I had an ephiphany last night. J and I were at the Countdown Spectacular concert. [For those not familiar with Countdown - it was a music program which was one of the major constants in my life from 1976 to 1987, shown on Australia-wide ABC TV. It was shown at 6:00 pm each Sunday night and featured mainly live Australian and international bands and video clips as these became popular.]

This may come as a surprise to some of you... Are you sitting down? I'm getting old. I'm not 8 years old any more. In fact it's been THIRTY YEARS since I was and it was that long since I first became mesmerised by the Countdown magic. It's been thirty years since I fell in love with Skyhooks (my poor immigrant parents were terrified that their eight year old was listening to songs like "You just like me 'cos I'm good in bed" and "Horror Movie"), with Sherbert, with John Paul Young and Mark Holden and his bloody white suit and carnations.

Last night, surrounded by other old people, I watched a long line up of the previously spunky and lust-worthy idols of my youth drag out their old hits and gyrate as best they could manage with their rusty, arthritic hips. It was partly wonderful but mainly terrifying and awful. It occurred to me that if THEY were old then SO WAS I.

I decided that these sorts of concerts really aren't so wonderful, they are really a sad way of trying to grasp onto our youth. I watched the other old people, both on the stage and in the audience, having a great time and I felt a horrible yearning, a bottomless pit of sadness and I thought that maybe it is better that some things remain in the past, sweet memories held close in our secret selves, that trying to re-live such memories was something not dissimilar to the whole Pet Cemetary concept.

When I first watched the sexy Darryl Braithwaite signing "Howzat" on Countdown the whole world was at my eight year old feet, there was endless possibility and wonder and excitement and that song, like many others of that time, represented something intangibly joyful.

Last night a bunch of old men, with grey, conservatively cut hair, looking more like mortgage brokers than pop superstars, came on stage and reprised a song which had so many precious memories attached. In some ways I now wish I hadn't seen them at all because the memories I had were much more important than seeing and hearing what I did last night. Very bittersweet.

A few performers from last night deserve special mention:

* James Freud. Jeez, that guy was hot in the '80s. When he pranced on stage last night with one of his old bandmates from The Models I thought "shit, James' still got IT!". He was all long black rock star hair, tight jeans and faded, couldn't-care-less, just pulled it on at the last minute rock star t-shirt. Then they showed a close up of his face on the big screens and I thought "oooh, James, way too many drugs in the '80s my friend". It wasn't pretty. Still sounded quite good though.

* Renee Gayer. I used to love that woman and her gorgeous, whiskey and cigarettes husky voice. Well, I'm guessing there've been just a few too many whiskies and packs of ciggies during the last twenty-odd years. Didn't sound or look prettty. Shame.

* Mondo Rock. Ross Wilson has aged well and he still sounds fantastic. "Come Said The Boy" is just such a loaded song and takes me back so much it almost hurts.

* Finally, Australian Crawl. James Reyne came on stage with his guitar and did "Reckless" and it was worth going just for that alone. It blew me away and made me wish I could go back in a time machine and see Australian Crawl when they were at their peak in the '80s. "Reckless" is such a quintessential Sydney song:

Meet me down by the jetty landing
Where the pontoons bump and spray
All the others reading standing
As the Manly ferry
Cuts it's way to Circular Quay

Hear the Captain blow his whistle
So long she's been away
I miss our early morning wrestle
Not a very happy
Way to start the day

Refrain
She don't like that kind of behaviour
She don't like that kind of behaviour

Chorus
So throw down your guns
Don't you be so reckless
Throw down your guns
Don't you be so

Feel like Scott of the Antarctic
Base camp too far away
A Russian sub beneath the Arctic
Burke and Wills and camels
Initials in the tree