Pub Review: Five Cups in Fremantle

To visit Fremantle is to understand that this earth is essentially good and bright and joyous. I’ve had a remarkable afternoon.

 

I guess it’s an emblem of country-boy faith that not for the first time, hotel concierge staff consider it appropriate to swear at me, in cheerful, inoffensive and welcoming ways. Perhaps I’ve an inviting face, for when I ask about public transport, the smiley front-desk person said, “Don’t use a travel card, for they’re shit.” Oh.

 

I spoke. “Where’s the city station?”

 

The well-groomed, nicely-vowelled girl then replied,” Oh, you’ll know it’s Perth station because there’ll be people pissing out of it.”

 

I blinked. “Thanks.”

 

On this Sunday the sun splashed on my face all afternoon. It had the redemptive power of Mykonos or Napoli. I asked some locals if it was extraordinary and most nodded in a dismissive way. I imagine this is typical in Fremantle.

 

On the train down, I glance up at the network and note the Mandurah line stops at Murdoch and then Bull Creek. I suspect, given the deplorable mass media of this country that this is ironic. The sun is wholly magical, for a July day. So, I went to five pubs.

 

Surprising, I know.

 

National Hotel – it’s bustling, and a fierce footy locale when I stroll in to Sandy Roberts chirping about North and the Gold Coast Suns, who I am told, are an AFL team. I ask for a Panhead Extra Pale Ale from NZ. It’s satisfactory, and I’ve got down here on a train trip for only $4.80. As I walk up to the balcony bar there’s a 2013 Grand Final Freo jumper and rock concert posters such as Hendrix, Woodstock, and of course, the iconic, ground-breaking Leo Sayer. The red brick, the exposed brick, is lovely. As the Roos v Suns progress a Harley eases past the open doors. I talk with an old mate, who’s a Dockers bloke. He’s unmoved by the deplorable state of Tassie footy. Exiting, I see Monday’s industry night with an Old Skool arcade machine that I trust is Frogger.

 

Sail and Anchor – I remember our old friend Shelly urging us to look up! Look Up! And there’s a beautiful pressed tin ceiling. The air is high and effervescent, with a blue light. I order a Nail Brewing Pilsner but it’s circumspect; stand-offish; spikally brash beyond what a modest chap might ask of a pilsner. If a pilsner won’t behave, then where do we actually stand, in 2018? For the most isolated city on our tiny planet, there’s people everywhere, all in rude health; their kids behaving; nostalgic music a comfy bed as all attack the schnitzel and chips with a rare gusto. I then remember that it’s mid-winter but observe every second bugger is slopping about in thongs. Gee, I love this place.

 

Ball and Chains– Immediately, I mistrust this boozer. There’s an artifice and confection that’s worrying. I nervously order a Minimum Chips lager, and then order, as an incestuous accompaniment, a minimum chips. There’s a pensive mood about it all. I gulp my beer, so I can leave. However, the sunlight here is ridiculous. Big blokes wolf Emu Export. I avoid eye contact. I sit at a big timber outdoor table on the impossibly fetching esplanade. A Morton Bay Fig is among the Norfolk Island Pines. I’m drenched in sun, and instantly drunk on light. But, I scarper.

 

Bathers Beach is right on the beach and beyond ridiculous. I’m with a Cheeky Monkey Pale Ale, on a sun lounger right on the sand, by a post with the waves crashing and the sun washing over me in a deeply medicinal way. A gull yarps while flapping above my head. By me are two English girls who surely can’t comprehend their enormous luck. It doesn’t matter, but the beer is pure muck; a modern nonsense that is profoundly difficult to love, even by a leviathan such as Sir Les or Thommo. However, I’ve rarely spent a better fifteen minutes, in the heart of winter, anywhere, including Luton, despite the toxic lager.

 

Little Creatures Brewing: Interrogating the bar-keep as the hugely wonderous sun rolls in, I ask about the Session Ale. I repair to the balcony and watch the boats wade in. The beer is affectionate but lacks the warmth of the Coopers equivalent. A seagull drifts across my vision. The water looks warm enough that I could swim. How could this be? Perth is more Mediterranean than Mykonos or Capri.

 

I’ve had an afternoon of astonishment and glee. It’s been a Beatles album; a Hyde Park concert; an opening wicket from your first-born on a crisp morning as the sun stretches across your face.

 

How can I not have been to Fremantle until now?

 

 

About Mickey Randall

Late afternoon beer, Exile on Main St playing. Sport like cricket, most types of football, golf, squash, horse racing. Travel, with Vancouver my favourite city, but there’s nowhere I’ve not happily been. Except Luton. Reading. Writing about family, sport, music, the stuff that amuses me. Conversation. Wit. Irony. McLaren Vale cabernet sauvignon, Barossa shiraz, Coopers Sparkling Ale. Jazz and especially Miles Davis. Lots and lots of music. I live in Adelaide with my wife Kerry-ann and our boys Alex and Max.

Comments

  1. It sure is a tough life, Mickey.

  2. Smokie- as a Perth virgin (there’s a phrase for you) with one day for exploring the advice was singular: get down to Freo, but I would loved to have gone to the Eagles and Giants match at the new stadium.

    The conference’s opening keynote address was given by the celebrated writer Kim Scott who recounted how he was recently asked to provide some text for the new stadium. The poem Kaya interweaves eleven verses of Noongar prose with six stanzas of English into the the actual structures of the ground. Next time.

  3. Luke Reynolds says:

    That’s a great afternoon Mickey.
    Hoping to lose my Perth virginity soon. I’ll keep these reviews in mind.

  4. Mickey – glad the Avenging Eagle and I could lift the standard of libations and company for you last night. Fremantle is for ferals.
    Luke – and any other knackers venturing west. Happy to share an ale or a coffee or a feed any time. I hear that Dave Brown escaped recently without having the wonders of the Eagles thoroughly explained to him. Email me at pbme94@gmail.com if you are heading this way.

  5. Mark 'Swish' Schwerdt says:

    No wonder you weren’t replying PB – I’ve been emailing your old account crankyoldpr*ck@bobbygibson.com

  6. Peter_B says:

    Swish – how did Bobby Gibson not make Phil’s list of famous #5’s? I’m ditching the Yahoo account after you rejected the last 3 Russian brides that it spammed you.

  7. Rulebook says:

    Mickey love how you always take us along for the ride have fun

  8. Thanks again for your hospitality PB and AE. And for your help too Swish. Cheers ‘Book.

    Looking forward to the Crows and Cats tonight and hoping that the locals can make it three in a row against Geelong for the first time since I considered buying a Video Ezy franchise.

  9. Dave Brown says:

    Yeah, sorry I wasn’t in Perth for longer PB & Mickey. Got in from the airport just in time to watch darkness descend upon the Swan River from the Regency Club of the Hyatt while a metronomic Japanese waiter topped up my glass of (South Australian) bubbles. Then straight to work the next day and back on the plane before I’d had much more than a whiff of that amazing sunlight and 21 degrees in the deep midwinter. Would love to spend a bit more time there – good to know there are better bits than the thoroughly uninspiring ride from the airport to the CBD.

  10. I am also yet to pop my cherry in Perth, Mickey.

    Sounds like you made the most of your day.

Leave a Comment

*