Night of the dirty dirty martini

Time: Friday night
Venue: Hemisphere Bar
Snogging: Nil


It was one of those night’s – I’ll just stay for one and then one ends up lasting till 11:30pm.
The bar staff got a bit excited with my dirty martini, allowing the olive to flow a little too freely and so ended up with a dirty dirty martini. My mate darin called it the Filthy Martini. Enjoy the pics.


Pip bites into Renovation Pete


DTC and Jeff


Vish hangs back with a beer


Satisfied staffers

Camera by Juli

Night out at Maccas

We all know the feeling – after a few beers the hunger creeps in. That’s when my craving for a cheeseburger begins. After Stev(o)’s farewell drinks at Customs House, Sam, Sallyanne and myself headed to the conveniently located McDonalds. We met a trans-gender bus driver and as they say, the rest is history!


Let the night begin - Sallyanne claims a stake at the counter


People line-up


A long chip


Simon was not allowed into The Establishment because of his Birkenstocks....so he joined us at Macca's


Sallyanne takes the Mercedes Benz home with our bus driver buddy

Brisvegas - take two

Another year, another conference and I found myself back again in Brisvegas. Last year I spent a Brisvegas weekend in a windowless hotel room with my dear friend Maria. This year, I splurged and stayed at the new Emporium Hotel with my dear buddy Penny. This hotel had a room and a massive T.V. We shopped, saw a circus at the Judith Wright Centre and of course enjoyed a few glasses of wine. Enjoy the pics!


Barnsey sings out on the massive T.V


Penny enjoys a glass of bubbles in her bargain-priced Little Joe dress


Enjoying a ciggie


A slice of Paris in Brisvegas


An indigenous Australian celebrates the impending St Pat's day


Beer and chips and a sunday Brissie afternoon

Three cheers for the GPS

Has anyone been in a taxi lately? A taxi that uses that fancy Global Positioning System (GPS). I was on my way home from Melbourne last week. Normally when I catch a taxi from the airport I am met with a growl. A trip from the airport to Marrickville is only a $20 cab fare. Honestly why would I travel on train when it costs $12 and takes twice the time?

This time, I was not met with a growl but with confusion. The poor taxi driver did not know where Marrickville was.

“Don’t worry I will use the GPS,” he said to me with a smile.

After punching in some details on a hand held gizmo we were off.

A voice from the gizmo said:

“At two hundred metres prepare to turn left. At one hundred metres turn left”

“At two hundred metres turn right. At one hundred metres turn right”

And so it went on. In no time, I saw the familiar Sydenham station. And I knew we were home. Once the Taxi drove down Marrickville Rd, the voice became a bit crazy.

My instructions were contrary to what was dialled into the GPS handset and so for the last few minutes of the journey we received a barrage of instructions “prepare to turn back. In one hundred metres prepare to turn back” And so it went on.

Still I arrived safe and sound and this time didn’t have to suffer the cab pulling over, while looking at the map or the grumpy silence.

The last time a taxi driver couldn’t take me home, I just jumped out and ran. But you can read all about that in http://marrickvilleprincess.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-life-of-crime.html

Three cheers for the GPS.

Night of the old farts

Old people watch Died Pretty - Taras pumps the air

The last time I saw Ed Kuepper team up with Died Pretty was at The Metro. The sheer brilliance of their music had us on our feet all night. I was looking forward to revisiting my twenties as I booked the duo for a night out at The Enmore Theatre

As we held our cans of VB we didn’t have to wait long for Ed to come on stage. He was wearing spectacles. Nevertheless he still had the sexpot in him as he sang from his various masterpieces including Today Wonder and Honey Steel’s Gold.
Sam had never heard his music but by the end of his set, Ed had scored a new fan. I loved every minute of Ed on stage although I wished I could have stood and swayed to his music, instead of sitting down on the theatre chairs.


At least these Hunter Valley chaps were up and dancing

When Died Pretty came on, I immediately leapt from my chair. It was the right thing to do. Then a lady my age tapped on my shoulder. “Can you please dance in the aisle”?

As Ron Peno blasted Godbless, the vast majority of people remained in their seats. But I didn’t care; I was now in the aisle with Taras, Sam and two nice gentlemen from the Hunter Valley. I wonder if Peno and the boys felt my frustration.

Although most of my fellow punters seem to have had a sober experience, I had a fabulous night.

I may be heading into my forties but at least I don’t need a seat to go to a Died Pretty concert.


Post-conference Sam and I met this nice chap.

Taras took the Hunter Valley Boys to the Sly Fox. "We've never seen anything like this on the main street of Cessnock," they told him

Indian cricket players

"The Indian players had earlier pushed their way through a scrum of reporters and autograph hunters onto the bus following the fall-out from yesterday's SCG Test,"

That was the report from the Sydney Morning Herald. I still managed to have a peek as my managind editor, Julia Newbould snapped happily away.


Photographers stake their positions


Tendulkar meanders through the groupies


My favourite - The Turbinator


Ganguly graps a coffee


Hot shot Investorinfo publisher couldn't care less

Typical Day at the Cricket

From a feeling of jubilance


To...disappointment....


Ok. I love my country but how I wish there was some competition in cricket. Yesterday, at the first day of the second test, I thought,there just might be a bit of competition. As Australia's top nob batsmen all fell after only 134 runs, Symonds and Hogg went on to more than double the the score, with the partnership achiveing 174 runs. Oh well, at least they are both nice people cricketers. Nob face Clarke managed to score only one misely run. That in itself made it a good day at the cricket. Oh and the fact that Indian spinner Harbhajan Singh was giving me the eye when he was fielding. But Stev(o) reckons he just wanted a passport.


Victory short lived - Indians celebrate after the first wicket falls


At least I could enjoy beer with my mates


And Charlie's knees turned red

My New Year Summer

New Year's eve in George St


New Year's Day at the beach


Beer with Stev(o) at the cricket

Frolicking in Double Pay

Give me a beach that has its sea without waves. That has its sand and its grass and a no frills café. Secluded from the crowds but not public transport with views of the harbour am I asking too much?

No, not if you come to Redleaf Pool. My mate Laura has a gorgeous Art Deco home in Double Pay. Right near Andrew Peacock and Julie Bishop in fact.

But we weren’t there to see Andrew or Julie, we were there to spend the summer afternoon with Laura at a public pool, “that was just next door”.

And indeedy it was. Redleaf Pool can be found by walking down a driveway that is just off New South Head Road. As I travelled down the stairs behind Laura, I spotted the pool - a bay, sectioned of with ropes. People were sunning themselves along the sand and nearby grass, while swimmers dived off from two pontoons floating in the bay. A huge working ship slowly moved in the distance, as sailing boats peppered the glorious harbour. For a split second, I thought maybe, perhaps, Sydney is the best city in the world.

Of course there was a café, which seemed unpretentious. It was quite possibly the perfect place.

And it was a perfect afternoon. After a peaceful swim, Laura took us to the nearby yacht club, located just near Double Pay’s ferry jetty. She was a member and so we had exclusive access. We enjoyed Pimms as the sun still glared strongly over the bay. The club’s clientele chatted quietly, the older dames enjoying schooners of beer. The only thing that marred the dignity of the afternoon were the pokey machines behind the bar. Laura reckons they should bring in Russell Crowe to sort out that situation.

She’s probably right, but at that stage, I was simply happy to have discovered Redleaf Pool and enjoy a frolic in Double Pay.

Footnote. My friend Sallyanne has termed Double Bay as Double Pay.

The long night home

After our staff christmas party these Marrickville Princesses wanted to go home

Our staff christmas party was great. Lots of booze but little food. After the 10th glass of bubbly and a boogie with work colleagues, McDonalds was desperately needed. But who cares about calories, our concern now was getting home in the middle of a festive season.

Walking along George St, our desperation grew as cabs drove past, their lights dulled, not a vacant one in sight. Kate suggested we walked to the cab rank on Park St. I thought we may be able to take a train. Alas at Town Hall station, the last train out of Bankstown was gone.



Our hearts sank, as we spotted the cab rank - groups of people milling behind the queue. That didn't not deter Kate and Juli as they patiently took their place. Nic and I thought we'd try the 423 but that too had finished for the night. Suprisingly Kate and Juli moved up the queue. After a group packed into a maxi-cab, a taxi driver with a glassed eye asked as where we were heading.

Marrickville we said in unison.

"No problem. I'll take you there"

We followed him across the road, jumped into the cab and laughed in happiness. We were on our way home!

Merry Christmas everyone

Love the Marrickville Princess

Night out in Surry Hills

On a Saturday night, I finally managed to dine at il Barretto in Surry Hills with my friend Isabella. We had a lovely meal and decided to finish the evening with a contreau on ice.

Isabella ruled out the pub opposite the restaurant on Burke St. She told me when she went inside to buy a bottle of wine they had a bloke in there talking to himself while kicking chairs.

Walking to the Clock we decided to give the pub a miss. Crowd too young, too loud. We settled on Forresters, as a compromise. Trendy but not too refurbished. Isabella bagged a table outside while I went in to get the drinks. The crowd was already boisterous, delirious, soaked in alcohol.

A twenty-something bloke let me take his place at the bar calling me “bub”. At least he was gentle.

Glad to settle into my last drink for the evening we spotted a pack of blokes walking into the brothel opposite our pub.

“Why do men always have to travel in packs when they go to a brothel”, Isabella said.

Working in Surry Hills, Isabella told me how she always spots a bunch of blokes in a ute visit the brothel next to her office. This happens almost on a daily basis.

“They’re only in there for a few seconds. They must just get blow jobs,” she said.

She then went to the bathroom, while I sat in my own silence against the loud aggressive cheer of my fellow patrons.

“I love you I love you I love you” a well-dressed bloke behind me said into his mobile phone. As soon as he hung up, he said to his mates,

“Fuck my wife is a fucking moron. She expects me to be home at 11 tonight. Fuck off”

After a good 15 minutes, Isabella returned from the bathroom. The pub only had one ladies toilet and some bird was in their vomiting.

We kept a close watch on our handbags as numerous junkies hopped along on lame legs, many with tiny dogs.

A million bucks would buy you a box in Surry Hills and yet as I said to Isabella, I feel much safer in Marrickville.

Alright we have the junkies, the hoons in their cars and the secret drug deals that go on behind the lanes. But we all say G’day to each other and six hundred thousand can get you a pretty good federation home.

When looking to buy in Marrickville seven years ago, a friend’s husband said to me.

“As long as you know who is fire bombing your car, you have nothing to worry about. Once you know don’t know who fire bombs your car, then you have to start worrying”.

Train conversation with Tony

I worked with Tony when I was in the NSW public service 10 years ago. On Saturday night, I bumped into him on the train. It was 9:15pm and I was in high spirits, as I only had to wait 10 minutes for my train, which of course was the all stations train to Bankstown train.

Tony was also on his way home to Belmore. He had just been to a Spanish restaurant on Liverpool St.

How was your night Tony?

It was good. I just had Spanish. Had a nice potato, some beans, it was pretty good.

So are you excited about Rudd getting in?

I’ve always liked Labor because they are supposed to be for the people you know. So why has Rudd decided to get the army to take photographs of people killing whales. Can’t he just go to Centrelink and get a couple of unemployed people to sit on boats all day and take the pictures.

And what about Morris Dilemma. Does he annoy you folks?

Mate he’s just bloody dumb. But we never had a choice. It was either him or that bloke that went around in budgey smugglers all day.

After touching base with all the people that I had worked for in the Department of Energy I bid Tony farewell at Dulwich Hill station. He was a great bloke to work with. I liked him.

From Stev(o)'s home in McMahon's Point....

......To my home in Marrickville

At Madeline's wedding......

Taras met Jesus



Charlie celebrated with bubbles



While Julia was playful with Stev(o)

The Moonee Ponds Trail

Glammed up shielas on the Moonie Pond trail

If a digger ever had to wear stiletto heels and a floral flock he’d be doing the treck from Moonee Ponds station to the Cox Plate race.

Christ that is some bloody walk.

I got invited this year to attend the Cox Plate. Of course I went and what a great day it was.

Moonee Ponds is different from the Flemington Racecourse. Last year when I was at Derby Day, there was not much of a walk from the train station to the Flemington racetrack. In fact, the trains virtually led you into the track grounds.

Last year, the only horse I saw was a police horse. We watched the race from a big screen near the corporate tents.

This year, I joined thousands of frocked up ladies and girls (in very very short dresses), on the march to the racetrack. Heeled up in pain we meandered through shoppers and residents enjoying their outdoor coffee until we finally reached our destination.

As a guest of an industry fund, costs were adhered too, and so we joined the masses at the Members Stand. We may have not seen a police horse but we got to see Miss Finland. Forget about the marquee my guests and I proceeded to dine at a makeshift table. Standing room only meant that at times squatting was required near the fences – most women had the same idea, so humiliation was spared. Still a great time was had by all and as my mate Pru said “mate I’ve had a ball”!

I even backed the winner – on advice from one of the punters’. My $5 for a place won me a grand total of $13!!!


Off and running and not a police horse in sight


Craig Williams brings his horse in


A rose among the thorns


My guest and I ever resourceful resorted to a makeshift table


Lee Freedman yacks to the press


Damian Oliver manages to just peer over the fence


End of the trail - Pru hangs up her Marc Jacobs


While I simply screetched in pain