Today I've been working on song Number 8 even though I haven't finished song Number 7 yet. I know! Finish one before you start the next. Naaah! For me, making an album is like completing a jigsaw puzzle, doesn't matter where you start, eventually you get there.
So here's the story so far about The Dream Boat of Moonee Ponds Creek:
When I was living in West Brunswick, for a short time, I had a thing for a man from New Zealand. He was very tall, with a soft, cheeky accent and a pair of RM Williams boots. He came from the North Island. His hobby was boat building. When things got a bit much for him, he'd retreat to his shed and work on his boat.
Well, I thought this was the most romantic thing in the world for a man to do; I imagined a deliciously masculine scene as this remote, solitary man lathed his wooden hull. The only thing more romantic would have been if he was building the boat for me. I, at least, hoped for an invitation to climb aboard and sail away with him, but alas, not to be. Instead, I met a Viking who whisked me away in his orange chariot.
But, I have always liked the idea of sailing the seven seas. Unfortunately, aside from suffering seasickness, the thought often leads me to remember those Jacques Cousteau documentaries we used to watch on Sunday afternoons when there was nothing else on, and how dull I used to find them.
And then that leads me to think about Alby Mangel, who pretty much wore shorts and nothing else. In each new adventure, he was usually accompanied by a very beautiful young woman who was there to "help". As a shy, prudish teenager, I found this all deeply embarrassing.
My pubescent shame then leads me to start thinking about internet dating.
I don't know whether you've ever had a look at any of those internet dating sites, but, if you have, I wonder if you've noticed there's always a wealthy older European man, dressed in white, with a deep tan, who has "specific tastes" and is looking for a woman to accompany him on his yacht that sails for New Zealand, next week.
Which finally brings me back to my Dream Boat:
The day that I walked 'round to Moonee Ponds creek
I stood under the bridge at Albion Street
The ducks were swimming
The sky was grinning
A salty breeze blew
Next thing I knew
I'd tapped out a text
To a man I'd just met
Saying, "Build me a boat
And let's go
Sailing
Of course, sailing down the Moonee Ponds creek would have its challenges, especially when we'd reached the bit at Flemington where there's an expanse of concrete and not much water. But, I reckon that if we followed in the footsteps of the innovative Ben Lexcen, we could modify the keel by fitting some skateboards to the hull. Sorted!
But that's another verse.
Here's a couple of pics of the Bridge and the Creek!
So here's the story so far about The Dream Boat of Moonee Ponds Creek:
When I was living in West Brunswick, for a short time, I had a thing for a man from New Zealand. He was very tall, with a soft, cheeky accent and a pair of RM Williams boots. He came from the North Island. His hobby was boat building. When things got a bit much for him, he'd retreat to his shed and work on his boat.
Well, I thought this was the most romantic thing in the world for a man to do; I imagined a deliciously masculine scene as this remote, solitary man lathed his wooden hull. The only thing more romantic would have been if he was building the boat for me. I, at least, hoped for an invitation to climb aboard and sail away with him, but alas, not to be. Instead, I met a Viking who whisked me away in his orange chariot.
But, I have always liked the idea of sailing the seven seas. Unfortunately, aside from suffering seasickness, the thought often leads me to remember those Jacques Cousteau documentaries we used to watch on Sunday afternoons when there was nothing else on, and how dull I used to find them.
And then that leads me to think about Alby Mangel, who pretty much wore shorts and nothing else. In each new adventure, he was usually accompanied by a very beautiful young woman who was there to "help". As a shy, prudish teenager, I found this all deeply embarrassing.
My pubescent shame then leads me to start thinking about internet dating.
I don't know whether you've ever had a look at any of those internet dating sites, but, if you have, I wonder if you've noticed there's always a wealthy older European man, dressed in white, with a deep tan, who has "specific tastes" and is looking for a woman to accompany him on his yacht that sails for New Zealand, next week.
Which finally brings me back to my Dream Boat:
The day that I walked 'round to Moonee Ponds creek
I stood under the bridge at Albion Street
The ducks were swimming
The sky was grinning
A salty breeze blew
Next thing I knew
I'd tapped out a text
To a man I'd just met
Saying, "Build me a boat
And let's go
Sailing
Of course, sailing down the Moonee Ponds creek would have its challenges, especially when we'd reached the bit at Flemington where there's an expanse of concrete and not much water. But, I reckon that if we followed in the footsteps of the innovative Ben Lexcen, we could modify the keel by fitting some skateboards to the hull. Sorted!
But that's another verse.
Here's a couple of pics of the Bridge and the Creek!
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| The Albion Street Bridge |
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| The Moonee Ponds Creek |
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