Don't act all shocked on me. Yes, I am back for the third evening in a row. Who knows? This could be habit-forming! Perhaps not. But maybe. I dunno.
Moving along ...
How often has the act of discovery put you in a bind?
You stumble across some hidden gem - perhaps it's the $50 / night accommodation you found in *******, Tasmania. Or it might be the stunning $4.50 'Titanic' burger that was unveiled to you in ********, in rural northern NSW. Perhaps it was just the pleasure of spending some time one-to-one in the company of a Jimmy Watson trophy winner, and indulging in his delicious port at the cellar door in ****** ***** in Victoria.
And so you see the bind.
You want to tell someone else about your discovery, but you don't want to spoil it. You want to be able to discover it again, finding it just as satisfying as the first time you discovered it. There is a longing for the discovery to remain unspoilt.
I guess it's probably a form of selfishness, often disguised with half-convincing justifications.
Of course, when you do share it with other people, and they 'taste' of your discovery, there's that wonderful moment that they share their delight with you. And if you never share a discovery, you don't have the pleasure of those conversations.
And perhaps the little burger joint in Inverell, or the Graeme Miller winery in Dixon's Creek, or the ladies who manage the manse accommodation at Stanley will think that no one loves them and decide to shut up shop ...
Perhaps the best way to keep a discovery alive is to share it.
P.S. Many thanks to Dave & Erika for clueing me up on where we could buy copious quantities of **** at truly amazing prices. We have stocked up with several cases since! The Murray Valley Ch@rdonn@y which worked out at around $2.45 per bottle delivered is amazing. The $4.65 Sh!r@z was also stunning value.
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2 comments:
I find a similar thing happens with musicians. You see ******** as a support act for some larger band, and become a fan. See them at a bunch of smaller gigs, then all of a sudden the become hugely popular, ticket prices become prohibitive, and everyone under the sun likes them.
You certainly don't want to deny them their success, but you find yourself wishing it was still like that time you saw them onstage at Panthers and they answered their mobile halfway through the performance because they forgot to turn it off.
Yes, and then everyone plays their music to death, the radio stations get tired of them, and before long they're released again to the ignominy of RSL clubs and small-town music festivals.
(Okay, admittedly U2 haven't played Rooty Hill RSL lately ...)
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