Saturday, July 07, 2007 Heavy Kevvy, Complete with bevvy
From the ‘Further Adventures in Unexpected Company’ file (or how I scored Kevin Rudd’s beer): Went to the Gaslight last night (not so surprising) with my wingman Greg, both jukeboxes out of action in the preferred dark of downstairs. Ventured to the upstairs bar, saw a few ex-colleagues and journos … and Kevin Rudd. Yep, the next PM. Heavy Kevvy, complete with bevvy.
Having developed a rapport with Joe Hildebrand, a journalist on Sydney’s Daily Telegraph during his ‘Fork in the Road’ tour, and at a loose end after his tour of duty on the USS Kitty Hawk (call signal: Rudder), Kevin decided to drop into said journo’s birthday celebrations. At the Gaslight Inn, with its mix of Nicole Ritchie (pre-pregnancy, although how could you tell) wannabees and and under-employed 30-faux year olds. Not exactly tea on the lawn of Kirribilli House.
Ditching my wingman (sorry mate), I threaded my way through and scored an intro. The Leader was most gracious, even when I asked in all stupidity, “What’s a girl gotta do to get one of those little medals you scored off the Admiral of the Kitty Hawk?” (a question I hope to resolve tonight, given there are 7,000 sailors in port).
Beer in hand, he mixed with the punters, played a bit of pool (one poor shot, but sank one off the break when invited back to open the next game). Posed for pix (incl. one with me, see it in the gallery of fame and shame) and debated the merits of Queensland’s two shot rule; I agreed, having attended university in Bathurst, that you deserve a penalty if you screw up on the black. He seemed to enjoy himself, but the clock was wearing down, and he’d had another beer thrust into his hand. My mind kicked into political adviser mode – it never quite leaves you, like a red wine stain on berber carpet.
“Leader,” I said, quietly indicating that leaving a full beer in a Surry Hills pub would lose him some of the votes he’d not had to work too hard to win, “I’ll take that for you.” And so that is how I ended up with Heavy Kevvy’s bevvy – and drank it, despite an initial desire to flog it on e-Bay.
Endgame: drifted back to the welcome dark and dinginess of the downstairs bar, only to find Nick Seymour of Crowded House sitting at my normal spot. He didn’t pull as big a crowd as Kevin, a fact that probably pleased them both. Plugged in my iPod and walked home, smiling all the way.
