The Scarlet Runners

Let’s rewind a little bit. Before I went to Holland last month I walked into an op shop in Port and had one of those “heavens open up while angels sing with illuminating beams of light” moments. You know the ones. Anyway, the illuminating beams of light fell upon a maroon suit - pure wool, twelve dollars, and when I tried it on, trembling with excitement at my find, I was delighted to find it fitted me like a glove. Well. it fits me fairly well, perhaps a teensy bit tight, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story. When I wear it I look like a cross between David Tennant and a 70s pimp, which, strangely enough, is probably pretty similar to how I feel.

Fast forward now to last weekend and I’m wearing my suit again, sitting by a campfire near the New South Wales coast at 3am in the morning. In the light of the full moon and the fire I’m playing guitar and singing Gillian Welch songs while my friend sits beside me playing her violin and singing harmonies. This is where heaven resides on earth. Earlier in the night we had our first gig, together with the rest of our band, The Scarlet Runners. Despite dodgy sound and lots of nerves and fuck-ups from me I still regard it as an auspicious beginning. We make a happy sound and it’s hard to go wrong when you’ve got a banjo plunking along with guitar, violin, and mandolin. I do wish I hadn’t played the whole gig with a head torch on my hat though.

We’ve been playing together for about six months now, doing the things that new bands do – eating curries, lots of tuning up and trying to decide on a name. More than anything though we bring songs to suck and see, our favourites slowly getting polished through regular use. I am in the middle of a burst of energy for musical polishing, feeling like the archetypical housewife from a 1950s cleaning advert - Doris Day in elbow length gloves, headscarf and a cheeky wink. Maybe a bit less Doris Day and a bit more of a whip cracking Annie Get Your Gun, trying to sculpt the sounds in my head, along with three part harmonies. And feeling.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we’re starting the big push to get the roof on Angela and Ken’s house. Big stacks of timber sit alongside the hardwood verandah carcass, and every day we work at making the piles smaller and the house bigger. Of course I am using one of the more elastic definitions of “we”, as I’ve strained my back and I’m having a self-imposed hiatus, leaving the work to the workers whilst I sip mint juleps and write blog posts. Even Em is slogging away in the garden as I sit here contemplating another lie down.