Took today as an admin/"don't spend anything" day. Did my laundry ($4 + $4), some Internet to-dos ($10), and read my book in a little nearby plaza ($0). Just killing time 'til M and J dropped by at 6.15. Recognised her waiting outside. Drove out to Cottesloe beach.
We stop for fish and chips, eat them at the beach while the gulls wait and watch, "vultures of the beach", as M calls them. Whiting is delicious. The colours of the sunset light sky - pink clouds, orange horizon, fishing ships off shore, and some island beyond them. Lighthouses blinking in the far distance, barely visible. Venus appears, the chips get cold, and we head to the Inglewood, a lounge-y bar with an informal dress code.
Bars and clubs in Perth have very rigid standards of dress. J relates how he was refused entry wearing $300 Italian leather shoes, because they were white. Shorts, flip-flops sandals and vests are particularly frowned upon.
Over a couple of drinks I quiz M about her pregnancy. Five months in, first grandchild for her parents, second for J's. There's excitement in their eyes when they talk about it. We move on to Home & Away, AFL, rugby. M grows quiet - I'm not sure if it's spot or tiredness, but I take the hint in case it's the latter and drink up. They drop me back to the hostel, and we say goodnight.
Quick Internet check - email from P about Orwell party at the weekend. Get chatting to Dutch Martin in the dorm for a bit, and French Pierre. Suddenly the door opens and one of the wardens and two girls carry in a semi-conscious, extremely drunk blond Finnish girl. They lay her on the floor until she throws up - a heavy, black liquorice fluid. Her friends abandon her to us. She refuses to lie still, constantly shifting, lurching about the room before leaving, and returning in the company of two wardens and two girls. This will be a long night.
We stop for fish and chips, eat them at the beach while the gulls wait and watch, "vultures of the beach", as M calls them. Whiting is delicious. The colours of the sunset light sky - pink clouds, orange horizon, fishing ships off shore, and some island beyond them. Lighthouses blinking in the far distance, barely visible. Venus appears, the chips get cold, and we head to the Inglewood, a lounge-y bar with an informal dress code.
Bars and clubs in Perth have very rigid standards of dress. J relates how he was refused entry wearing $300 Italian leather shoes, because they were white. Shorts, flip-flops sandals and vests are particularly frowned upon.
Over a couple of drinks I quiz M about her pregnancy. Five months in, first grandchild for her parents, second for J's. There's excitement in their eyes when they talk about it. We move on to Home & Away, AFL, rugby. M grows quiet - I'm not sure if it's spot or tiredness, but I take the hint in case it's the latter and drink up. They drop me back to the hostel, and we say goodnight.
Quick Internet check - email from P about Orwell party at the weekend. Get chatting to Dutch Martin in the dorm for a bit, and French Pierre. Suddenly the door opens and one of the wardens and two girls carry in a semi-conscious, extremely drunk blond Finnish girl. They lay her on the floor until she throws up - a heavy, black liquorice fluid. Her friends abandon her to us. She refuses to lie still, constantly shifting, lurching about the room before leaving, and returning in the company of two wardens and two girls. This will be a long night.
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