A night on the Granville tiles

If there's one thing you need in a pub, it's to be left alone while you doom scroll your phone. That's a dream harder in the pokies dens with an obligatory bar tacked on that dominate Sydney's sprawling suburbia.

Living in Granville, you have a choice of three such places and last Wednesday evening I hit the Granville Hotel for a beer before doing some shopping. In the small box that serves as a smoking area, my in-depth investigation of the multitude of views on offer on the matter of Russia's on Ukraine in my algorithm-driven Facebook feed was interrupted by an old heavily tattooed bloke who wanted to talk about his various pokies wins and losses. 

He was quite sanguine about some eye-watering highs and lows, and appreciative that after winning big and shouting an entire pub in Fairfield one time, the next time he saw anyone there, they shouted him back. 

Human solidarity is a wonderful thing, but I really just wanted to solve the Ukraine crisis in my head before picking up some cat food from the supermarket, so I finished my beer and left. Not before world-famous filmmaker Zeb messaged that he was coming back from work and did I want a beer.

So after shopping, I headed across the rail lines (noting the train timetable screens, which were showing no trains and no times, as is now the Sydney norm) to the Royal Hotel. 

Attempts to not engage with anyone immediately hit a rock when the enthusiastic athletic looking bloke who poured my beer declared, after seeing my details when I swiped my members card, said "oh you're the guy whose signed up for the footy tipping!"

This was unfortunately true. I'd even paid $20 to do it. This came about due to a misunderstanding a week earlier when I wanted to become a member for the cheaper beer. But as I was using Zeb's membership card, the bartender thought as I was already a member and was asking to join the tipping comp. Being too awkward to stop what was happening, I just paid the $20 then had to ask to become a member anyway as you need your members number to take part in the comp.

I grew up in Perth and follow AFL. NRL barely enters my conciousnes. But the bar tender who'd just discovered I'd signed up was extremely keen and made sure I swipe my card on the thing you have to do you can enter your tips. Anyway, I got 7 our of 8 tips right in round 1, denied the full sweep only by the West Tigers upset over Melbourne Storm. (We'll not discuss round 2.)

Having swiped the magic thing that let me enter tips, we retreated to what they call their beeer garden, a narrow enclosed strip about twice the size of the Granville Hotel's smoking area without any of the plant life that usually goes along with things with "garden" in their name.

And there we minded out own business, probably did what anyone whose spent too long on the left does and complained about the left while solving the Ukraine situation (not that we'll get any credit).

Until we were interrupted by a young bloke asking to borrow a light who was clearly affected by more than the beer in his hand. He was all "hepped up", as the kids say, on unsteady but hyper and throwing a few punches in the air like oxygen offended him. An older guy he was drinking with came up too. Lex, as he found out his name was, was a retired truckie filled with unnerving stories about all the speed he snorted so he could drive a semitrailer from Sydney to Darwin in 60 hours straight.

Lex, hopefully, was only on beer. seeing as he was turning 70 the next day and had survived three heart attacks. The only shocking thing, listening to his stories, was that he'd survived at all. Lex went off to get him and his young friend another beer and the young guy wandered off looking semi-steady.

The young guy came back before long to tell us he thought something was gonna kick off and what would we do if it did? I suggested we'd probably stay right here in our corner and he gave a laugh in a "fair enough" kinda way.

Now I should point out that this young guy, Lex, myself and Zeb are all white. Granville, however, is not a very white place. The last census, for instance, found one on in five households spoke English at home. Most people who drink at the Royal are not white but from the subcontinent.

And nothing was said that night to make it explicit there was any racial element to what followed but ...well nothing was said to say it wasn't either. You spend enough time in pubs in largely non-wtie areas as white guy and you soon learn from other white guys exact what they think about the racial composition of the particular locality. Not. of course. all white guys (don't send me death threats).

Before long, a group of 7 or 8 men of subcontinent bsckground came out to the "beer garden" and this guy went straight up them, joined their group and at first seemed to be cracking mutually appreciated jokes. It looked jovial, they were laughing and he was smiling and then, out of nowhere, they went for him.

Suddenly, bodies were flying across the "beer garden". The brawl was brutally one-sided as three or four of these guys just pummeled the instigator. They got him up against a wall as he desperately tried to fight his corner, then onto the ground as they whacked and kicked. Whatever he said to trigger the fight definitely did the trick.

The bouncer came out to break it up, while the guy lay there getting hit with this grin on his face like he'd got what he wanted and was enjoying it. The bouncer looked down at him wearily, as if to say "again? why are you like this?" He was picked up and ejected, while the group who were hammering him went inside -- the bouncer didn't seem to bothered by them but I'm not sure if they had to leave too. 

As this was happening, Lex had re-emerged with a schooner in each hand, and stooed watching the scene with a bemused look. As the guy were taken out, Lex came up to ask what the fuck just happened? I said we didn't really know but, pointing to one of his two schooners, said at least he'd got another beer to drink.

Lex look forlornly at the extra schooner and said: "But I don't drink New!"

Well to cut the story short, Lex told more horror stories about his days as a trucker, like the time he nearly died when he rolled his semitrailer while off his face. Then finishing his beer, he reluctantly picked up the schooner of New, took a sip, grimaced but decided he could stomach it after all.

Then we went left and I went home -- a place where the threat of violence comes from the cat and at least he doesn't talk much.

The source of backyard violence.

I KILL YOU NOW FUCK OFF AND GET ME A DRINK - a poem

I have not posted for some time. Far from slacking, I have been working furiously on my greatest artistic work, the creation of which my whole life has been working towards. The jewel in my creative cultural life, everything I have every wanted to say, every emotion I have ever felt moved to express, is in these lines.

Here, finally, I present it for the viewing of the general public.

I KILL YOU NOW FUCK OFF AND GET ME A DRINK

I kill you
Why?
Because you are a bastard
And you deserve to die
Violently
Why?
Because you are a fucking arsehole
I will kill you again
What do you mean I can only kill you once?
Why are you talking, you are dead!
Now fuck off and get me a drink

Carlo Sands,
November 2007

I await my Nobel Prize.

Guess what I did last Wedesday! (Perth explained)

[I am posting an email that I got sent from someone else from a few years back now.

It is actually two stories and I have included both, although I like the second one the most. The second story is a perfect description of Perth and its so-called social life.]


"Guess what I did on Wednesday," I say to Sally with my dirty smirk.

"What!" she giggles.

"The National Queer Officer for NUS!"

"Mor hor hor," Sally laughs and she sounds like a fat man listening to a tit joke.


Just thirty minutes after I had left a disorientated and sleepy **** NUS-person at the busport I run into Grant in the Ref shoplifting chocmilks.

"Hey did you see Kate at the meeting last night," he asks and I go, "yeah, I did, she walked in with that other National Broad Left guy and I thought, hello, eastern staters here."

This was very true. They arrived to the meeting late and immediately, though I didn't recongise Kate, I immediately felt there eastern stateness. And to set the record straight on one Perth version of events, I did not take the seat next to ****, he arrived late, so he took the one next to me.

"And hey," says Grant,"have you talked to that **** guy who is with her. Dodgy."

"What do you mean dodgy?"

"Oh he was just really fucked all througth the NBL, quite anti-Resistance, lots of stupid autonomous marxist ideas."

"Oh."

"Yeah, an idiot."

Nothing I could do now, I thought, the stains of autonomous marxism were already on my sheets. I fill Grant in the details and he does a similar tit-joke oh ho ho at the end.

"You're quite dodgy, Justin" he says, but I can tell from his eyes he is quite proud.

A five month drought. Not a single smut, grope or fondle since early March. I was quite pleased all Thursday. My skin has cleaned up amazingly. It has generally done my health the world of good. I think it shows a certain style as well. A very Justin style.

I walked past Jane selling papers on Friday. "I've been hearing stories about you Justin," she says, but she is too embarrassed to say what they were.

His politics weren't great, but they were at least politics. It makes me realise the huge absense in Perth of left-wing young men who have sex with left-wing young men. It is so refreashing that when bedroom action comes to a standstill, you can always have a fight about working class autonomy or blockading as a stratergy or tactic. And when that gets boring, you can go back to giving head.

He is back at NUS office land at UQ now.

* * *

But anyway, that puts me in a good mood for going out.

Jill rings at the start of the week, "Nevermore (the 80's goth club night) Justin," she whispers, "its just a few days away, are you going?"

"But we always go Jill, every week."

"Yes but its so good."

"No its boring. Lets go to the casino."

"Oh, but, oh, I dont know. Nevermore Justin, its,.."

And a few days after that...

"Nevermore Justin," whispers Andy, "are you going?"

"I already said, no boring Nevermore. Bic and I are gambling our pay away on the money wheel."

And this is true. True in intent.

Somewhere along the line things got changed to going to a party in Como and a party in Nedlands. It was a med student party and I was told the address while drunk at a cocktail bar the Saturday previous.

"Its an easy street to remember". the girl told me. "It sounds like a really big street but its actually really small."

EASY!!!!

Anyway it is Saturday and we are in Como. I have participated in the drinking of six bottles of passion pop and some irish cream and some bourbon. I am making friends with some people who keep putting TLC on the CD player. There is a drug dealer with a coat hanger on his head and my pocket has a big dexie bottle in it. I am here with Bic and she is flirting with the coat hangered drug dealer.

Hannah, a seventeen-year old from work is there, and she keeps letting herself get pulled away into the toilets by really seedy older guys. Bic and I go get her and say "Save it for the carpark honey, people are drinking and need that loo to piss".

God damn Hannah was giving me the shits. We did get her kind of drunk, but that didn't mean she had to keep falling on me. In desperation I gave her a handfull of dexies on the proviso she wouldn't bother me anymore, and we didn't see her for about forty five minutes.

Then things got dodgy.

Christine and I were having a dandy time, munching away, pupils dilated. The clock ticks to 12 and we go, (Deanne as designated driver) "lets go to Nedlands party".

Jarvis, (Becs boyfreind) is suddenly all alarmed because Alannah is missing and gets all tireingly big brotherish.. ie: "little Hannah, where is she?"

We find Geet because she is going with us, and just to describe Geet she looked fantastic because she has this really dark skin with this bright red dress with flashing lights on the chest. But anyway.

Hannah we found doing walking boglaps outside.

"Get in the car Hannah," I say and she goes, "No! Lets just walk around all night!" and Jarvis goes, "Crap, who was stupid enougth to let Hannah have dexies" and I
think he he, waits till he knows how many his girlfriend has had.

You see Jarvis's a bit of bloke who likes to look after his shelias. The ways he looks after them we shall later see.

Anyway we are all in the car ready to go, after we physically restrained Hannah and shoved her in the back seat. But then Bec remembers that there is a male stripper arriving soon, so she decides we can't leave.

I say, "if I show you my nipple, can we miss the stripper" and Bec says yes. I show my nipple and Bec goes "nah, I'm still going inside".

It took over thirty minutes to get them in the car and in around thirty seconds they were all gone again.

A gay man with muscles walks into the house, and a bit later comes out again with less. Everyone gets back in the car, except Hannah, who I think Geet had to go get back out of the toilet.

Just as the back door is about to shut the drug dealer with the coat hanger on his head turns up.

"Hey can I get a lift to Nedlands too?" he asks.

"We have five in the back already. Sorry mate", says Christine. "We only leave with the ones we came with."

Then he gets shitty. "Well take me to the bank because Jarvis, you owe me $115 for that bottle of dexies, and I want that money now."

"I told you man," says Jarvis, "I'm paying you tomorrow".

"But I want it now, we're going to the bank."

"Excuse me," says hardcore little Christine, "this is my fucking car and your not getting in it and there will be no going to a bank. So fuck off!"

Then there is this noise which is Jarvis geting pulled out the car and punched in the stomach. Then there is the noise of Jarvis dry retching. Then there is the rustle of Geet's red dress as she flies out of the car and knocks the guy to the ground. He punches her in the jaw.

"He hit my sister," cries Jarvis all bloke indignant, but its a bit of a lost
cause because now there's a strangling noise because drug dealer is now again on his back, with Bic sitting on his chest, chocking him while Geet kicks him in the head with her boots.

I stay in the car and play with the cassettes. Christine gets out and tries to find Hannah. The fight goes on for at least twenty minuyes. At one point a stranger comes up and asks me whats going on.

"Its okay", I say, "we're just all going to a party in Nedlands".

Eventually the misunderstanding was cleared up, with our gang clearly triumphant. We were all quite pleased and I patted the offending bottle of dexamphetamine with love. We cranked up the car radio and, with all of us in the car Deanne turned the ignition.

The battery was flat.

It was really nice of the people we had bashed to help us find jumper leads.

However by this stage, Christine was less that cooperative, as she had kept talking dexies all through the drama and as soon as the car was started was a little edgy.

"ILL DROP YOU ALL HOME", she yells. "JUSTIN AND I WILL GO OUT."

As it turns out I wish we hadn't because when she got home Bec passed out, so Jarvis felt up Hannah while Bic lay sleeping next to him.

DODGY!

But not that it mattered at that time because Christine and I got to speed off back to the city, to go of all places, Nevermore. (Andy and Jill looked relieved I couldn't really have meant the rude things I said about it.)

As it is I realise your attention must be waning. I will try to abbreviate the rest. I told everyone I saw, (including good old Anne P,) that I had been part of a street brawl in como where i kicked in a scull.

Nat and Gavin break up. I stay out till 6am. Gavin gives me more dexies.

We walk home and talk shit. "Hey Jus", "Hey Gav". At 8am we get home and have tequilla sunrises. Nat tells me about her career at the sex shop and Gavin describes how his penis pump works.

I get home at 11am and go through my pockets. I find an email address for this cute boy at Amplifier Bar. I told him I was producing a radio show for 100FM, did he want to be a radio star? He said yes.