A RETURN TO THE STREETLIFE

A RETURN TO THE STREETLIFE.

It was about nine thirty at night when the front door of the hut was bombarded by large rocks courtesy of passing teenagers.  This was the first assault of three that saw me brandishing a loaded speargun at the front gate and Husky showing his true worth as my protector.  In evaluating the situation I concluded that the hut must have been a secret hangout for the local young trouble makers prior to my arrival. They would have seen me as just some old hobo who was getting in the way.  The safest and most sensible thing to do was relocate my camp so I scanned my list of options for the best possible outcome.

Captain Casual who you will know from the first book took residence in Katoomba after the property at Hazelbrook was lost to his creditors.  I became a regular feature at the new Planet Savers headquarters and it replaced the Flying Fox as the spot I charged my batteries.  Early in the game I befriended a twenty seven year old horticulturist called Michael who was living with the Captain and volunteering his services around the property. On hearing of my dramas at the hut Michael allowed me the use of a street level car shed for a mere fifty dollars a week. It was a solid brick structure that had a working roller door but the most wonderful feature was the electrical power switch on the wall.  Like some kind of power hungry, energy craving parasite I extracted leads and powerboards from my load and plugged them in at great speed.  My flight case protected mobile studio was ignited to life and I went into a grid connected, creative powerburst.  Michael let me use a pot belly stove that he owned and it became the central hub of my world through the winter months.  Many a time he would pop out to bum some pot or cigarettes off me and he would comment that my setup was warmer than his in the house.  Michael was a struggling new age zealot with an impressive list of planet saving degrees but he couldn’t get a job anywhere in the mainstream work environment.  He was battling to afford fuel for his car and I was making good money at the shows so he was happy to be my part time taxi service.  On sunny days Hus and I pulled the busking trolley to the gigs because it was good for the townsfolk to see him working. This factor was a large part of the novelty and many who threw coins said they had seen him pulling me along the highway.  If the weather was dirty Michael simply loaded the trolley into the back of his car and drove me and Hus into the carpark.  After the shows back at Planet Savers headquarters we would be joined by his supermodel class girlfriend and chummy little dinner parties would unfold. Her name was Maya and she was the most delectable twenty year old love child that any old fart could wish to behold.  The young sweethearts welcomed me into their hearts and minds like a long lost uncle and I was honoured to be their friend.  We attended a number of festive gatherings at the Katoomba Community Gardens of which Michael was a key organiser and I got to meet all of the local freaks.  Among them were a couple known as Jonno and Meredith and they were to become my regular pot suppliers. Meredith was a fat and happy aboriginal woman with a golden smile and Jonno her whitey boyfriend was an old school hippy prankster.  As August came around I dropped hints about my forthcoming fiftieth birthday to all who entered my den for a complimentary smoke.  The list included Jonno and Meredith, the lovers, Young William, Stewart and Matt and a host of others who would make the party complete.  The piano bar of the Carrington was chosen as the venue and as the night progressed it turned into fun for all.  I was presented with a candle lit birthday cake by Michael and Maya which had a big five and a zero perched on the top.  It was a very touching moment.

With the decline of his financial independence Captain Casual withdrew from the world to a darkened room and a blinking computer screen. Michael revealed that he was only surviving from week to week on welfare payments with the odd handouts from his wealthy younger brothers. All the bills were being paid to keep the Planet Savers operating but it was a much different story to the excesses of days gone by.  Our good Captain was so down in the dumps that he started divulging thoughts of suicide to those around him and anyone else who would listen.  It brought the whole vibe of the place tumbling down and got me thinking seriously about my next move.  William, Michael and myself had all been friends of Arn before he killed himself and there was still a strong sense of loss among us.  It was agreed by all that we didn’t want to see the Captain go the same way as we mulled over the problem and conversed about his fragile state of mind. The general consensus was that our patriarch felt as bankrupted in spirit as he was in dollars and cents and he had started psycho dramatising an inner sense of failure.  By threatening to end his life he was holding those dearest to him to emotional ransom and it was nothing more than a self indulgent plea for sympathy.  Late in the night huddled around the pot belly stove we concluded that the Captain was out of the danger zone because more often than not those who talk about killing themselves rarely ever do.

The Planet Savers building went into renovations and the shed I had been occupying was needed for storage.  I had seen it coming well in advance of the crunch so my backup plan went into action with the new day.  I had recently bumped into an old mate called Phil Gray who I knew from Melbourne and he was renting a house close to town. With Phillips permission and Michaels help I moved out of the first shed into the second in a matter of hours.  My new habitat was not half as cosy as the last but I was still connected to the electricity grid and that was all that mattered. My new address was much closer to the carpark than the previous dwelling had been.  Husky and I had to expend a lot less energy transporting the equipment to and from the gigs and as a result I was able to do more shows.  The temptation was definitely there to blow my earnings in the pubs and late night bars so I invested in a swag of digital technology starting with a new laptop computer.  The quest to break free of obsolete, analogue devices became my new mission in life and greatly improved audio quality would be the final reward.   

Phil Gray my most recent host in the mountains was an all round musician who played guitar, keyboards, drums and sang.  He had all the talent in the world but it took second place to the alcohol cravings that emptied his wallet and eventually pickled his brain.  The spare room he had converted into a home studio was full of state of the art recording gear that was sitting idle and gathering dust.  He had a strict rule about nobody else touching his equipment yet he was incapable of putting the bottle down long enough to switch it on.  There were numerous occasions where he babbled on about cleaning up my music beds and recording new vocal tracks but it never came to pass.  The closest thing I saw to any kind of progress was the day he attempted to connect a microphone to the tone processor in one of his drunken stupors.  Lost in a tangled mountain of cables and leads he conversed intently to himself about what lead goes where and where the fuck his gaffer tape was.  The cable remained unconnected as he staggered from the scene on the scent of another beer.  I was grateful for Phils hospitality but Arns death had instilled a new sense of caution when it comes to bonding with loose cannons.  Letting him go his own drunken way I just kept to myself, ever vigilant that my household bills were paid.  The shed became unsustainable when a neighbour complained to Phil that they had heard me cursing.  I had spilled a cup of coffee on my butane cooker and it soaked the jets, which triggered some colourful language.

In more sober moments I was told by Phil that I could occupy the empty sunroom at the front of the house for the remainder of my stay. This represented an immediate quantum leap in creature comforts and a far more civilised environment to sit out the Katoomba winter. The swearing incident was nothing to worry about but Phil was afraid the neighbours would inform his landlord.  Intoxicated to his normal fill he went staggering into their yard with a posy of flowers in hand.  He presented them with the flowers at the front door and went on to apologise on my behalf about the swearing.  I was sitting at the dining room table chopping up some buds when I overheard the nearby conversation.  The neighbours said it was not a problem and they displayed extreme discomfort at the babblings of the piss tank from next door who they barely even knew.  Phil stumbled back into the house all puffed up by his accomplishment and I acted like I didn’t know a thing when he said a tricky conflict situation had been resolved.  Poor shmook.

The winter equinox was due with the new moon and preparations for the annual winter magic festival were in full swing.  Many of the townsfolk I had met were involved and the whole village seemed to be buzzing with anticipation as the big day drew close.  The weather was picture perfect for the event and I was up with the birds to secure a good busking spot.  Crowds assembled in great numbers on the main street and by mid morning it was shoulder to shoulder all the way. Not happy with the spot I had chosen I attempted to manoeuvre my rig through the mass of humanity and that’s when the trouble began.  An irregular bulge had appeared in my groin some time back and the diagnosis was confirmed as a hernia.  In the months I had to wait around for the operation I got by with a strap I devised to hold my guts in but if the truth were known I should have been taking it easy.

When I attempted to get the buggy up some steps I doubled over with pain and there was an urgent need for me to sit down. I was wrestling the trolley up the last few steps and moaning when I caught the eyes of someone I knew. Walking towards me in the other direction was Margaret the sister of Beth. E. and the aunty of my daughter Miranda.  The whole clan was there including Beth and it was one of the most uncomfortable situations I think I have ever had to endure.  Miranda wasn’t with them.  The fact I was in severe pain served as a valuable distraction amid awkward greetings and I was truly relieved to get away.  Margaret was the only one from the group who came over to where I was sitting and after some light chatter she said something that took me by surprise.  She told me that the family had been speaking about my environmental musical and they all agreed the idea was ahead of it’s time. What a mind blower.  I was only capable of engaging in brief conversation before I scribbled down my mobile phone number and left the festival in search of medical help. 

Nearly busting my pooper at the festival served to fast track the hernia operation and after an overnight stay in the Katoomba Hospital I was confined to an easy chair.  The understanding with Phil was such that I would vacate the sunroom after my operation and he wasted not a nano second in reminding me of this fact the moment I was well. I guess my motivated and enthusiastic presence made him feel like a time wasting wanker. He had turned into an absolute drag to be around and I was yearning for the return of my domestic independence. The most memorable part of my stay in his house was the Christmas period because that was when Miranda called the number I had given to Margaret.  I was pushing a trolley through the aisles in the local shopping centre when I received a text message wishing me a merry Christmas.  I immediately called the number attached to the message and exchanged friendly, festive season chatter with one so badly missed and now all growed up.  I was having a private little cry near the health food section as I learned that my princess was in the advertising game and about to attend a work seminar in Chicago.

It would appear the planets and all of the stars were in some kind of convergence as it relates to bonding with my offspring.  Within days of my connection with Miranda I had an unexpected visit from my other daughter Kiaana, in the company of her mother Alicia.  It was a sunny day and I was busking on the main street when I saw the two of them drive by.  Once Alicia had located a parking spot they came over to where I was and it was hugs and kisses all around. Alicia said they had made a spontaneous decision to make Katoomba their holiday destination in the hope they might bump into me.  And so they did.  Alicia has a long time girlfriend in the area who offered to put them up so for about a week we got to goof around. I broke into song for Kiaana on numerous occasions and it was a delight to discover she knew all the words to my songs. I had forgotten that I gave Alicia some early recordings and it was from these that my twelve year old daughter had learned the words. She also loved Husky to pieces and before they left the mountains Kiaana insisted that I send her some shots of him as a puppy.  Within minutes of seeing Kiaana and Alicia in the main street of Katoomba I also reconnected with Steve Wall a muso mate from the nightclub days in Sydney. 

Like I said something weird was happening in the psychic stratosphere.  Steve had collaborated on some of my early recordings and I sang vocals on a couple of his.  Our meeting was the springboard to a series of events involving old crew reunions and it allowed me access to a fully rigged, state of the Art studio. The lads got me to recite some of my poetry over ambient music beds they had constructed and we captured some innovative stuff in the process.  The lads all had families and day jobs to attend to so work on the re-recording of my music beds never eventuated.

Directly opposite the entrance to the underground carpark where I was doing most of my shows I discovered an empty house.  All of the doors and windows were locked tight but there was a downstairs laundry area left unsecured and begging for occupation.  With the bulk of my load tarped over in the front yard at Phils place I set up camp in the laundry which was similar to the entrance to a mine.  I was delighted to discover that the power was still connected and it brought four days of free usage before being mysteriously cut off.  When the power went it was no great obstacle because I had located a power point in the carpark where I could run a charger undetected.  With such an easily accessible energy supply I turned into a gluttonous movie buff with a five DVD a day habit. Being in such close proximity to the place I performed made the logistics of doing a gig much easier.  Less than ten minutes after the decision to go busking I was all set up and working.  Entertaining the Christmas shoppers lifted my income to an average of one hundred and fifty dollars a day and contributions were often followed by a cheerful “Merry Chrismas”.  The vast majority of those passing were friendly in their manner but there was a minor percentage who expressed open hostility for reasons unknown.  There is a significant population of fliptops in the Katoomba area and for some reason I had been singled out as a target for their theatrics.  Mid song I would find myself the focus of some deranged individual who was standing over me and verbalising incoherent babble. It eventually became such a nuisance that had to recruit a bodyguard from among the local, street level tough guys.  His name was Simmo and he was one of the most fearsome looking blokes in town.  Whenever he was around the fruitloops kept their distance and I got to sing without any hinderence.

There’s a healthy busking community in Katoomba who fill every available doorway as they compete for contributions.  At times when I arrived in the carpark I had to wait around while another performer finished their shift. On one such occasion I was being sent to sleep by a violin player when a professional looking photographer arrived on the scene and set up his equipment.  He took countless shots of the violin player and then he came over to talk to me.  His name I found out was Peter Adams and he was documenting the mountain buskers for a book he was compiling called ‘The Streetwise’.  I claimed the space where the violin player had been working and Peter merrily snapped away as I went through my sets.  A few days later Peter picked Husky and I up and we were taken to his very luxurious home studio for more shots and an interview about my life as a street performer.  When the last of the photographic sessions were done Peter presented me with a CD containing all of the best shots and they still remain a treasured reminder of my time on the alpine slopes. 

It was a cool scene to be part of but the chronic pain in my lower back was telling me I had to get out of the mountains and return to the coastal flatlands. As well as being my most regular weed suppliers Jonno and Meredith had also become trusted friends.  Their flat was in an area nicknamed the Redfern of Katoomba and it was the most frequented hangout of street level operators like myself.  Even if I didn’t need to score I used to go there just to drink and talk with the local maniacs and misfits. It was a rich and exhilarating scene that I was familiar with from times passed. At one of the daylong bong sessions in Little Redfern I got yakking with a bloke called Dazza who did removals on the side.  He was a highly strung extrovert like everyone else there and it wasn’t easy to pin him down to specific details.  Amid the din of the household and endless distractions to our conversation I managed to extract a quote for two hundred bucks for my next move.  Dazza said it would cost that much because he had to tow the trailer with a gas guzzling V8 engine.  All going well the fee he had requested would see me out of the mountains and relocated to Manly on Sydney’s northern beaches so I had to agree to his exorbitant terms.