Golly Goth

Yesterday there was a massive festival in Newtown called – appropriately enough – The Newtown Festival. Newtown is a reasonably arty suburb populated by interesting fringe dweller types. Loads of Goths. I quite like Goths. They can look a little silly sometimes, but they can also look pretty cool, and some of the girls can look dead sexy (pardon the pun).

Anyway, at the festival The Dreaded One and I took a wrong turn and wandered into an old cemetery next to the park where the festival was taking place, and my god, how funny... Goths everywhere, sitting on the sandstone graves or lying fully draped across them as though trying to absorb the death emanating from them. It was pretty quiet in spite of how many people were in there, with everyone just kind of murmuring amongst themselves, drinking and just being generally as Gothic as they could be. Very strange on a day that was clear and sunny enough to get pleasantly sunburned.

I’ve sometimes wondered if I should be a Goth. I don’t smile or laugh a lot naturally, and the way my features are arranged I do look very serious. In fact I have been asked by total strangers, “What’s wrong?” or “Cheer up – it can’t be that bad,” when I’ve been in a perfectly fine mood. At least if I were a Goth, people wouldn’t expect me to look cheerful.

I don’t know how they manage to avoid sweating and making their makeup run though.