Home alone

All the talk revolves around Adele today.

The cockney superstar with golden pipes and potty mouth is giving a concert-in-the-round at The Gabba.

A record crowd is descending on the venue, with its limited access and no nearby train station, and the city is aquiver with anticipation and anxiety. Heaven help us if we ever host a decent football game.

Absent family

My crew is there; The Husband, The Socialite and The Ballerina. They bought tickets within minutes of them going on sale. The Athlete is miffed she wasn’t invited, perplexed when we point out she lives two states away.

But I’m not. (There.) Crowds terrify me. I like my music quiet, in the car. Or not at all. I can take it or leave it. And concerts I can definitely leave.

Instead I’m the driver tonight. I delivered the crew to the closest bus and now I’m waiting to collect them when the fun is over.

More than content to miss the excitement, I’m thrilled at having a night at home alone. So rare! I’ve eaten cheese and fresh figs for dinner, washed down with a glass and a half of Nero D’Avola and followed with too many squares of hazelnut chocolate.

I’ve watched a film, Talullah, which was OK. Allison Janney rescued it from complete mediocrity.

But.

Lonely

I keep checking my phone, hoping for updates from The Socialite.

There have been a couple, but that’s not enough. I’m a very needy parent.

And in between bites of cheese I’m scrolling through social media, liking Facebook posts and commenting on random Tweets.

The novelty of being alone has worn off and I crave contact.

Please, someone talk to me. Anyone!

Social media is a grim place to hang out when the only posts are from people having fun and too distracted to respond to wry comments.

Being alone on a Saturday night isn’t all that I’d hoped.

On the upside, I’ve had time to document the day and the balance sheet needed work.

Good day

In the credit column, I made it out to Yeronga to take a few pics of a state cadet fencing tournament. I’ve been experimenting with the white balance on my camera and think my snaps are improving.

In the car on the way to the venue I heard ABC radio asking people to call in about the sports they were playing, so I called the station and arranged an interview with a young fencer. The teenager was terrific, spruiking the sport beautifully.

From that I crafted a canny Tweet, including one of my new, colour-balanced snaps, and landed some retweets and media follows. That’s gold for a small sport media officer.

Bad day

In the debit column, I left the fencing mid-morning to attend a writing seminar I’d signed up for weeks ago.

I paid $16 for parking then, while waiting for the state library doors to open, checked my calendar for venue specifics. Perhaps I should have engaged with the details sooner, because in that moment I discovered the seminar is scheduled for two weeks’ time.

Please refer to this previous note on my diary skills for more context.

And stop laughing.

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copywriting me

Angela Bensted is Brisbane-based freelance writer who likes to listen first and struggle with syntax later. She pitches stories to magazines, sometimes successfully, and helps businesses produce compelling copy for print and online.

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