We had such a lovely time at the Carnegie Hall yesterday watching the Vienna Boy's Choir. The only issue being a family of Aussies (Haven't the Wallabies played crap for the last 10 years) bringing their Joey AKA baby with them in a strapped on stoopid papoose thingy. Don't get me wrong, I love babies but only in the right places. I don't want to see one next to me as I'm eating my foam at a 2 Michelin star restaurant and I also turn pale if one turns up in the next seat on my economy flight to London. Babies are perfect in say - one of those jolly jumpers, or cutely eating sticks of cheese in their high chairs or even better - asleep in their cots. But the combination of dead silence, a 10 year old boy's beautiful soprano voice and an Aussie rugrat, hot and furious about being confined against his Dad's Wallaby jersey, well - let's just face it, that's never going to work is it. Only 10 minutes into the show and Aussie Dad was already making his way out of the auditorium, baby over his shoulder, papoose dangling uselessly from his belt and the prospect of another loss to the All Blacks imminent at the next Bledisloe cup.
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