I might have gushed a little last year about Canadian guitarist-singer-songwriter Scott Cook, so when I heard he was back I went along to make sure. In 2014 he was a last-minute entry and they stuffed him into the tiny Narira shed up the back, where a heads-upped crowd sweltered through a heart-on-sleeve set of blues, folk and country, more than tinged with sardonic enviro-politics. We loved him then, and we loved him again in 2015, when the organisers got wise and put him on the main Gulaga stage. At least it was a lot cooler.
I used to be a fast walker. The men I walked with had to ask me to slow down. I left everyone in my wake.
One day in 2001 as I crossed Church St in Bega, striding out across the old cobblestone gutter and onto the blacktop in my jeans and shirt and RM Williams boots, feeling sturdy and strong, I told myself, “One day you’ll remember this.” And I do, I hold that memory like a precious jewel. “Walking, walking, walking,” I told myself that day. “Just walking”.
Now as I step out to cross Church St, the cobblestones have become a trap for my stick and the blacktop an expanse to be covered one unsteady step at a time.