Outside a tent each night, a few spaces away, a group of friends sit and play guitar and sing. Some of them are completely tone deaf but we only hear those voices late at night once the drinks have been flowing. Until then, one or two of them, who know all the words to all the songs, sing along and sing well. Everything from classic rock to Adele’s Rolling in the Deep, they know it.
Amongst the drunken slurs, sounds of tripping over tents, snarling winds and general drone, the singing is a welcome reprieve. Courts offers me one of his ear phones but I’d rather listen to the singalong. It reminds me of times when we used to all sit around and have singalongs on Summer afternoons, or over Winter roasts.
One or two who knew all the words, more and more joining in until everyone in on the chorus. Chorus closes, verses resume and slowly so does the chatter amongst everyone else, glasses clinking, knives and forks scraping, chips being dipped, dogs and cats being patted and played with until once again the energy builds, the pre-chorus triggers sub conscious recognition and the room builds again into a chorus of combined love for music, good times, good friends and good food and drink.
Last Summer, the guitars didn’t come out. Everyone was too busy or too shy, the previous ringleaders no longer present for various reasons, in different countries or mindsets. The core though, still here. We still love music, food, drink, each other. We are not lacking in very skilled guitarists. When I get home from the European Summer, it will just be easing into Summer Downunder. This Southern Summer, I’m buying a new barbeque, a new stereo, a new chilly bin and dusting off the guitar.
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