Mystery Pub: Marion Hotel
Mystery Pub was on Sunday afternoon, but it’s mostly been at the working week’s end. There are cultural and atmospheric contrasts between the timeslots with Friday about dusty boots and yelling men in orange set among menacing urgency.
However, Sunday’s often a day for family functions in the pub and we chat with a former colleague attending his niece’s farewell. She’s eighteen and going to Sydney to study dance.
Prior to this monthly excursion Claire and I made our annual investigation of the Brighton Sculptures. Along the esplanade is a row of wrought and welded stuff, made from glass, timber, and metals. We’re gently prodded by the creations, and each comes with a description penned by the artist. One read:
The artwork embodies an environmental consciousness, highlighting the interplay between human and more-than-human temporalities within the material world
I am concerned that this asks too much of corrugated iron.
Prior to this we visited the Glenelg air-raid shelter. As with many of these in Adelaide it’s situated by an oval. We learned that during WW2 the ovals were a mustering point. If required people would then have been bussed out of the city and on such dark trips was permitted only one type of sandwich: cheese or egg. It was instructively sombre.
Prior to that I watched San Francisco beat Green Bay in the NFL Divisional Playoffs. While I’m a Denver Broncos supporter I’ve affection for the 49ers as they were great when I was a kid. I recall the stentorian commentator Pat Summerall and his iconic, ‘Montana……Rice……touchdown.’
Prior to this I ran six kilometres to the Adelaide Sailing club and back. It’s hosting the World Regatta Championship, and I was disappointed to not spot bobbing on the briny the Caddyshack tub, Flying Wasp, or the yacht, Unsinkable 2.
***
Saturday evening was balmy, so we plonked our beanbags on the back lawn for The Ringer podcast on the iconic film, The Big Chill. Sprawling over 120 minutes it included astute dialogue on the opening scenes of Alex’s funeral and wake. This sequence, soundtracked by the Rolling Stones’ classic, ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ is my favourite song use in a movie.
Earlier we slipped into the cinema for The Holdovers, and I liked the protagonist’s line, ‘life’s like a hen-house ladder: shitty and short.’
Earlier still, one of the year’s smallgoods highlights was the annual running of the (time-honoured) Bung Fritz Cup at Gawler in the uproarious timeslot of 1.02pm. The numbers were: 1, 6, 2. But you probably knew this.
Yet even earlier around the Patawalonga I undertook my weekly parkrun (#51) and thought I did well although the official clock indicated a muddling amble.
***
The Marion Hotel’s heart is The Garden. It features a large tree, and we do like a beer garden built around a tree. There are a few pubs which claim this although I was dismayed that the Broady’s beloved frangipani tree was felled recently due to ill-health (of the tree, not the publican). These charming surrounds reminded me of Australian Crawl’s, ‘Beautiful People’ with its lyric, ‘the garden’s full of furniture, the house is full of plants.’
On a wall were two bedsheet-sized TV screens and surprisingly both were dark. In a pub when was the last time you saw this? However, undistinguished music was bleating rowdily, and I finally guessed it was Keith Urban’s Greatest Hit, on repeat.
In a Mystery Pub first, we had the dinner in The Garden with a veggie patch bowl for Claire and a beef schnitzel for me. Our flashing buzzer nagged us to collect our meals immediately and slightly aggrieved, I wondered if it was akin to self-checkout at a supermarket. Frowning, I vowed to next time put through lady finger bananas as loose carrots.
Furthermore, will future bartenders only be apparitions? Will our pub experience devolve into humming dispensers squirting one’s beverage like a dystopian bovine teat? Swipe your details and stick a cup under an unappetising nozzle?
Is this already a thing in Japanese train stations?
After a weekend of cultural immersion, we then raced home for Botched.
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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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Several highlights for me herein comrade.
I remain mystified by whatever it is about lady’s finger bananas that apparently makes them more appealing than their ordinary cousins. It always seems that some capricious soul in the supply chain has randomly thought it a good idea to paint on an otherwise normal banana what looks like an infected foreskin. Moreover, it’s far too late in life to admit this lack of understanding openly so, unless you have any definitive words of wisdom, I’ll probably just have to ask Jill discreetly one day.
Secondly, those ghastly buzzers that snarl the readiness of your dinner order at you are but one of many manifestations these days of how many people – particularly younger ones – have this inordinate fear of direct contact with other people. SMS’s have their place I suppose but many young ones think of them as a total replacement for telephone conversations. A friend recruiting for call centre operators for a large business he manages told me recently that young candidates for the advertised positions become petrified once they learn it involves actually talking with incoming customer calls on telephones.
Finally, with respect to your Japanese reference, one exception I’ll make to my above dislike of indirect communication is my favourite Japanese restaurant in Geelong. You order your food and drinks on a monitor at your table and they are delivered by little trains on specially constructed tracks around the restaurant. Your monitor then keeps you appraised of the status of your current order, when your next delivery is being dispatched, the remainder of the menu should you need to order more food/grog and forthcoming highlights of any of the restaurant’s special plans. It all appeals to the little boy in me!
Hope you and yours are well mate. Give me a yell when you plan on coming over here next.
RDL
Thanks RDL.
I take your point regarding Lady Fingers (curious etymology there I’m sure). Yes, the daub of bright red would scare off most animals!
Phones and texting and folks. We’ve never been better connected or rather we’ve never been able to be better connected, and often, as was always the case, we’re not.
There’s something most curious and compelling about Japanese restaurants and the petite trains. Again, further investigation to learn why’s required. People who’ve visited Tokyo tell me that despite it being the world’s biggest city that there’s a sense of calm and peaceableness about how the enormous population moves about its business.
Ripper Roger.
Asking too much of corrugated iron – classic!!!
Thanks Dips. Appreciate this!
Some excellent observations once again, Mickey.
And you guys sure do seem to pack a lot into a weekend!
Thanks Smokie. Yes, we had a busy agenda! The Canadian rock group Loverboy suggested with some insight on their song, ‘Working for the Weekend.’ Not the worst tune of 1981.