If ever you somehow manage to find yourself in the rare situation of having way more money than sense, I can recommend a place in Sydney called “The Argyle”. It’s the sort of place where one minute you buy quite a decent tasting $7 beer and two minutes later, when you go to buy another one because some idiot English backpacker has knocked yours out of your hand, that same beer costs you $11. But this is, of course, only if you managed to get inside.
I once got a call from Alaine to say she and a few friends were going to The Argyle and if I had nothing better to do I could come along. So, rather than sit comfortably in my local and enjoy the Super 14’s I decided to try something different. The only problem was that I wasn’t even allowed past the front door.
“Sorry. You can’t come in wearing that jumper.”
“What…my polar fleece?”
“Yeah, no.”
“OK.”
Daniel begins unzipping his polar fleece.
“Sorry. You can’t come in wearing those shoes.”
“What…my Volleys? You just don’t want me in here do you?”
Nod and a wry smile from the bouncer.
“The Hopetoun”, on the other hand, was a slightly different proposition. We just waltzed right inside, there being nobody on the door to make sure my hair matched my shirt, belt, shoes and nail polish.
Once inside we found they offered some pretty decent Mexican food. There was also some band playing called “The Ukeladies” who did the best cover of “Kokomo” I have heard. Ever. In fact, I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard the song covered. However, focusing only on the fact the food is good and the band was great is a bit like saying to yourself, “I really enjoyed my holiday in Zimbabwe during the election. The muggings were bad and the intimidation quite horrendous. But I’ve never been able to afford so much creamed corn.”
You see, the pub was rubbish. The drinks were served in plastic cups by the world’s surliest barman this side of Merewether RSL; some bearded git on the door who hadn’t showered since the last time he’d managed to do anything with his life other than get out of bed in the morning abused everybody; and every good looking woman in the room seemed to have a boyfriend. Or was related to me. And because we don’t live in Alabama, that’s a problem.
I am telling you, though, to go and see The Ukeladies. They’re fun, entertaining and immensely talented. Just skip the gig in Harare.