My first indication that perhaps this afternoon was going to be chaotic was when my friend Jo sprayed me in the face with a shower of spit.
We were standing in Federation Square, blowing into our little white plastic instruments along to Céline Dion’s seminal 1997 hit My Heart Will Go On. I had not played a kazoo since childhood. Jo had never played one. And so it was that I found myself covered in his saliva, shot from the bottom of the instrument. A baptism. A rebirth.
