It was somewhere I had not expected to see myself. Standing in a paddock, surrounded by both rolling hills and drunk middle aged people, about to see Sir Tom Jones perform. My task - to report on the concert. It WAS unusual (ha good link with Jones song I know) that I was sent to the Josef Chromy Winery because, all judgements aside, I was the youngest reporter in the building and it was a concert that probably resonated with a more mature audience. After all, my Jones knowledge extended as far as Sex Bomb and It Is Not Unusual and the fact he was in the brilliant Mars Attacks! film. But I went and gosh darn did I report.

As I prepared myself to go, people continually asked me if I had packed my knickers. Odd. Well yes I was indeed wearing underpants but they were secured to my body - somewhere they would stay for the remainder of the day. Apparently, this was something I really had no clue about, flocks of females used to throw their undergarments at the singer during his performance. Hmmm. Well, I am not really into that and don't see how taking a sweaty pair of bloomers to the face would be anything but repulsive. Maybe it was just me.

Ooo a funny side story as told by my English colleague about underwear related injuries. One of his friends was at a hen's night where an ever classy and hygienic male stripper was in attendance. Well the aforementioned friend was unfortunately, like Jones does so often, hit in the face by a pair of underpants - from the stripper no less. It didn't hit her in the eye or cause any form of violent amputation, so the lady thought nothing of it. Where is this going you may ask? So apparently after a few days the girl started to notice a rash on her face that obviously could not have been from bugs or any form of fungal growth.
The next day she went to the doctor and...wait for it...she had pubic lice ON HER FACE. Probably not a story to tell the kids. Onward to the rest of the Jones concert!

Like most days in Tasmania, early morning people were greeted by heavy raining. And if I was a mainland betting type, I would have said the show would be kaput because of the deluge. But neigh, I knew better. By about 3pm the blackened sky turned into an autumn paradise, the sun shone all over the shop. Unfortunately the ground didnt have a similar outlook on life and remained swamp like and proceeded to make everyone's day annoying and muddy. I laughed in the face of those who wore thongs, heels or *shudder* crocs...ha ha ha ha (insert French accent).

So some people called the Wolfgramm Sisters played first and hey, they were pretty good.They sounded a little bit like a jazzed up Caucasian version of a ghetto gospel choir. Something which I appreciate in a band.

They played some fun ditties and filled the otherwise chatter filled air. Some silly DJ then came on in an odd costume and played fitting songs for the crowd like the Jackson Five and Stevie Wonder. These I enjoyed. What I also enjoyed was the two women who came either side of me while I was walking around and yelled and pushed me so I would dance. As one who is always up for a boogie I followed suit and all three of us well and truly shook our tail feathers. Afterward I looked at them oddly and off they went. NB: I saw them again later jeering up some more unsuspecting folk.

David Campbell, son of THE...umm...old guy, was up next and was all croony and that, but again rather entertaining. He made some funny jokes about Whitney Houston and Peter Garrett and did a pretty good job at entertaining what I would describe as a tough crowd.

Then it was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
Jones waltzed onto stage, all suited and grey. Sure he was about three million years and looked a bit like an old apricot, but he knew how to get the women screaming. Those legs of his could still put on a bit of a jig. His voice was remarkable smooth and in tune. He even had a heap hip lighting show, reminiscent of downtown Las Vegas. I had to leave after about four songs so I didn't get my personal favourites Sex Bomb or It Is Not Unusual but organisers said it went off like a frog in an over-sized pair of panties. I could imagine. Oh the sight it would have been to see more than 4000 half or fully drunk mature aged people dancing and yelling about the place. Organisers also told me that there were no knickers thrown at Jones, something I was rather disappointed to hear after all the brouhaha people had filled me with earlier. She did say there were many waved in the air though. *Off the record* ''I saw several pairs of big bloomers I must say, not the most attractive looking knickers I have ever seen ... and I saw a couple of nicer, I don't know how to describe ladies' underwear, knickers as well.''

All-in-all, I walked away with a greater appreciation for Jones. He may be as old as a fossil and still sung about grinding women and other sexual things someone his age should not sing about but he was a great performer. And his role in Mars Attacks! will forever be in my mind.
Ack! Ack! Ack!