I think Ol’ Barnes had tossed back a few too many Bundies some years ago when I was staying at one of the hotel-motels in St George, SW Qld.
I had walked into the bar to pay for a night’s accommodation while travelling from out Cameron Corner way to the Sunshine Coast. Ol’ Barnes & his mates were checking out the blonde curls that bedeck my head. They were were greeting me with the cat-calls they usually reserve for members of the fair sex who don’t look like the heifers that normally throw back beers in outback bars after wrestling rogue bulls all week.
Encouraged by a bellyful of booze and bad manners, along with the yahoos from his mates, Ol’ Barnes decided to practise some of his ripper chat-up lines. Being a privileged private school lass, I duly ignored his slobbering advances. Undeterred by my brush off, he proceeded to de-nude himself of his shirt to impress me with his enormous beer-gut.
Without according him with any eye contact whatsoever, I turned on my heel and walked out. The hotel manager, however, obviously practised in the art of ignoring Friday Nite Shenanigans, was also pretending that he didn’t see a respected member of the Senate of the Federal Government of Australia, and now Deputy Prime Minister, making a total ass of himself.
Seems Ol’ Mate has somewhat fallen from grace since the good ol’ days of the skanky St George Friday Nite floor show scene by mouthing off at hard-working bar staff on the Sunshine Coast. Yep! That’s right. Upset with the foul-tasting imported rum in his coke, poor Ol’ Barnes was suffering from fair dinkum Bundy withdrawal. Of course! Told you so. (c) copyright Gerowyn Hanson)