Pubs

Last weekend, Puncher Ant Sharwood went skiing at Thredbo with a mate. To save money on overpriced snow accommodation and to avoid the tosspot ski crowd, they stayed in a small country town just below the mountains.

The motel was basic but clean, and well priced at $85 per room. After checking in on Friday evening, Ant and his mate walked to the local pub to grab a feed and a beer. They didn’t last long, as Ant explains…

“The first thing I noticed was how cold the pub was. It was freezing. Still, we ordered a meal from the bistro and to be fair, the Chicken Parmy was pretty good, even if the edges of the schnitzel were a bit burnt.

Continue reading "Friday’s dilemma: How to fix a grungy country pub?" »

To borrow from their confected dinki-di lexicon, the Australian gaming industry must be officially up shit creek without a paddle if the best it can do is declare that a carefully-considered package of reforms aimed at helping problem gamblers is “un-Australian.”

If being Australian means turning your back on desperate addicts in the name of multi-billion-dollar profits, maybe we should consider moving overseas.

The good thing about moving overseas would be that we wouldn’t have to endure people rabbitting on about how un-Belgian, un-Mexican or un-Ugandan things had become. It’s a construction which seems peculiar to this country. It’s peculiar alright. We spend a lot of time in this country debating what it is that makes us Australian, yet it seems that the people who run the gambling industry have come up with their handy definition of what it is to be un-Australian.

Continue reading "I am, you are, we’re un-Australian" »

There are several truths about the ritual of the Friday night drink.

They’ll never make you healthy or help you stick to your holiday or household budget, you’ll always stay later than you say you will and you’ll never, ever, just have one.

And if you’re not among those lucky handful of people whose employer wheels out a trolley of drinks at 5pm every Friday afternoon, then you’ll join the thirsty pilgrimage of office workers making a beeline to the nearest local for a “quiet” drink to kiss the week goodbye. Unless that is, you live in Sydney.

Continue reading "Ten reasons pubs will always be better than bars" »

I am trying hard not to sound like a grumpy old man well before my time, but what is it with the fun police on the streets of Perth?

In just one week, the good citizens of the Australia’s western state have been subjected to a raft of state and local government regulations seemingly designed to take the enjoyment out of the simplest of life’s pleasures.

Take the example of Town of Cottesloe, just one of 142 shires and municipal councils in the state, after it foreshadowed the banning of flying kites, hoisting over-sized beach umbrellas, playing with toy cars and drinking from glass bottles on an iconic stretch of beaches along the WA capital’s affluent western suburbs.

Continue reading "The fun police make it to the final frontier" »

You won’t find much argument to comments that the Sydney live music scene is behind that of other major cities across the country. So, with the closure of iconic venues like the Hopetoun Hotel and potential barring up of the Annandale Hotel and the Harp, one has to wonder if we’re not shooting ourselves in the foot.

Yes, the financial issues of an establishment are beyond the control of those outside, but can be helped by the simple patronage of the public.

I don’t have the influence of more established musicians, nor the years of industry insight of others who have exposed themselves to hundreds of hours of beer-soaked carpet and screaming amplifiers; but as an unknown, independent musician, the future’s looking bleak.

Continue reading "Closing live music venues will hurt your ears" »

Moving house is thirsty work. Once I’d dropped both bags on the floor and decided in which corner to shove a severely neglected surfboard it was time to check out what my new south London neighbourhood had to offer.

Top of the list, naturally, was a good pub. Even though global warming is predicted to turn London into Cairns-by-the-Thames it’s still worth having a reliable boozer at hand for that odd changeable day.
To my alarm, when I walked into the nearest pub on the Old Kent Road the battleaxe of a barmaid was actually a battleaxe of a receptionist. The pub had been turned into a doctor’s surgery.

A private school for girls nearby my new home has taken over the pub next door and most of the convenience stores in the area once had taps and bar stools. One supermarket chain is reported to be in talks to buy 200 pubs in a single deal. There must be one hell of a growing pile of sticky carpets somewhere in London.

Continue reading "Postcard from London: Where are all the pubs?" »