Comrade S says she’s not
received her hotel booking details. I drive, she dials. Turns out we’re booked
at separate accommodation, same chain. They swap her to the serviced apartments
I’m booked at. We check in just after eight. Comrade S retires to her room; I
have much to do, a trip to find real milk for a cup of tea, a visit to tomorrow’s
venue to check the layout and facilities.
Back at the apartments I prepare
slides, notes and myself for tomorrow. Long after midnight my gritty eyes droop:
I’ve been awake for 21 hours. Sleep comes quickly but doesn’t last. At 5:30 I’m
sitting, shitting. More hasty preparation and another nervous shit before I
meet Comrade S at the car, its windows iced.
We breakfast in Pall Mall,
wheel our trolleys and boxes into the venue just before eight. We put paper and
textas on tables, set up the data projector, check sound, vision, registration
table and name badges in the foyer. Again my bowels intervene. When I take the
floor at nine I look serene, feel anything but.
Our ‘audience’ for the next two
days are pre-service teachers, not the easiest participants to work with. The
workshop is designed for core groups of teachers already in schools. We modify
our presentation. Day One is all mine. The pre-morning tea session hums along
and the words flow. I’m not so sure of my material or myself after the break,
but the participants don’t twig.
After lunch I’m winging it.
Then my voice cracks and my command of the room is gone. For the final half
hour I stand at the lectern and microphone. At three thirty they’re out the
door. We store our gear in a back room behind the stage. Comrade S and our
student, Mister T, drive back to Melbourne—commitments. Comrade S drops me at
the serviced apartment.
I’m completely knackered. I
stare at the wall, my brain empty.
Rock on.
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