Too fucking gorgeous for words – Peter Roller (aka Holy)

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

I should mention a historical absurdity going back to before the internet, mobile phones and New Age Life-stylers, and definitely transgender being on the agenda.

I played Renaissance lute,

way before losing my first thumb.

As I started performing, I thought it timely to purchase a concert lute.

I had been playing for about 7 years, and when the new lute arrived, part of the plan was to sell the existing lute to help with this new purchase.

In 1977 my new lute cost $6500.

You could buy a pretty good new car for that way back in those days…..

My lute teacher, since passed on, Roger Treble, mentioned the availability to purchase my old lute to all of his students, and passed on my parents phone number.

On returning to my parents place for tea on a Sunday night, my dad told me someone called John had rung about my lute and left his phone number.

My parents lived at 7 Goodwin St Glen Iris.

And so I rang this guy John.

We start chatting about lute music, guitar music, and my lute.

He too was a student of Rogers.

Our teacher used to roll joints during lessons with me, way back when a hippy was a dude tripper.

Anyways, I say to this nice guy on the phone “Why don’t you borrow my lute for a week and see what you think and if you like it’

Like I’m not manic back then…with spare time when lifestyle meant what it meant…

And so I say to John, and I had seriously done my time at the folks house, from coming of age at 11 or so to 17, when I couldn’t fly out the door fast enough.

I was always doing family things, knew all the neighbours – upwardly downward wanna be lower middle farce.

Anyways I say, ‘I’ll drop it off when it suits you.’

‘Cool, so John what’s your address?’

And he says..

‘Um, it’s um, 4’, and I say ‘what, sorry, what was that street name again? can u spell it please!’

And he says, ‘Goodwin Street, Glen Iris’

I say, ‘John, the pens not working, just hang on, I gotta go to the other end of my parents house, out into the backyard and dig up a pen to write your address – just hang on.’

C’ant remember things like that, gotta put it on paper.

So, I cross the road and ring the door bell.

I know this guy. It’s John, who lives with Barbara, been renting for 4 years, guitar teacher, quiet …..’they keep to themselves’ – neighbours.

My father in his 70’s has had many amusing experiences with John, and the rest of the street – curb side picking up the morning newspaper.

My Dad was very stylish in his dressing gown – Hugh Heffner, playboy era – talking stuff.

So, I go ring the door bell, and I can hear John through the door. He is telling me on the phone, when I’m actually not on the phone, that ‘there is someone at the front door.’

The telephone is stuck by a wire, keeping it pretty much where the telephone table was placed, to keep the telephone where it had to be kept in that one immutable spot.

And so the door opens to a moments hush…

There is John, like I sort of know this guy, maybe talked together a few times.

And he is dressed in a polyester maxi dress, high shoes and make up – as a women.

I say ‘lets have a cup of tea and don’t those high heels kill ur feet?’

He asked me what I thought about him ?

‘Well first of all, um, I am so glad that you are comfy in those high heels. How is it to play guitar with a foot stand in high heels?’

I was right, there are these transgender things you need to know.

Perhaps I should have said ‘Bravo and Mazeltov for being you’.

I can only wish u untold joy, love, peace, celebration, and general madness.

I salute you, but ‘what’s with the jewish Bentleigh 60’s look girl?’

‘U gotta get more mojo darling!’

Excessive affection and unsolicited joy, you are the true belle of both sides of you!

‘And I hope you love the lute!’

Go Back