In the late 80's I went to see Rolf Harris in concert.

At the Palais Theatre in St Kilda.

It wasn't cool then.

Harris' mate Harry Butler lived up the road from us in Garratt Rd, Bayswater, WA; and Rolf Harris himself grew up in a neighbouring Bassendean.

Harris was a performer, quite popular and I thought there was some heritage connection with myself to justify me checking out his craft.

I had an interest in the performers' techniques and he was a performer.

The concert included the usual hit list of songs, broad brush paintings and the inevitable wobble board.

What stood out were the jokes. The patter in between the songs.

They were the bluest jokes I'd ever heard. It was extreme.

And comfortable.

The contrast of 'Two Little Boys' book ended by foul language and gutter humour was acute.

It just made the experience unpleasant.

It was jarring.

We now know that Rolf Harris spent a life creating unpleasant experiences.