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I thought I liked rough pubs! But this is a rough pub!
Fair enough. There was a purple rain cloud approaching, the drought had been biting hard, the bushfires had been outrageous. The pall of smoke across Victoria had been apocalyptic. So perhaps the boys got a bit carried away as the precious rain began to fall.
Let me try to paint the picture for you.
The front bar was heaving with very big men in very casual states of dress.
(My daughter's bf assures me they are very big men because they eat so much asparagus.)
Daughter and bf went into the bistro to have a parma and pot. (Chicken parmigiana and glass of beer. Called a pot in Victoria for a reason inscrutable to me.)
Because the menu was totally composed of what had once been a living creature - no asparagus at all! - I was standing in the front bar having a smoke, a glass of wine, looking out at the unforgettable sight of rain falling and giving the poor bastards on the fireground a break - WHEN - a very big guy fell in through the swinging door onto the floor.
Then two or three other big guys fell in on top of him.
Then a few other big men indiscriminately poured their beers on top of them.
Then a guy who was just wearing shorts opened his fly and started to p*ss on them.
Then another guy who was just wearing shorts pulled them down and started to crap on them.
I retired in ladylike confusion.
Which is marginally better than retiring stark mad in white satin.
The daughter's friend - this pub is her local - told me the game which is called Stacks On (as in stacks on the mill) is a popular game. It doesn't have to rain for them to play it.
She also told me you can do anything you like at this pub - except behave.
I noticed there were no security guards. We had been to a rough pub in Pakenham the night before and there were three security guards, one of whom was from Sicily.
It seems the owner of the pub in Koo Wee will occasionally say, as he is mopping down the bar with a damp rag - "Settle down, boys" - but that is it as far as crowd control goes.
Dress Code: My daughter always warns me not to be weird when she takes me to a pub.
I told her that I can guarantee I will never be weird at the Koo Wee Rup pub.
"Too chicken, eh?" she riposted.
I have found the pub that turns me into a gentle and refined being!
Written Oct 19, 2007