Aye, Aye, Pet

The Newcastle concert, I'd had no intention of going to. I will fully admit that it had vaguely crossed my mind that I just might find myself scrounging a ticket to one of the sold out shows while I was in Sydney, but I hadn't even heard of Newcastle, New South Wales until I was cheerfully heading down the winding highway heading for Sydney when I heard a local radio announcer announce excitedly that INXS would be playing there that night. At that moment, in need of fuel for both the car and myself, I spied a sign for Newcastle and figured I might as well turn off in search of petrol and tea. The main road leading into the city promptly evaporated and I wound, for over an hour, through sleepy residential streets, mindlessly turning every once in a while and idly wondering how much of the population of Newcastle was formed by tourists like myself who had turned off the highway and never found their way out again. Despite the many inarguably wonderful things about the Land Down Under, clearly labelling streets and intersections is sadly not one of them.

All of this is a pathetic attempt to excuse myself for being drawn, inexorably, towards the Newcastle Entertainment Centre and the INXS concert. Deep, deep down, I think I know that had I really wanted to get out of Newcastle that day, I could have managed it.


I began to regret my impromptu decision when, moments after purchasing my ticket, I ran into the dreaded Superfan Number 1. Superfan Number 1 is a startlingly tall, chain smoking American, in her mid 50s. A formidable female who sounds like Mariella Frostrup doing Scarlett O'Hara, she is retired and evidently well heeled enough to have travelled to 18 INXS concerts on the North American leg, 11 on this Australian leg and plans to hit Europe next month. Which on one hand I think is brilliant: if you have the time and money and little makes you happier than watching INXS in concert, then why not? - but unfortunately Superfan No 1 is one of those strange fans that indulge in a weird competitiveness and determination to have some kind of acknowledgement from the band and other fans that they are the biggest and bestest fan that there is. She claims a number of inside connections (which may well be real for all I know), just happens to manage to stay in the same hotel as the band wherever she is, and has an infamous and enduring obsession with J.D.'s feet. Meeting her for the first time back in Cairns, and knowing nothing of her reputation, I had agreed to give her a lift up to Kuranda as we had room in our car for one more and she was otherwise stuck. I liked her well enough that night, she seemed like a good laugh, but I came to regret my good Samaritan offer the following night on the way to Townsville when she picked a mystifying (no pun intended) fight with one of my travelling companions and - clearly forgetting that she had no way of getting to the venue without us - accused us of hanging around with her to use her for her contacts and 'access' to the band.


So I wasn't thrilled to see her. The feeling appeared to be mutual, as she looked me up and down slowly and growled that she didn't think I was coming to this show. Suddenly feeling inexplicably guilty, I muttered that it was a last minute decision, and Superfan proceeded to regale me with tales of the fun she had been having hanging out with the band at every concert since she'd seen me last. Gritting my teeth to avoid rising to the bait, I commented that I was glad her long trip (from the East Coast of the U.S.) had been worth it and futilely tried to compete with stories of kayaking with dolphins, snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef and spending time with old friends in Brisbane that I'd busied myself with… but she was off again.

"Yeah, I guess because I travelled the farthest it was kind of like I deserved partying with them." She grinned evilly.

"Umm…" I began - damnit, I'd risen - "I think that the U.K. is farther, actually." In all fairness, what the precise mileage is I have no idea, but having grown up with the notion that Australia is 'the other side of the world' I felt fairly confident in my assertion.

"Yeah, I don't think so." With a flick of ash she dismissed me, leaving me standing in the lobby slowly digesting the fact that I was on the opposite side of the world (or thereabouts) in a town I'd had no intention of visiting, arguing the circumference of the globe with a woman who has publicly announced her intention to steal the shoes of a Canadian man over 20 years her junior.


My night got worse when I realized that the entire venue was seated - which meant I would have to actually watch the whole thing on my own. I'd been planning on meeting up with Mini Superfan, a very sweet and very young girl (I don't mean to suggest that she's 6 or anything - probably early twenties) who'd never been out of her home state before embarking on this trip to catch every Oz date on the tour. She'd been part of our crew in Townsville and Brisbane, is pleasingly slightly bonkers, and I liked her very much. She and Superfan Number 1 had fallen out in Cairns over some confusion over travel arrangements, so it was with some dismay that I noted they had evidently made up since Brisbane, and were joined into one Superfan monster - which meant I wouldn't have a buddy that evening after all. So I took my seat in a side row of four - stuck in the corner next to three people who were clearly together and clearly not interested in making a friend. After sitting quietly and glumly for a few minutes, I spied Tony - he of the drumstick-ESP fame - in the wings and called over to him. I wanted to thank him for looking after my cell phone for a few days the previous week (long story - don't ask) and we chatted briefly. When I returned to my seat, the woman sitting next to me turned to me and abruptly announced that she knew Tony too.

"Oh?" I replied, glad that someone was taking pity on Norma No-Mates me and talking to me. "How so?"

"He used to do my security." Huh. Given that Tony is the go-to man for A list security in Australia, I took a second look at her, but still didn't recognize her. I tried another tack.

"Is this your first INXS concert?" She and her friend exchanged a look, and replied, in a voice heavy with inexplicable meaning, that no, this was not her first INXS concert. Nothing about her demeanour invited further conversation, so I returned to sitting quietly and glumly waiting for the show to start.


With equal abruptness, she suddenly spoke again.

"I suppose you just follow the band all the time?" She demanded.

"Err, no, not exact --" I began, but shooting me a look I can only imagine faced the first flappers to daringly show their ankles and very clearly said something to the effect of "you're no better than you ought to be", she very firmly turned her back on me.


Huh. Suddenly realizing the somewhat astounding conclusion she'd jumped to based on the (admittedly, now I think about it, damning) evidence of my being alone, talking to Tony and wearing a somewhat low cut top (every other one was dirty, honest!) - I was torn. In the same way that you are furious when a builder wolf whistles you and gutted if he doesn't, I was simultaneously insulted that she thought I had so little respect for myself that I would tour the world as the sex-toy of a rockstar 82% likely to be married or as good as, and 18% likely to wear dodgy Canadian-man jeans, and utterly thrilled that she seemed to think I could.