I’d previously written off Lure Fish Cafe & Oyster Bar on Taylor Square as an over-priced fish’n’chip shop. Actually, they do fantastic things with seafood — I had the best swordfish steak ever, their marinade was magical — and their upstairs room is perfect for private functions. And they’re licensed.
’Pong and I are standing on the balcony at Sydney nightclub Arq, looking down at the continuing awards ceremony. Nearby someone asks whether the women currently on stage are “the lesbian singers” he’s seen before.
“What’s a lesbian singer?” I ponder aloud in a stage whisper. “Is that like a horse whisperer?”
’Pong glares, unimpressed. His energy levels are low, he’s not in the mood. My friend Nate, not exactly what you’d call the shy retiring type, has encouraged my heckling of the drag queens hosting the event, and ’Pong and Nate’s boyfriend Chris have both been uncomfortable.
Then another loud stage whisper emerges from a leather-clad bear standing on the other side. “No,” he says, “That would be a fish whisperer.”
The bear’s boyfriend’s eyes catch ’Pong and Chris, “Oh no, here we go again,” they seem to say. Strangers bond, wishing they could disown their partners.
Later, ’Pong takes me aside to explain that he’s exhausted, that he’s having trouble focussing on what he needs to do tonight. He’s trying to make a good impression on important people, and my rowdy mood isn’t appreciated.
And just as he finishes that speech, Nate bounces up my side, eyes wide with child-like excitement, proudly brandishing a bunch of green tickets. “Look! More free drink vouchers!”
Why does the US see the rise of fundamentalism in Pakistan as “dangerous”, while the rise of fundamentalism in America is a good thing? Pot. Kettle. Black.
The Dutch have launched an escort service especially for virgins. Sociology student Zoe Vialet, who set it up, says most of them work in IT. “They are very sweet… but very scared… You better practice before having a girlfriend. Woman expect men older than 30 having had some experience.”
“Want to buy a sofa, going cheap?” Mike, the bloke sitting on the veranda, laughs — amused that the discarded furniture was torched. He’s annoyed they started the fire too close to the fence, though, scorching the paw paw plant that’s just starting to come into fruit.
Somehow the conversation turns to the weather-beaten old homeless guy who was camped out nearby most of this week, but who’s now been moved on. “Keith? Nah, he’s not into money,” Mike tells me. “He’s a millionaire though.” Come again?