2007 in review

We appear to have come to the end of another year. As is the tradition at this time of year, I shall now provide my own summary of my favoured events, in chronological order.

January: 5-0

Revenge was sweet, as Australia scored an Ashes whitewash for the first time in 86 years or so. The greatest bowler in the history of the universe, Glenn McGrath, retired from the game in style, and the poms were sent home with nothing. Except for the Ashes, that is. They’re such bad sports that they won’t even let us keep the trophy.

January: Tool

This was the second time I have seen Tool. Awesome.

July: Cadel Evans

In the closest ever top three finish, Cadel Evans became the greatest ever Australian cyclist, finishing just 23 seconds away from the yellow jersey in the Tour de France. This is despite having one of the weaker support teams. Next year for sure!

August: The Farm

This was the seventh (?) trip to the farm, and with the biggest fire yet, it was certainly one of the best. Highlights include drinking, cooking dead animals, and lighting stuff on fire. Oh, and my successful comeback to the exciting sport of postie bike riding. This time, without the crashing into tree part.

September: The Combat Wombats

For the first time since 2005, we put together a Futsal team. Despite our final position on the table (10 games, 0 wins, 0 draws) we had a fantastic season and I’m confident that we can only go up in 2008.

November: Dani Ecuyer Dummy Spit

It was a bumpy road for Dani Ecuyer. Running for the seat of Wentworth against her ex-boyfriend George Newhouse, and sitting MP Malcolm Turnbull, she caused a bit of a stir in the media.

A satirical piece on this site was the final straw for Dani, who believed that Miranda Devine was really calling her a left-wing harlot. This response was posted on votedani.com:

Miranda Devine, Caroline Overington and Climate Change

Well well well, it seems the sisterhood only works in theory. It’s official I am having a real impact on the incumbents and I have now been called a ‘harlot’ by Miranda Devine.’ So I work on Climate Change and the pulp mill. Two super hot issues in election 2007, especially in the Environment Minister, Mr Turnbull’s electorate. Now I am a ’stiletto thumping femme fatale’ and a harlot to boot. Amused, well I can assure you I am not amused in the slightest. I am running on real issues and have two websites to prove it, not to mention a serious career in investment banking.

And it went on… Of course, this post was removed from her site shortly afterwards. Obviously a friend let her in on the joke.

Thank you Dani, for brightening up an otherwise grey campaign.

November: Maxine’s victory

I would like to say that the Labor victory in November was one of the highlights of the year. However, as I believe that Kevin Rudd is the spawn of the devil, I shall only pause to commemorate Maxine McKew’s victory over a populist PM who had it coming for a long time.

My grandmother once recounted how she had believed that “Honest John”, as he was known back in the 90s, was going to be great for the country, and we were going to have sunshine and roses every day.

Eleven years later, even the staunchest Liberal voter would have to admit that Johnny had lost his sheen long ago, and that the lies had always been justified by the electorate’s hip pocket. Thankfully, no longer will this be the case.

December: The Wedding

Yes, on December the 15th I married my bride, Sarah. This signalled the end of the first stage of my life, as I settled down and became a responsible member of society.

That’s what I told Sarah, anyway.

To the pub!

Well, that about sums up all the important events of 2007. I’m off to Tasmania for the honeymoon, and will be back at the end of January. Bon voyage!

Postlude: I would like to wish a quick congratulations to Mr Nicholas J. Broadbent, and his magnificent fiancée Mel. Nice one!

Let the world tour commence

That’s right, devoted readers. My world tour commences today with a trip to Melbourne, followed by Canberra, Adelaide and Brisbane next week. Start small and work your way up, I say. Besides, I’ve heard that there are foreigners outside Australia.

Sarah will be joining me on the first leg, so hopefully we can hit some decent pubs and crank out some beer reviews! I love those little beers that they serve down there – you can drink thousands of them!

SoBar – Cremorne

Welcome back to my cutting pub review section for 2007.

Last Friday night I was privileged enough to attend the event of a lifetime – the grand opening of, as the advertisments call it, a “lower north sure thing”. Having survived two of the worst puns in the history of advertising, I ventured down the airport departure-type entrance to the bar.

Free drinks and canapes were on the cards, but unfortunately the only drinks on offer were some crappy new post-mix vodka crap marketed at the 13-16 year old market, as well as a piss-weak Mexican drink with a piece of fruit crammed in the bottle. Canapes were nowhere to be seen, but the Mosmanites were out in spades. Young lawyers and accountants mingled with 17-year-old private school girls, trying to impress each other under the table despite the noticable absence of any platters of cucumber sandwiches. The only part of the bar with enough room left to swing a cat was the dance floor, but luckily the DJ seemed to be oblivious to the fact that noone liked the music he was playing, and so a constant low throbbing drowned out the endless penis size comparisons emanating from every corner of the bar.

Out the back, we discovered a feature even cooler than the entrance – the exit! Decked out to look like the set of Star Wars, the fire exit was handily cordoned off with police tape, and a young lady was dancing in a hard hat. I am still wondering what this was supposed to signify.

So, in conclusion, if you live in Mosman, went to a private school, and think that BMWs are really cool, click here for my rating. Everyone else, click here.

City of Angels

See you there.

Bruce Choy Cup

Last night saw the annual Bruce Choy cup, followed by the Chem Eng dinner.

The cup was a closely contested affair, with my beloved fourth year/postgrad team playing out a dour nil-all draw with the lowly first years. A penalty shootout saw us go through to face the hot favourite second-years in the finals. unfortunately, they were way too good for us, and we went down three nil.

The day was an hilarious affair, possibly due to there being around 45 players on the field at any one time.

Then the action started. After a quick detour to Manning for a refreshing beverage, it was on to Urban Bites at Newtown. The SUCES exec had decided to scrap the traditional “restaurant” style dinner in favour of a “wanky-cafe” type soiree. The booze was in short supply, and so we quickly hoarded a few bottles of indescribably poor wine, and whatever beers we could get our hands on. The food was not brilliant, but it could have been worse. After ordering our mains and being asked what sides we would like – chips, vegies, mash or wedges – we waited patiently until everyone else has finished their dinner before being served. Everyone was given wedges. The steak was quite nice, but unfortunately it was served medium well-done, in stark contrast to the brilliant red rareness I was expecting. however, a good time was had by all, and we retired to the Marlborough Bar for some good old fashioned boozing.

In conclusion, forget the Urban Bites, forget cheap wine, if you want to have a good night, just grab a pile of Chem Eng characters and head out to the pub. I’ll be there.

V For Vic Bitter

Attention mortals:

Let it be known that V For Vic Bitter is on this Friday (7:30pm), Saturday (7:30pm) and Sunday (5:30pm)! As I am the director of this fine production, anyone who does not attend will be shot when I become master of the universe. Let it also be known that the show will feature:

• Live Band
• Comedy
• Singing
• Dancing
• Engo Boys Ballet
• Engo Boys Choir
• Debauchery

Also, on Sunday night our producer will be shaving her head in support of Parkinson’s Australia, a tremendous cause.

Tickets available from me, some may be available on the door.

Purple Sneakers

Last night my girlfriend took me out to indie rock nightclub Purple Sneakers, at the Abercrombie Hotel (or, The Australian for people who are sick of pubs changing names every year). We arrived at around 12:30, and the 1/2 hour queue wait was enlivened by a long, futile argument between an undesirable customer and a bouncer. This conversation ended with the patron leaving the premises.

Once inside ($10 cover charge), we were greeted by a good selection of loud indie rock music, a throng of people, and a surprisingly short queue for the bar. On tap was St Arnou Blonde and Pale Ale, both of which are quite tasty, although the Pale Ale is probably more suited to a quiet beer at home or at the pub with a couple of mates. Jugs of these beers were $9.50, which was a welcome change to the usual Sydney price of $4.50 for a schmiddy of VB.

Beer in hand, I started to survey the crowd. At first glance, it seemed to be an even mix of college wankers, asian gangster wannabes, and undernourished, emaciated emo girls in their early twenties. Before long though, the crowd seemed to change into normal, friendly people all out to have a good time.

As we passed the dance floor, one of the aforementioned emo girls started attempting to land a punch on a fellow patron, and then collapsed in tears. Not wanting to be involved, I merely stared and chuckled, until I realised that she was actually friends with the group of people I had come with. A quick glance in her eyes told me that amphetamines, as well as the obvious malnutrition, had a big part to play in her random psychosis. As she didn’t seem to be offering them to anyone else, I soon lost interest.

A couple of jugs later, I ran into my old friend Dennis on the dance floor. Having just received a dancing lesson from a young woman from FBi, I decided to show off some funky moves. This is a good indication of how efficiently the St Arnou was infiltrating my system. I felt good.

As the night grew old, the crowd seemed to change again. All of a sudden, there were Jason Gillespie look-a-likes everywhere I turned. Also, half the guys there were wearing the same stripy shirt that my mum bought me from Target a couple of years ago. I met a guy wearing an awesome cream-coloured jacket that he purchased from some swanky place in Crown St. He informed me that people have offered to make love to the jacket. I vowed to find a similar one at my local Vinnies at the first possible opportunity.

Suddenly, a fight broke out between an over-zealous drunkard and four bouncers. No prizes for picking the winner. We decided that this was our cue to leave, and hailed the next taxi. Purple Sneakers is definitely an event worth attending, with a similar vibe to Friday nights at The Clare circa 2003. The cover charge is more than compensated by the cheap jugs, and the music is tops. Do it.

St Patrick’s Day

After a couple of warm up beers over dinner, I met up with a trio of mates at the Madison Hotel, Surry Hills. With its convenient location right next to central, as well as the attractive offer of $5 pints, the Madison was the perfect place to begin an evening of Guinness-driven partying.

Upon entering the pub I was greeted with a raucous roar from my mates, a green Guinness visor from a passing barmaid, and friendly looks from the exuberant, boozed-up crowd. I had been to the Madison only four days earlier, and enjoyed a game of pool with a friendly bouncer, who recognised me with a nod of his head.

Downstairs is full of revellers drinking in small groups, singing along to the jukebox, or socialising around the two pool tables. A thirty-something English ex-pat named Albert joins our group, and the beer starts to flow. Young trendy (though slightly inebriated) couples walk upstairs to the Hippo Lounge, where cocktails are available at reasonable prices. The Madison has something for everyone, and is open 24 hours to boot.

After a couple of hours, a young man purporting to be Irish joins our group and convinces us to have a skolling competition with him. We decide that this is a signal to move on to the next pub.

Our next stop is the Opera Bar, located a short train ride away at Circular Quay. The view from our table is fantastic – the city skyline is reflected in the harbour, and we look out onto the Harbour Bridge and Opera House. This is one of the best locations for a drink in the whole of Sydney.

We arrive at around 1, and the crowd of young businessman mixed with older opera aficionados is starting to dwindle. Thankfully, we are meeting up with another group of friends so there is still plenty of socialising to be done. We sit back, relax, and enjoy a refreshing schooner of Carlton, having become rather Guinnessed-out at the previous pub.

The slightly expensive (but justified, given the view) beer prices can be reined in with a 15% discount given to FBi members, which means that you can enjoy a decent priced beer at one of the best locations in the world.

The time gets late and various members of our group decide they need to get to their bus stop, so we leave the Opera Bar and split up. After a long walk back through the city, I arrive at my final stop of the night, Dimitri’s Bar and Restaurant.

On the third Friday of every month, this Surry Hills restaurant is home to 45 rpm, a Mod/Ska/R&B/Soul nightclub where the sounds of the 60s come alive. The place is still pumping when I arrive at around 3:30, and as I walk through the doors I head through a time warp.

Skinheads in suits mix with women with funky 60s hairdos. Fishnet stockings are a must-have for the ladies. Psychedelic light displays play over every available surface. The DJ pumps out soul music across the dance floor, where everyone is having a great time dancing.

Before too long though, overzealous council rangers decide that it is time to turn off the music, and everyone heads home. For anyone hankering for the good times of the sixties, keep an eye out next month and head on down.

So after having walked the 4 kms from one end of the CBD to the other, I finally get home and pass out in my bed. Another successful St. Patrick’s day.

A Fitting Poem

St. Patrick

St. Patrick… one of the few saints whose feast day presents the opportunity to get determinedly whacked and make a fool of oneself all under the guise of acting Irish.

- Charles M. Madigan, editor of the Chicago Tribune