Hazel and I went to a party last night.

We don't get to too many parties these days. Mostly because I'm too fat.

But this was a goody, with a singer/guitarist who actually had some talent as opposed to the usual stoner who turns up with an acoustic axe to grind.

There was also a good jazzy/soul groovin' kinda band with a saxophonist that looked like James Valentine of Models and ABC radio fame.

Aside from the music, there were a few features about this party. One - as the proprietor is a press photographer there were lots of his fellow snappers about, photographing every head they had the pleasure to know. Two - fresh snaps of the evolving party kept popping up on a large projector - talk about instant gratification. And three, the back yard where the party took place was good on so many levels, quite literally.

First, there was the garage level where we tiptoed in with a line of candles snaking along the pavement to guide us. Second, there was a long verandah with a BBQ that sizzled German sausages all night. Then there was the wood-fired oven sunk a few metres below verandah level where an old Portuguese guy nobody seemed to know dligently prepared and roasted fine hand-made pizzas. Sheesh, the home even had its own wine press.

Yet to view the abode from the front, you'd never know all this jazz was going on. Which goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover, or every now and then it doesn't hurt to wake up and smell the pepperoni.