So I went to the Opera House. Check me. I saw Pericles, mainly because it had an Italian name, so if I said "I saw Pericles at the Opera House, darling." People would assume I was well operatic. I have a feeling that the people just in front of me may have been gazzumped in such a manner, as they walked out about ten minutes in, evidently disappointed at the lack of sopranos.
The play was acceptable (although my middle-class sensibilities were put into disarray hearing the Bard ripped apart by Ozzie accents) but the theatre space itself was surprisingly shoddy, all a bit Eleanor Rathbone.
I went to the aquarium, like a proper tourist, and loved it. They had dugongs there. I never really thought they were real. And platypuseseses. And lot's of uberpoisonous beasties - why is everything in oz so very deadly? - even platypi are venomous.
Haven't eaten vegemite. Have eaten kangaroo and a Harry's pie in Woolloomooloo. Can anyone guess the other reason I went to Woolloomooloo? Answers on a postcard marked "How many 'O's do you want in your name".
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