Species

There is nothing like the annual Origin of the Species football series to tease out the basic bloke. You can separate the man from the bloke, but you can’t erase his species.

Early in the shift I carried four businessmen financial jockeys blokes to a popular Paddington Hotel, better known for its well-heeled rugby union patrons than rugby league punters. The conversation topic was how they might touch-up certain women joining their larger group at the pub.

It was only when the publican boarded, after they'd alighted, that I heard the full story. "They have booked our function room to watch the game," he said. "Plus they’ve hired some beer wenches in bikinis as waitresses." I thought this passing strange in modern Sydney. "What about your barmaids," I asked, "won’t they be offended ?" He laughed, "Nah, they’re young university girls with a sense of humour. If they were older though they might kick up a stink."

We got to discuss the approaching total smoking ban in hotels, due in June I believe. He agreed that smokers would eventually come to accept no-smoking in pubs, though there could be an initial backlash affecting business. Later I wondered if this could be offset with the introduction of bikinied beer wenches to retain basic bloke numbers.

After the game I carried a American businessman home to Bondi Junction and we discussed his local hotels. I was just about to nominate the Nelson as the safest and most relaxed pub in the Jungo when we came upon a crowd spilling outside the hotel. Some thirty patrons blokes kids were celebrating the Queensland win by brawling onto the roadway. How embarrassing; what sort of person goes to such a pub? Oh, wait, blokes like me.

One footy fan fella bloke was found collapsed in a garden bed next to an inner-city hotel, well after midnight. His wife won’t be too impressed when she sees the state of his suit. Another fan after 2am fretted all the way home to Homebush Bay how his wife would kill him. "I was supposed to come home straight after the game," he moaned. "Now there won’t be any sex for at least...aww, three days, let alone any conversation." And so it goes, until Origin 2.

Comments

[Dirk Thruster]

I'll bite, what's "the jungo"?

[Ben]

I'm really looking forward to the total smoking ban in pubs. Whenever I go out, I always wake up the next day with a scratchy, sore throat and a horrible ashtray taste in my mouth.

[James]

Jungo = "Bondi Junction". Strewth, even a Seppo like me knows that!

Adrian, the Nello is wonderful and low-key except when its not -- usually caused by Hibernian Interlopers of the Backpacking Variety, if you know what I mean. The one violent incident I ever saw there saw the manager get glassed when he confronted a group who tried to walk off with a schooner...