ON our way to an afternoon of gospel music and soul food, Elle talks excitedly of her long-held desire to visit Al Green’s church in Memphis. I’ve an inkling that today’s event in South Melbourne may not live up to her expectations, but I keep quiet.
Perhaps because I’m all wrapped up in a Codral cuddle, this choir lull rather than inspire. Their account of Jesus watching you through the eyes of a sparrow just puts macabre images in my head.
I have to mentally slap myself on the wrist a few times for wondering if white people just don’t have any soul, but later it transpires Elle and Natalie were wondering the same thing. And besides, there are Blacks Without Soul, too.
Keeper? I was sadly unmoved, but I did hanker to be singing up there myself. Doing that, we all agreed, would add that much needed dimension.
Hey man, now you're really living 
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