Adventures in Maggotland

Some of my best friends are maggots. And don't get me wrong I love every last one of the pulsating little larvae but I sometimes can't help but wonder if it will all end in tears. After all we are ladies of, or approaching, a certain age. And just how much longer can we continue to have 'eatin's cheatin' as a catchcry or consider the aging dregs of Adelaide's band scene as a worthwhile prospect through the fuzzy veil of 15 scotch and cokes? Anyhoo perhaps I had better explain further with a profile of these maggotty madams.

1. Deanna
'Oh Deanna...I'm not down here for your lovin or your money, I'm down here for your soul.' Not sure that she ever had a soul really. Perhaps that is a bit harsh. It's probably more accurate to say that she doesn't have a conscience. Especially not when she has escaped the clutches of her young children, leaving them with her long suffering partner or her fearful and fretting parents, for a night on the town. Once a couple of drinks are downed all thoughts of the 11pm curfew are banished by the desire to talk to random people, to shout them $80 bottles of champagne and criticise their taste in music. Surprisingly most people take this intrusion quite well, after all she does have a certain charm that allows her to get away with it; but only just. This can change when she admonishes people at gigs for being boring and not dancing. It can end in fights.

There is a certain dread that accompanies a night out with Deanna, a lump that develops in the throat while you are waiting for her to arrive. The mind meanders down the paths of possibility 'how many people will she offend, how embarassed will I be, will I have to leave her to her fate when I can't get her to go home?' On many occasions I have had to depart while my dignity is still intact, leaving her to soldier on. Luckily she doesn't become messy and I don't fear for her safety. She is just relentless, a drinking machine that has no intention of acknowledging responsibility in any way, shape or form. Most of the time she does makes it home before dawn, if not she phones her family two days later from Sydney, with a marguerita in one hand and a line of cocaine waiting on the table in front of her.

Our most recent jaunt, to the Garden of Unearthly Delights, ended at 2am. I went home and Deanna jumped in to a taxi heading for the Grace Emily with a man that a friend of mine has a restraining order out on. I did manage to convey this information to her before she departed. She sent me a text at 3am stating that she had arrived home safely, leaving the offender at the Grace. Never a dull moment.

Stay tuned for the adventures of maggotty madam number 2...