This is the end...

Thursday night started with bubbles, art, and interminably long speeches (no, really - I had long enough to listen for 5 minutes, pick my way through a crowded Great Hall and foyer at the NGV in St Kilda Rd to the dunny, piss, and return while grabbing another drink on the way only to discover that the woman from the Guggenheim was still droning on. When will artsocrats realise that a short speech is a good speech?) at the opening of the second Melbourne Winter Masterpiece exhibition, the Guggenheim Collection 1940s to Now.

Given the events later that night, and the length of the fucking speeches, I didn't actually get to see much of the art, having to bail about 10 minutes after finally getting into the exhibition; so I wont go into detail about it. Let me focus on the night's other highlights instead, including lots of fingerfood (although, in retropect - you were right, Penny - the nibbles at the ACMI shindig were better); lots of booze; and the company of my housemate, as well as one of my favourite publicists, Danielle Poulos from ACMI; and fellow Barry Award judge and cynic, the sardonically wonderful Ms Helen Razor.

I'll talk about the art once I've had a chance to go back. As it happens, 10 minutes after we were finally released from speech-hell, I had to bail in order to get home and prepare for the last ever Q + A (Queer + Alternative) at A Bar Called Barry. I've already gone into the details as to why we elected to axe the night, so let me instead focus on the highlights of the night itself...

• Walking down Gertrude Street at 8.35pm, 25 minutes before we opened, and even before myself and my mate Jack rounded the corner onto Smith, hearing the buzz of the crowd;

The queue, as seen from the west corner of Gertrude & Smith about 10pm.

• Realising that, at that point, the queue was already about 300 strong and it extended a third of the block (later, I heard that the queue ran the full block, around the corner into Peel Street, for fucks!);

The queue seen again, about 11pm, at the front door: wide and very, very long.

• Freaking out that I'd never be able to get everyone inside, but being consoled by Martin, one of my oldest and dearest friends, that even thought they might not all get inside, at least the fact that people had tried was indicative of the respect people had for the weekly night Pete, John and I had set up 11 1/2 years ago;
• A text message sent by a friend and regular which said in part, "Thank you for saving my life with this place. I mean that. Seriously."
• A letter that one of our regulars gave me, which read, "I met my scariest enemies here and made my most valued friends. It was the place I found myself, became comfortable with my sexuality. I could be a man, feel like a woman or both at the same time. Above all it was the place I found the greatest love of my life..."
• A card from another couple who were long-term regulars at Q+A, which read, "I'm sure we're not alone when we say this place for good and for bad has been our trusty local. We've met some amazing people here and made some beautiful friends (and we met each other here of course). So we just wanted to say thank you..."
• The sometimes-taken for granted company of my fellow DJs and promoters, Pete and Helen, who I love dearly, and hope that the closing of the club won't mean that we slowly drift apart;
• The sense of exuberance from the crowd and the barstaff alike, and the sense of occasion;
• And finally, the sense of pride that I felt in knowing that, for all its flaws (and mine!) that for the last eleven and a half years, we had succeeded in creating a club where fashion was less important than an open-minded attitude, and where diversity was more important than exclusivity, regardless of how old you were, who you fucked, how you dressed, and what music you listened to.

It's the end of an era, that's true - but it's also the passing of the the torch onto new generations, and the flowering of new ideas; and I can't wait to see what happens next to fill the gap left by the club's closure.

Oh, and the downside of the night?

Arriving to see such a huge crowd; freaking out that we'd never be able to get everyone in; stressing out for at least the first two hours after being told that no, we couldn't ignore regulations just this once and squeeze in as many people as possible; having one of the upstairs CD players die on us just before we opened the upper bar; and being roundly abused and called a 'bastard' at the end of the night by a punter who'd had to queue for an hour and a half to get in because I'd dared to put 18 friends - who'd supported the night for years, some since opening night back in 1995 - on the door. As opposed to the 30+ people from JOY 94.9 FM who were put on the guest list by Bar Called Barry management, despite my telling JOY on Wednesday that 3-5 people would be more appropriate... Grrrr. The accusation sent me into quite a funk, to be honest, as I'm fairly insecure and it doesn't take much to have me over-analysing my every thought, but I've basically dismissed it now.

I'll admidt that, in the first half hour at least, we could have handled the queue and the guest list better - I know for a fact that a couple of people managed to lie their way in by exploiting their friendhip with a friend of mine - and I appreciate the fact that for every name on the guest list, someone else had to wait another 10 minutes in the queue. That said, I also don't feel overly guilty about making sure that some of my oldest and dearest friends, some of whom were there on our opening night at Wall Street (now the HiFi Bar) could get in ahead of people who might have only been coming to Q + A for the last two or three years.

It's depressing that all it takes is one person's abuse to make me question my ethics and the raison d'etre of the club I have co-run for the last 11.5 years. That said, it's also telling that the person in question chose to abuse me at 5:30am as I was staggering home alone...

Ah well, such is life. Here are some visual highlights from the night: