Melbourne III

 Melbourne..."And Just Like That" 

We last left Mrs. Bradshoe purging the memories of Senor Grande from her mind and wardrobe in a Melbourne sock shopping spree (it was as depressing/cathartic as it sounds).  

The pandy hit everyone hard, especially her. The closed boarders left Bradshoe stranded in Hawaii for what felt like an eternity, and in that time... all she really needed (for this plot to continue).... was to return to face this city. 

The thought of closure lingered in the air like the wet fart smell of a fish market in Bangkok on a humid summer day. 

Afterall, its not like she sat around in her apartment counting down the 1,269 days, 7 hours, 11 minutes, and 35, 36, 37, 38 seconds since she'd seen him at 8:21am on September 16th 2019.  

So I wondered, if the boarders can get closure, why shouldn't I?


My mind spun. Would I see him here? What would I say? How would I react? How would HE react? This man was so significant to me in so many ways...and I just...need....


.... a haircut. 

Not just any haircut will, she needs a reworking. a reimagining. a makeover of sorts. There is only ONE place in Melbourne I trust.


Connections mean everything in this (for the plot) city. I happen to know the talented owner of this establishment who was willing to squeeze me in between his work for fashion shows and the well-to-do. There is something fabulous about having your hair done in the presence of influencers with millions of followers, while you, socially peasant trash, sit there receiving the same treatment. 

"who is she?" I heard them asking themselves.... in my head... as nobody glanced in the direction of my mediocrity.  To which I boldly reply.... "I am Setdown Bradshoe, dog cunt of Melbourne". 

Lookin runway fresh and powers restored, me and the owner of the establishment decided to catch up for drinks. Me, a NYC gal happy to cash in on his social clout, was treated like a regular in some of the trendiest spots in the city. - *pretend these are trendy*

feeling fabulous. 

To....... Above Board

"its good to see you mate, I said to the men who couldn't hear me" 

then off to The Everleigh. 

A wise philosopher once said: 
"She made us drinks to drink, we drunk em' , got drunk" - T Pain. 

how fucking cute are my shoes!! They don't call me Bradshoe for nothing
                                                                      ...or at all for that matter.

And so I there more to life than maintenance and martinis? 

Truth be told, closure aside, I came for one very spiritual thing: a campy Pride Country Fest called Chillout. I needed a lil yeehaw in my life full of HeNaw.

Even in his arms I don't feel very....yeehaw. 

Tips from one girl to another....manifesting things is jest I told the girls before the start of this "if its authentic, there will be yodelling, line dancing, and cowboys". 

The scene: 1.5 hour from Melb- Daylesford, Vic.

For those who've never left NYC, picture those small country towns you only see on the news after a train derails and blows up in them...except everyone there is gay friendly and not poisoned.  

Just look at road? Its 5th Ave without 1st-3rd, Lexington, Park, and Madison. 


*large field, stage, stary night so perfect the stars light up the sky, bar tent rests back against the tree line*

The first act is this: 

Everyone was in plaid, singing country music, the cowboy hats, the boots, THE YODDELING???? the whole thing felt like living in a gay parody of Texas or a Swiss Festa Junina.

Yodelling was the theme of the week! 
*flashback 5 days ago* My old gal pal and I were discussing how yodeling in pop was NOT yet dead after THIS song 2LATE came out and sent us down memory lane.  Oh to reminisce our fave yodel pop hits of each decade notably YODEL IN THE CANYON OF LOVE  and WIND IT UP .... now here I was, yoddeling my nipples off in BFE. 

I was back to my fictitious rewts with this whole thing.

Lets take a moment to reflect on how wildly complicated the steps are to country themed group dancing....line up 6 deep in groups of 11, everyone 4 steps left, 3 turns to the right, find a partner, spilt into 3 groups of 2 pairs, now take 5 steps in unison to the right, dosido(?), make a bridge with your partner while the others go under, close it off and find a new partner,  now do a back flip, solve world hunger, cure cancer, then 5 steps to the left...and repeat! YEEEHAWWWW. 

yeehaw, achieved. (also I'm a man now)

4 hours into the night and Mrs. Bradshoe is reminded how the silly little world works. Wouldn't you know it, I got closure of what happened to Grande. He didn't die from Covid, moved back to NZ, transition to female, or become an TikTok speculated....nay...

You see, being a NYC socialite, I'd been chatting with eligible bachelors at the party who took a curiosity to how a beautiful vibrant successful NYC girl in her late 50's such as myself ended up in Australia. 

After finishing my long winded story (complete with photos) and pluggin my book, one of the men recognised the former man of my dreams and began laughing.  The community is small, and he is popular enough to be well enough know. 

wrong film, right vibe. 


There's something comforting in girl talk, especially when you find out the former love of your life is now a poppers loving sex addict in a loving relationship but mixed up in a notoriously horrible crowd of toxic people. 

And so I wondered, why not me?  I'm a sex addicted single lady who loves mixed up toxic trash more than a radioactive raccoon. .....It's the poppers isn't it?   I hear poppers and think " food" and he thinks "VCR Cleaner".   

We were never going to work out. 

Comforting the drunk mess of a human who just made my year. 

Did it culminate in a romantic happy ending? No. It ended just like the movies this city is parodying. and in that way, it feels complete. I got my yeehaw, my closure, and a haircut.

And just like that...this short weekend adventure and our story comes to a close.