Article - Sydney Morning Herald - April 15, 2006
Absurd encounters began with stones in concert
THE DIARY; William McInnes
Sydney Morning Herald
04-15-2006
A WEEK of bumping into people. Bumping into acquaintances or people you haven't seen for a while is sometimes an occurrence of great joy and surprise. It's supposed to happen only occasionally, that is why it's a surprise, but when you have a string of faces known and names suddenly remembered it means something is happening on the merry-go- round of life.
The first person I bump into is a man I once hit in the testicles. With a cricket ball. I didn't mean to. I was returning the ball and he was supposed to catch it only he looked the other way. We bump into each other in the changing room at the gym. I've just finished showering after a tragic middle-aged attempt at exercise. He stands before me. "Hello you! How are you!?" I look at him through soapy eyes. I give a blokey nod. I have forgotten his name. "How are you ... mate?" He laughs. "Gee, Bill, my nuts took a week to get better after the hammering you gave me." Heads turn and people stare. He smiles and plods off to the showers. I head off into a week of bumping into people.
During a telephone interview I attempt to do over a speaker phone while I try to insert a battery into a smoke alarm, I suddenly remember that I have to be somewhere else. The journalist is already perplexed as I sputter that I have to be elsewhere. She has put up with crazed intermittent beeping from the smoke alarm and my oaths in answer to it. I realise I have to go and read sections of Winnie the Pooh in front of the Victoria State Library. I say goodbye and ring up a taxi on my mobile. I shriek and swear and step on the dog and then realise I still have the speaker phone on. The taxi toots and I run outside.
I get in and try to politely yell to the driver. He stares at me. He keeps on staring at me even when we are driving. If I am to be polite I will say he has an intense gaze. In other words in the right light he could look pretty scary. We make a fine couple. A big bad-tempered man and the intense driver. As we go through a red light he says, "I know you, don't I?" He says it in such a way that brooks no argument. Just when I think of leaping from the car he laughs. I hear the laugh and realise I know him. He has grown a beard. He is a man I worked with on a working bee at a kindy years ago. My bad temper disappears and I enjoy a bit of a catch-up. His children are good and two are at high school. I remember how he liked to sing to his daughter as he carried her home on his shoulders. Now she is at high school. We sit quietly for a bit. And yes, he says he still drives the cab on Wednesdays as a second job. We wave goodbye. "Until next time Billy!" and he drives off.
A few days later I leave the Melbourne Arts Centre, where I have just finished a performance of Steve Rogers's Ray's Tempest for the Melbourne Theatre Company. During the night I have already bumped into Chris Gabardi and Bud Tingwell and have enjoyed catching up. Also a man who has given up acting to become a psychologist. I assure him he will do well with a long list of clients when he graduates.
I walk down to the railway station and as I go a young man leans out of an old Commodore, which seems at odds among the taxis and limos on the streets. "Hey, William McInnes," he yells at the top of his voice. I look to see him. He's not a young man at all. He's only a boy really. He used to go to school with my son. I go to wave hello and say something. But he beats me to it. "You are such a shithouse actor!" he laughs and leans back into the car. I can't complain. He's just having a go.
I am reminded of being in Los Angeles and seeing Bob Carr walk across Rodeo Drive. Why Bob Carr was there is his business. I suppose former premiers have to go somewhere so Rodeo Drive is as good a place as any. I was being driven when I see him wander across the street. He is a little touch of home, or at least near home. I lean out the window and shriek at the moleskin-clad R.M. Williams-footed former premier in the time-honoured greeting: "Hey Bob! Thanks for that tunnel." He jumps a little bit and then attempts to regain a little bit of former premier-type behaviour and stares at me in what is, I guess, his best withering look.
Oh well, he can take it. I guess we all have to because you never know who you will bump into.
Despite the shape of his nose, William McInnes is a successful film and stage actor.
THE DIARY; William McInnes
Sydney Morning Herald
04-15-2006
A WEEK of bumping into people. Bumping into acquaintances or people you haven't seen for a while is sometimes an occurrence of great joy and surprise. It's supposed to happen only occasionally, that is why it's a surprise, but when you have a string of faces known and names suddenly remembered it means something is happening on the merry-go- round of life.
The first person I bump into is a man I once hit in the testicles. With a cricket ball. I didn't mean to. I was returning the ball and he was supposed to catch it only he looked the other way. We bump into each other in the changing room at the gym. I've just finished showering after a tragic middle-aged attempt at exercise. He stands before me. "Hello you! How are you!?" I look at him through soapy eyes. I give a blokey nod. I have forgotten his name. "How are you ... mate?" He laughs. "Gee, Bill, my nuts took a week to get better after the hammering you gave me." Heads turn and people stare. He smiles and plods off to the showers. I head off into a week of bumping into people.
During a telephone interview I attempt to do over a speaker phone while I try to insert a battery into a smoke alarm, I suddenly remember that I have to be somewhere else. The journalist is already perplexed as I sputter that I have to be elsewhere. She has put up with crazed intermittent beeping from the smoke alarm and my oaths in answer to it. I realise I have to go and read sections of Winnie the Pooh in front of the Victoria State Library. I say goodbye and ring up a taxi on my mobile. I shriek and swear and step on the dog and then realise I still have the speaker phone on. The taxi toots and I run outside.
I get in and try to politely yell to the driver. He stares at me. He keeps on staring at me even when we are driving. If I am to be polite I will say he has an intense gaze. In other words in the right light he could look pretty scary. We make a fine couple. A big bad-tempered man and the intense driver. As we go through a red light he says, "I know you, don't I?" He says it in such a way that brooks no argument. Just when I think of leaping from the car he laughs. I hear the laugh and realise I know him. He has grown a beard. He is a man I worked with on a working bee at a kindy years ago. My bad temper disappears and I enjoy a bit of a catch-up. His children are good and two are at high school. I remember how he liked to sing to his daughter as he carried her home on his shoulders. Now she is at high school. We sit quietly for a bit. And yes, he says he still drives the cab on Wednesdays as a second job. We wave goodbye. "Until next time Billy!" and he drives off.
A few days later I leave the Melbourne Arts Centre, where I have just finished a performance of Steve Rogers's Ray's Tempest for the Melbourne Theatre Company. During the night I have already bumped into Chris Gabardi and Bud Tingwell and have enjoyed catching up. Also a man who has given up acting to become a psychologist. I assure him he will do well with a long list of clients when he graduates.
I walk down to the railway station and as I go a young man leans out of an old Commodore, which seems at odds among the taxis and limos on the streets. "Hey, William McInnes," he yells at the top of his voice. I look to see him. He's not a young man at all. He's only a boy really. He used to go to school with my son. I go to wave hello and say something. But he beats me to it. "You are such a shithouse actor!" he laughs and leans back into the car. I can't complain. He's just having a go.
I am reminded of being in Los Angeles and seeing Bob Carr walk across Rodeo Drive. Why Bob Carr was there is his business. I suppose former premiers have to go somewhere so Rodeo Drive is as good a place as any. I was being driven when I see him wander across the street. He is a little touch of home, or at least near home. I lean out the window and shriek at the moleskin-clad R.M. Williams-footed former premier in the time-honoured greeting: "Hey Bob! Thanks for that tunnel." He jumps a little bit and then attempts to regain a little bit of former premier-type behaviour and stares at me in what is, I guess, his best withering look.
Oh well, he can take it. I guess we all have to because you never know who you will bump into.
Despite the shape of his nose, William McInnes is a successful film and stage actor.
posted by WilliamWatch at 10:08 PM
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