Last night I was asked, “Aren’t you going to blog about Anzac Day?” The inference being that surely there were some meaningful passenger encounters to report.
On later reflection the answer is, no, none of any note, save for a wasted ex-serviceman in a suit and medals who snored for the entire journey.
Whilst I was impressed by the number of young guys who’d attended Dawn Service in their local districts, even this encouraging sign was tempered by one who admitted, “I only went 'cause me mates went.” After which they hit the grog with gusto.
The overriding vibe around town was akin to an Australia Day party, or the excitement of New Years Eve making for one of my busiest and most profitable shifts ever.
And the traditional solemnity of Anzac Day was long gone by the time I started at 4pm with an endless succession of young adults, male and female, rotating from one venue to another. By then it was all about ‘hooking up’, booze and two-up.
Thus, in the cab, Anzac Day was messy, early.
UPDATE: For the police it was worse than messy.