Artfest

Wow. Mr and I decided to go and support my little brother who had been awarded the honour of opening the Winmalee Autumn Artfest. Partly because he is my brother and one does this kind of thing, and partly because I too attended the dreaded WHS. We pay $15 and stroll about. In the manner of small towns we know at least 50% of the people there. We are served cask wine in plastic glasses, approximately 1/3 full. Fabulous. We enthuse to people about the wedding (again) and stroll about looking at landscapes, still-life, craft stalls and miscellaneous. Little brother sings with the WHS choir to back him up. It is nice apart from his bizarre bullfrog impersonation between verse 2 and the mighty finale. I have a moment of weirdness when he's referred to as 'Mr Lockley'...that's my dad.
My mother sings the soprano descant loudly from the middle of the hall. I disppear behind an arras and try to look unrelated.
We listen to the local Real Estate honcho describe a woman's work as 'The sensual mysticism of vegetables', Mr nearly wets himself.
Mr and I run off to find the sensually mystical vegetables. They aren't particularly, although you have to admire a woman who looks at Bok Choy and wishes to spend hours turning this into a creative statement about..erm...something.
We run into my old art teacher (now v.important person in DET Arts programming) who greets Mr as 'the Drama-teacher extraordinaire'. She has his full portfolio on her desk apparently. Mr glows alot and is v.v.nice.
The local publican tries to book my brother for a pub gig. Brother mentions that Olivia Newton John told him that he should do local pub gigs recently. I make jokes about being an alcoholic.
What is amazing is that no one remembers that I am a performer too. No One. Nothing like your local community to make you feel imvisible.