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Location: New South Wales, Australia

Born in Yorkshire, raised in Australia. I love Poetry, Guitar (especially Spanish classical & Delta Blues), Tudor, Jacobean and Stuart England, Archaeology & good Ale. I edit The Flea http://www.the-flea.com & The Chimaera (with Peter Bloxsom) http://www.the-chimaera.com, and Shit Creek Review http://www.shitcreekreview.com

Saturday, September 16, 2006

The George in the '60s




A Black Maria is usually lurking. The drinkers spill onto the footpath after "Time, Gents, please!" to sign up for a promising party. To the nearby chipshop first for chips, potato scallops, pickled onions? The evening's flirtations across the bar are pushed a stage further. Who will go to whose party with whom? Which party is she/he going to? Whose car? Yippee beans in a matchbox?

Some are too drunk to play their hands effectively; they stagger, blithering or drooling; they sway, singing or spouting nonsense. Some of these end up in the Black Maria. No party? The Folk Attic? Surf City? King's Cross? The Piccolo? A walk to Paddington? A bus or train home?

Thanks to Beatnik Casbah for the scratchboard image.

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