Posts Tagged ‘East Brunswick Club’

Rare are the times Bruce or Fran spend more than a minute on Smith Street without raising a smile or being stopped in their tracks by the extremes of humanity that parade there every day. They even know people who will travel there under the pretense that they’ve come for coffee when actually it’s just to be reminded how far the species has evolved (mutated) since crawling from the primordial gloop to the strains of Manu Chao.

Still, for every man carrying spray-painted rats on his shoulders, every dazzling old Mustang, every loon walking backwards while abusing the air in front of them, every member of the angry Village People tribute band that seems to call Collingwood home, it’s never coughed up a woman with a goatee, at least not in front of Bruce or Fran. So all praise to the East Brunswick Club, which last night presented them with a woman with not just a goatee, but a mightily impressive one too. In fact, she reminded them of an old American colleague of Bruce’s who liked to sport a rather thick version himself.

Truth be told, last night was a learning experience all round. Having got to know a couple of lesbians over the past few months – and forming a quiz team with them – they were invited to the Rosie Burgess Trio’s final Aussie gig before heading to tour the States. Being very openly lesbian and vegan (the band, not Bruce and Fran) they attracted a certain crowd. Now dykeling (or duckling as Fran prefers) has been added to vocabulary, Fran finally has an interest in sport having met the world’s number seven wheelchair tennis player (who hates sport – go figure…), they know what a faux chicken parma tastes like, Fran’s seen the Rosie Burgess Trio in various states of undress and they now understand that Smith Street by no means has all the answers.

In fact, after enjoying a thoroughly delightful set of bouncy, folksy numbers from the Trio, with Rosie’s beaming parents and her baby boy George sleeping in the arms of the other of his two mums, they learned that bearded and moustachioed ladies were quite commonplace around those parts. Fran, however, doesn’t really have the chin for it.


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