G’day. Tie me kangaroo down sport. Throw another shrimp on the barbie ya old cobber, etc… It’s time to throw on some ridiculous (and inaccurate) hats, drink pish beer and celebrate Australia day at the Cathouse.
This night only served to confirm that my memory is shot to pieces.
Not a good omen for upcoming degree exams probably.
This is a nice lassie. She bought me two drinks, and probably contributed to the destruction of my facilities of recall.
Working on a Thursday when you’re used to a Friday or Saturday really screws with your perception of the weekend.
I wish I could remember this girl’s name.
This guy looks like he really did just stroll in from the outback.
The wide angle lens makes the guy on the left look like a miniature person.
Sorry about that.
Got to love a bit of shoulder on display.
Ricky’s always a hit with the ladies.
I hadn’t really felt up to working this night after the emotional fracas of the past week, but I’m glad I did.
There’s a lot of talk about ‘community’ and what it means to be part of one. Something about the Cathouse has let it become an impressive (albeit dysfunctional) family. No matter what happens one day, it’s forgotten the next; as if it never happened. People you might fall out or have disagreements with never seem to hold a grudge, and it continually amazes me to be part of it all.
Here’s to communities in unexpected places.
