THERE’S nothing quite like the smell of Tamworth in January. It’s that old familiar scent that brings back wonderful memories of a job well done, like the smell of liniment on an aching groin.
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For me, Tamworth will always be the town that began an incredible journey. Many years ago a young bushy-haired fellow from way across the Pacific made his way to this country music mecca on a quest for success and stardom and was welcomed with open arms.
I can’t quite remember his name, but he told me how good it was, so I just had to see it for myself. So in 2008 I ventured Down Under and, like a mare being serviced by a stallion, I never looked back.
Tamworth is like a second home to me and, especially around Australia Day –my birthday, by the way – it comes alive, like a dehydrated worm in a glass of water.
Peel St’s filled with starry-eyed kids, the pubs are chock-full of Baby Boomers avoiding ticketed shows, and the clubs breathe life into pensioners escaping the heat. But for me the whole experience is so much more.
It’s catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, putting a smile on someone’s face or maybe just picking up.
Maybe some day I’ll remember Tamworth as “the place I won my first Golden Guitar”, or “the town where I met someone else’s wife and later married her”, but until then Tamworth and its wonderful festival will simply be like Chicago to Sinatra – “my kinda town”.