Almanac Pubs: Beachside Mystery Pub bans thongs!
A waterfall of noise is tumbling off the balcony of The Colley.
From the footpath I cannot see our booked spot, but the sonic assault means it’s already unappealing despite the promised view across Moseley Square and the twinkling ocean.
Claire and I are here to talk over a couple beers with dear old friends, Bazz and Annie, Paul and Ali, and Mozz and Kath.
During the previous month I made multiple calls to The Colley to reserve and confirm our balcony booking. Mystery Pub demands administrative effort especially as tonight we’ve special guests. An email was promised by the pub on each occasion.
Nothing bothered my expectant inbox.
Racing towards the Colley’s stairs (you know what I mean) we’re stopped by the authoritative hand of a bouncer. Black trousers, straining shirt and ancient Nikes block our path. ‘There’s no thongs in here, sorry.’
No thongs in a beachside pub?
It’s like making a po-faced demand that all who come to your Sunday BBQ wear a collar and tie.
No mention of this during any of my careful phone calls or those sweetly literate and informative emails that the pub never feckin’ sent.
Just a short time ago, the Colley had a different name, and the front bar gleefully threw open its doors around dawn, welcoming in all every ratty type for whom thongs were aspirational wedding attire. There wasn’t even a ‘No shoes, no service’ sign.
We’ve promoted our gathering as Mystery Pub and suddenly for Claire and me it is too. I panic: where will we go? The Moseley? Rush around to the Broady? Surely not the Watermark!
On the Mystery Pub satisfaction scale the Colley scores 3/100.
Like a trusty old B grade footballer, the Grand could be the last chance saloon. We stride down there past Mama Carmela’s (serving Italian cuisine since 1974). Security waves us in, the (evidently) unspeakable horror of our menacing thongs (used by FBI profilers as a key indicator of future trouble) in full sight.
It’s quiet (sort of), so we claim a table by a front window. Outside, the pines are buffeted by the stiff wind. Yes, it’s much better here than on the (moronically pretentious) pub balcony back up the street.
Paul and Ali are back from Abu Dhabi, and we hear of their plans. For them, too, they’re racing towards retirement. How did this happen? Minutes ago, it was the New Year’s Eve of 1994, and they were getting married on a hot afternoon in Kimba.
Mozz and Kath are here from Pinnaroo, having driven up for the night. On Sunday Mozz reaches a landmark (pension) birthday. This prompts much discussion about their intentions. As always, what do these things also mean for us?
Annie and Bazz now live in Moonta Bay with their dog, Reggie, and some (non-laying) chooks. We’re all here for a Christmas drink (not the chooks). Bazz, Annie, Ali, Kath, and Claire gather around the table and chat away. Our group variously enjoys Pirate Life, sparkling white and shiraz among other refreshments.
Mozz, Paul and I are on our feet by the windows. I like to stand in the pub. It seems more conducive to conversation. We discuss superannuation, work, and our offspring before moving to travel.
‘How’d you find Geelong?’ I ask Mozz.
‘A bit subdued. Pubs were quiet.’
I offer, ‘I liked the yacht club but didn’t see much else. The waterfront looked good.’
Our discussion travels to Melbourne. ‘Jed’s a big North Melbourne fan so last visit we went to Arden Street,’ Paul suggests. ‘Walked straight in off the street. Sensational.’
‘Footy’s everywhere there. I love it.’ I note of the Victorian capital.
After an hour we’re done. We’re all heading around home so on the way, pizza’s collected.
There’s nothing quite like the enveloping comfort of old friends. Moving through our decades and across the country and planet, we’ve maintained connections. Our veranda chat’s funny and familiar and warmhearted.
Mystery Pub #50 has been an (ultimate) success.
More from Mickey can be read Here.
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About Mickey Randall
Now whip it into shape/ Shape it up, get straight/ Go forward, move ahead/ Try to detect it, it's not too late/ To whip it, whip it good
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Another good read Mickey.
Just as well you didn’t push the issue of the ‘no thongs’ policy at The Colley.
The Advertiser website has footage of a few of their “Black trousers, straining shirt and ancient Nikes” brigade punching on with some “disorderly” patrons on the street last Friday evening.
At least one of the combatants is wearing thongs.
Although the bloke lying unconscious in the street looks to be wearing shoes.
Your 3/100 seems justified, even generous.
Gee, haven’t times changed Mickey! I remember walking into coastal bars in late 60s early 70s with only togs or boardies on! Occasionally I wore thongs but more often than not, bare feet – straight from the beach. I have a feeling many of those establishments probably now have a similar policy to The Colley. As the Kinks ask, ‘Where Have All The Good Times Gone’. Too many spoilt sports around these days!
Mickey, your musings on thongs had me thinking about the last time I was in Byron Bay.
I am far from being a prude, but I must admit that I was appalled and disgusted by the number of punters in supermarkets and shops etc who had on no footwear whatsoever. For God’s sake, I thought, at least put on a pair of thongs!
Re Glenelg: I stayed there last April during Gather Round. Especially after dark, the pubs – notably the Colley Hotel – had a very ‘low-rent’ feel. Laughable that they did not permit thongs!!
Thanks for reading and commenting, Greg, Col, and Smokie.
Thongs. There are multiple posts possible on this alone. Could somebody please write ‘Thongs and Contemporary Etiquette: A Guide?’
I have long advocated that if someone goes out in public in ugg boots or slippers, then this is a clear sign they’ve given up. Until, of course, I accidently popped out to the servo wearing my less than dashing ugg boot/ slipper hybrids one Tuesday evening. The shame remains.
A pleasing footnote is I emailed the pub recounting what had happened. As it’s under new management I thought they might like some feedback. The manager rang yesterday and suggested they’d incorporated some of my suggestions. They are running with a no thongs policy on Fridays and Saturdays to hopefully ‘elevate’ the tone. Sundays remain exempt. A decent voucher awaits Claire and I to spend in the pub at our leisure.
Thanks again.
All is well that ends well!
Thanks Daryl. It’s brutal out there. Who knew that going to the pub could be so fraught?
Reminds me of my own thong wearing problem. After waiting many years for my SACA membership to come through, it finally did while I was living in Alice Springs in late 1980s! Came down at Christmas, thought I would go to the SA v Vic Shield match to get some value for money. Total crowd in whole place below 1,000. Got refused at the gate to the Members by some ancient, told him they were my best Sunday thongs and I had come from Alice for my one day of cricket…no dice.
Sat next door in the George Giffen Stand ( I think ) all day and watched as several groups of eastern suburbs, private school boys in thongs waltzed through, waved on by His Majesty. Very unhappy and wrote snarky letter when failing to renew my membership. Double standard much?
A tad bizarre re no thongs is being kind- it’s like Burnside Pool playground is closed over summer as it gets 2 hot surely it should be use at your own peril and put some shade cloth over the top sadly basic common sense is not common now days
Bucko- I used to love that SA v Vic game just before Christmas, when there was traditional Sheild fixturing. Did you get a reply to your letter to the SACA?
Rulebook- yep! I hear you.
Mickey, no reply ever received, they probably had no idea where Alice Springs was. “Can’t be a Post Office there, surely old boy?”
Have been patronising Mama Carmela’s for a while now too, very nice.
Great read Mickey. Love the maintaining connections. And maintaining thongs.
Mama Carmela’s not the best pizza I’ve had but the best service, ambiance and location, Bucko. Always worthy.
Thanks Luke. Connections and thongs. That’s summer!