Friday afternoon:
discovered that a new restaurant has opened in Chinatown, calling itself ‘Jubilant Snack’. immediately notified Amelia by SMS, so that she could share my excitement at these Chinglish developments.
sitting outside a cafe in Gouger Street, many people dropped by for small talk. Watched another restaurant, Gaucho’s, burn down, along with many other spectators, some of whom bought beer to accompany the spectacle. A good time was had by all.
Good friend Dave Suede sat with me to chew the fat. Admired his persistance in fat-chewing, even though his girlfriend texted him that she was making pasties.
Friday night:
drugs, house music, bland people dancing around while staring vacantly into space. Bought pills from a ‘dude’ illuminated by firelight under a bridge at 11pm. DJ Joey Negro on the decks at ‘hip’ club Electric Circus. Later, as house moved into ‘deep house’, heard people with sleeveless t-shirts and manicured facial hair complaining about ‘what’s this trancy shit?’ Glad I didn’t take meth at 4am, as did my friends, who subsequently spent the morning chewing furiously and not sleeping at all.
Sat’dy:
went to a cheese party. There were eight different types of cheese, presented by a German guy who knew a lot about cheese. So I guess that made two cheesy nights in a row.
Sunday:
played Floppy Barrow, the well-known DIY game involving people holding broomsticks and throwing a bicycle tire from one person to another, catching it on the end of the stick and then flicking it on to someone else. A far more nuanced game than it sounds. By next summer everyone will be playing Floppy Barrow (you read it here first). Origin of name unknown.
later went to visit sister and her journalist friend Colin. Went to Uraidla country pub, where local lunatics hovered around, red-faced and each brimming with their own special mania.
later went to Robin Hood town pub, where met friend Kain, not seen in about six years, therefore both spent long periods narrating six years in the lives of itinerant Australians. Many details left out. Kain woke up his eight-months-pregnant wife, Nicole, to drive me home at 11:30pm. I protested weakly.
just got home by midnight, when Oriana was due to call from Dublin. Oriana had already called, and was (worryingly) speaking on the phone with my Dad. All seemed okay though. I made poor attempts at conversation across the crackly, tentative connection, hampered by my over-zealous beer drinking. Oriana was forgiving.
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