High Tide & Greener Grass

I know it's a shocking old cliche but the sea is a very soothing piece of work. Hypnotic and powerful it gives you perspective, glittering and calm it gives you peace and and in my case the urge to paint. Which I must say I ignored, but there was a moment most mornings during our walks when the urge to daub was quite strong. Weird because I haven't weilded a paintbrush in anger since I was 18 and haven't given a lot of thought to it since. But back to the sea - damn I wish I lived near it. The air is so fresh, the scenery constantly changes and your appetite for food, drink and life in general is whetted. Nothing is finer than fish and chips on a cooling beach at sunset, a hot shower after a swim or a cooling beer washing the salt from your lips. Magic stuff. It makes your life in your inland city seem dull and grey and just plain dry.

freebird

I'm a free man. The pub sale went through at long last on friday, not a moment too soon for me. It dragged on so long we actually ended up going on holiday prior to the sale finalising as we had accomodation booked and our window of opportunity before Lize starts her new gig was rapidly running out.

So we beetled off for a fortnight to beautiful Port Fairy. A lovely old whaling town on the south west coast, it combines the charm of an irish fishing village with the sparkling calm blue waters and white sands of a tropical paradise. So it was beach during the day; pints, oysters and steak at the pub at night and mojitos and tomfoolery later on in the spa back at the little chalet type place we stayed in. I swam for the first time since the early nineties, went for big walks and had a stress free existance for the first time in three and a half years (especially after that fuck off big cheque hit my account on Friday).

Went to a ripper little restaurant called Portafino down there. It gets great reviews all the time in the foodie bits of the paper so to celebrate the big sale Lize and I thought we'd take a look to see what all the fuss was about. It was fantastic. I'll preface this 'review' by saying my experience of dining out normally involves something with chips at the pub or if I'm feeling adventurous Mexican or Thai. This place was in a different league with nothing parmagiana on the menu at all. For starters I had the duck liver parfait and Lize had a goats cheese with something moroccan, washed down with frosty boags beer. Next up mains, with me opting for a filet of beef from a shorthorn angus that had lived (and presumably died) a couple of miles down the road. It was served on the most intricate scalloped potato i've ever seen and the jus that it came with just begged to be licked off the plate. (i refrained, but it was a close thing) Herself had duck three ways which seemed interesting with the sausage, confit and breast grouped around a pilaf. We had a nice bottle of coonawarra red and at this point we were almost drunk on the food as much as the booze. We finished with a shared summer pud and had armagnac and negronis. It was a bloody good repast and while a touch pricey (about $250 including tip) well worth it if you're celebrating something significant. We popped in to a little bar next door for a couple of quiet gins and whiskies afterwards and ended up at the little chalet waltzing to Elliot Smith. A perfect night.

young love

My little bro announced his engagement today. It came as a bit of a surprise given that he is 19 years old and he's known the lass in question for a good six months. Apparently she's not knocked up either! But hey good luck to him, hope it all works out. My sister and I were discussing the bombshell and reckon this might be part of a new gen y phenomenen. Under 21s getting married seems to be bobbing up more and more, and may be another quirk of that (frankly unfathomable to bitter old x'ers like me) generation.



For those following the pub sale saga it wends it's way onward with all the urgency of glacier. It was nearly all off again this week and if I can see the process through without either a - having a stroke or b - end up going postal on the the purchaser/landlord/solicitor/accountant/health inspector/fire safety guy/dickhead from the local paper asking silly questions we can all count ourselves very lucky.



Been hitting youtube pretty hard over the last few nights, mainly Shane McGowan and Christy Moore/Planxty material. It was fascinating to spot the melody from an old Christy track the Curragh of Kildare has been borrowed in it's entirety for the Pogues own White City. I guess folk music is a tune sharing culture, but you'd hope Shane bought Christy a few pints on the strength of it (even if they are just pints of red lemonade given that Mr Moore is teetotal these days).

Its getting hot in here.

3 weeks left at the pub and by god its hot. 36C today and no end in sight. The owner to be is spending more time at the pub while various inspections by government worthies are taking place and I'm finally starting to feel like it might be over. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet, teaching guitar is an attractive option but my stock reply at the moment is to tell people I'm returning to modelling. People tend to go quiet when I tell them that and back away slowly.

half life

It looks as if I'm entering my last days as a publican for a while. Some papers (though not all) were signed today. The process, as they say in the newspeak, is in place.

I should feel happier I guess, but around every bureaucratic corner seems to loom another red tape mountain.

The week has been rough. When you go to sell a place you've invested a fair bit of your life into, you expect to go through a bit of soul searching yourself, but what you aren't warned about is the effect it has on your staff. I've seen one go through a two week bender, another deliberately try and torpedo the sale and another hand in his notice effective as of my last day. Touching as it is, the little darlings' emotional pyrotechnics haven't made things too easy at rock central. My tenuous grip on sanity took a fair beating (especially during the booker's fairly naked attempt to scare the buyer off) and tonight I'm sitting at home sweating like a rapist and unable to face an evening with the fair punters of Ballarat town.

BBQ

One of the joys of the summer season in our fair brown land is BBQ. No more cooking in a hot kitchen all stuffy and steamy, the time has arrived for cooking with the sun on your back, the spicy scented smoke and the compulsory can of beer in hand. I've even taken to doing the saturday morning fry outside. For this replace beer with gatorade if you're feeling a bit tawdry and bask in the double smokyness of barbequed bacon, toast with grill marks on it and crispy bottomed fried eggs.

As part of this embracing of BBQ culture we've found ourselves a butcher. No more crappy cling wrapped carrion from coles and safeway, the local man does great meat and his sausages taste like sausages, not condoms full of plasticine. It also feels good to buy off the little bloke, rather than some faceless conglomerate.

...still waiting

for the sale to go through, My supplies of patience are dwindling but life must continue.

And so it does. The third annual staff party was conducted last sunday and was great craic. We played cricket, ate steak and salad and drank beer and vodka till we were tired. Then we went clubbin'. A surprisingly drama free night it was too, despite the fact the staff must be a bit edgy about the prospect of new ownership. Everyone was in fine spirits sending each other pornographic texts and drinking absinthe. Pretty much everyone was late or didn't show up to something important the next day and I threw up as soon as I got home. A great night.

Went to see a wonderful band from my childhood on Saturday. The Divinyls were a sexy pub rock band if such a thing is possible. Funky rhythm section (of the groove variety, not the million notes a second merchants) a couple sinewy Keith Richards types on guitar (Mark McAtee and old mate Charlie Owen) and the marvellous Ms Chrissie Amphlett on vocals. By turns seductive and abusive, vulnerable and abrasive Amphlett oozes star quality despite her apparently fragile health. Their back catalogue was better than I remembered and even one of the obligatory 'new'songs showed a bit of spark. There is some suggestion Chrissie may have been diagnosed with something pretty serious this week, I hope things work out for her.