Twas a rainy Sydney Saturday. I was hungover. I can’t remember why now actually… Oh yeah that’s right. Boozy dinner in Bondi. Leaving the party to go skinny dipping with Connie. Floating in the ocean at 3am. Talking about being unapologetically true to yourself. And other groundbreaking discussions. Single vs attached etcetera etcetera. So. Sydney, Saturday and Severe hangover. And tickets to go the Good Vibrations Festival. With the recently split-with ex and Ella-bon-bella. I borrowed Jeremy’s singlet saying ‘I’m on a Fiji Time.’ Ella brought over the diet coke and lemonade. We had the bottle of vodka. One pie and a pasty later. We let the games begin. The main game obviously being, ‘see how much you can drink before we leave to save money.’ Turned out, not much. Two drinks each. Tops. We grabbed a flask on the way and hid it in Jeremy’s pants. Perfecto Planio.
Two hours later at the festival. Empty flask. Jeremy still holding onto it. Police. “Sir we hereby kick you out of Good Vibes”. He left. Wet and without seeing Damian Marley. Totes devo. So three became two. Ella and I found some old Fiji friends . (They loved my shirt.) We danced outside in the rain for awhile. Which looking back now, seems stupid. We couldn’t really hear music from any of the tents. We were just splashing around in a field. Like cows. Or kids that grew up in Fiji. Anywho, someone wanted to start heading over to Damian Marley. It was crowded and loud and excellent. We were right near the front. Absolute winners. Bouncing around in our plastic ponchos. A Maori girl and her friends tried to push in front of us. One of the Fijian girls didn’t appreciate this and got up in her grill. The chest bumping began. A little circle formed. Our boys started yelling. Their boys (and some very large aggressive girls) started yelling. I stepped in front to say “just push through me, forget it, and get out of here.” But nothing came out of my mouth. Because something, called a fast fist with a sharp engagement ring, came flying at it instead. What. The. Shit. Just. Happened.
I’ll tell you what happened. I just got punched in the face.
You’ll be glad to know I left the festival. My lip was fat and bleeding. Not a good look to be sporting at a festy. Didn’t want people thinking I was off my lid chomping down on my lip. But I didn’t go home. I went to the quaint little shop opening that all of my friends were at. High heels, pretty dresses, red wine. I arrived with my hair matted to my back. Mud between my toes. Blood on my chin. I did however swap into a lovely clean tee shirt that I picked up from a Kings Cross souvenir shop. It said ‘I Heart Sydney’. Only 7 dollars. Bargain. But I had to spend 10 to use Eftpos. So I also bought a pack of cards. Which turned out to be absolutely brilliant because for the rest of the night, not only did I have my wonderful ‘I just got punched in the face story’ to entertain people with, I also had some mind blowing magic tricks. What more could you ask for?