Shocked like the lightning from up above

I am back from the most amazingly good holiday. There was playing in surf, there was the building of sandcastles, there was mini-golf, there was icecream, there was feeding of donkeys, there was a lighthouse, there was a ferry ride and pizza for lunch at Via Sorrento, and there were too many other good things to mention all in one sentence. There were also a few of the types of moments one might expect when a two year old and a four year old share a small unit for a week, but we shall not dwell on those. In other words, there were many things that were perfect, some that were flat out bad, but only one conversation that left me utterly flabbergasted and still unsure what to make of it all.



And it went a little something like this.



We drove from Torquay to a not too distant seaside town to visit a very close friend, let's call her Sunshine, and her two children, who are just a little older than ours. We chattered the afternoon away happily enough while the children gradually warmed up to each other and ended up jumping on the trampoline and playing some sort of Dora the Explora type game on the computer.



Just as we were getting ready to leave, I happened to mention to Sunshine that, as of last August, we had now known each other for 10 years. We briefly discussed a few of the things that were going on when we first met (it was around the same time that Sunshine met her husband) and then came the bombshell.



"You know," said Sunshine "I still have your tape in my car".



It took me just a moment to figure out what the hell she was talking about, during which time Sunshine helpfully added that it was her daughter's favourite song.



And the memories came flooding back. It was a particularly muggy Saturday night in Geelong. I hadbeen away somewhere, probably visiting friends back in Melbourne for the day, when it occurred to me that a few of us were having lunch for Sunshine's 24th birthday in a few days' time, and I had not thought about a present. I was out of ideas and possible a little bit broke, so in a moment of reckless creativity I decided to write a song for the occasion.



Together with an ever supportive and patient flatmate, I took my guitar over to the church we both went to and sat down to record. My flatmate helped to set things up and figure out levels and stuff and then wisely went home, and I spent the next few hours in a not at all airconditioned space writing, re-writing, recording, changing keys, re-writing some more and generally wondering if I had finally gone completely mad.



I should clarify at this point that, unlike some previous songwriting efforts of mine, this was not an unsuccessful attempt to get a date, or, for that matter, a successful attempt to do so. It was simply an act of friendship, and this was something that was heavily hinted at throughout the lyrics. As I was recording it, and for the next couple of days as I was wondering whether I should just rush off to the Geelong mall at lunchtime and try to find a nice scarf or something, I was convinced that this would either be great and Sunshine would feel endlessly flattered, or it would be the sort of hideously embarassing disaster from which a highly valued friendship would never recover.



The one thing that never occurred to me was that, ten years later, Sunshine would still be playing this tape in her car (which means her husband has surely heard it more times than he would care to) and that it would be her three year old daughter's favourite song.



I simply cannot believe this. I have spent the last week trying to figure out whether to be elated or completed embarassed by the whole thing, and I still don't even know where to start figuring it out.