Scenes from a Story

 1977, Vancover, Canada. Do you know how thrilling this is for a girl from Down Under. At Christmas we swelter under beach umbrellas, flies buzzing around our barbequed prawns, waiting for our lunch to digest so we can dive back into the pounding surf.  In Vancouver, snow capped mountains keep watch over the city, sending flurries of white powder into the streets below, softening everything into a welcome silence. Lou and I stand outside the liquor store, rugged up in grey wool ponchos and colourful beanies, fingerless gloves and waterproof boots. Lou has her mandolin, I have my bongoes as we beat out songs of suffering, of women's rights, gay rights, children's rights, squatters rights, of rape, injustice, of love, of freedom. The drunks don't care what our songs are about. We could be singing about land rights for cockroaches and they would still tip us generously. Everyone is in a good mood, it's Christmas, Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men, and ahem, women.  We...