The Hills Are Alive

I’ve just had the strangest, but delightful of days. I was asked whether I would jump in and attend a musical performance in place of the originally invited guest; who was in the hospital recovering from surgery.

I loved the musical performance. It was like going back to my youthful campy glitzy gay-friends-doing-their-Streisand-impressions days. Such camp. Such glitter. Swoon. Sniff. Chortle. My god, when was the last time I chortled?

In the storyline, there was an elderly couple who run away from their senior citizen home to elope. There was a power frau succumbing to love. There was a cruise ship with very sexy looking sailors. There was a gay couple (German Punk with Greek Adonis) proclaiming their undying love ala Titanic… It was sublime.

But, most of all there was an audience that would do a Fellini film proud. Half of the audience was over seventy years old. The rest was a colourful offset to the blue-dyed or silver streaked old folk. Everyone was clapping and singing along to the songs. Young and old alike even applauded during the gay kissing scene. Sigh! Isn’t that sweet?

It’s late. Time to do a little yoga and cast off all of that Broadway-like effervescence.