Claypots, St Kilda: great fish and oddities

The rough hewn wooden bar with animatronic cat and dangling rubber man, French music, greasy spiced nuts, promise of $5 seafood paella and Sunday swap shops (with oysters) transported him somewhere far away – a nebulous place somewhere near the Mediterranean, perhaps.

Read Full Post »

Winter comes early to St Kilda

In the toilets of almost every bar they visited throughout the night, there was a cacophony of sniffs and snorts. Some people were suffering so badly they had to lock themselves into cubicles to attend to their runny noses. A handful of girls were so desperate to find the nearest piece of tissue paper that they were forced to use the men’s toilets; in a handful of cases they even had to take their friends with them to make sure they were OK: Bruce was always relieved when they came out laughing.

Read Full Post »

Spunt… not Spunk…

Sat outside under the heaters, they were joined by expat chess players, an old couple dancing to the covers of some crooner called Cid, and a girl talking about how she “really liked her bum, but sometimes didn’t like her skin”

Read Full Post »