Last night I saw Angus and Julia Stone play (I also picked up a very nice ringer tee to wear with my cord flares today). I first saw this eternally gorgeous brother and sister duo eleven years ago, when I was fifteen. This was at a one day festival in Tasmania called Southern Roots. I should also note that this was back before Tassie was even remotely trendy, so it was a pretty big deal. I was a very lucky kid, getting to see A&J, Xavier Rudd, Pnau, The Vines, Wolfmother, Ben Kweller and The Pixies. I fought my way to the front row for many of those acts, taking a break to only suck on a goon bag with my mates. About twenty minutes before leaving the festival (I had a 12 am curfew and was keeping a close eye on my Nokia) I also received what could be described as my first kiss from a seventeen year old boy who just reached my shoulders. Not much lip action in that one. Was more like a thumb war, but with tongues. We just about scraped the enamel off the other’s teeth, too. When I hopped in the car, Mum gave me a talk about how it wasn’t that ‘she didn’t trust me, she just didn’t trust other people’ and all I could think about was, if this is the amazing stuff that happens before midnight, then surely even better events await at 1 am and 2 am? I, of course, now know that absolutely nothing good happens at those wee morning hours and last night I very pleased to be in bed by 11 30. Time flies and music really is the greatest memory maker.