Category Archives: drinking

With this nasty toxic brew doin’ the rounds its time to sit and reflect on tried and tested ways to help us forget our worries. C’mon, cheers up!

Always A Good Year.

In winters chill
I tend the still.

Come spring time
Dandelion wine’s truly sublime.

In summers heat
Aaaaaaaah, my home-brewed treat.

First autumnal gale?
Scrumpy, by the pail.

(For the uninitiated/uninebriated Scrumpy is a kind of a cider. With a kick.)

©Obbverse

Another Wild West-like shooting in sweet sober and genteel Milwaukee. We must all be getting numb to all this because it barely raises an echo on the airwaves these days. And isn’t that sad?

A Case Of Making Lite,

Down at the Ol’ Molson brewery
Somebody got pissed and agitated,
First, drunkeness in the first degree,
Now a killer hangover, and terminated.

Soon he turned to drinking,
Tossing back the beers,
Sitting alone, spirits sinking,
Dark eyes drip with hoppy tears.

Since they repealed Prohibition
It’s his legal and constitutional Right,
His amended defended Rightful position-
Barkeep, you’re bound to serve him till he’s tight.

We’re free to get totally trashed
In a pub, a private club, like, say the NRA?
But expect to get completely smashed
If you try to take their licences away.

When it comes to being a defendant
Of all the rights that keep us free
The importantest is our Second Amendment
Says the NRA to its blind unblinking army.

How much Dutch courage does it take
To spur a mad man into action?
To drunkenly lash out and make
A tragedy out at his dissatisfaction?

When a mans mind is corroded
With a case of the devils brew,
If the ol’ circuits get overloaded,
May he not pop off a shot or two?

No, we no longer roam the range,
We don’t- usually- shoot up the saloon,
But if’n the ol’ NRAs position don’t ever change
We’re gunna keep playing that ol’ funereal tune.

Why not  pick up that six-pack?
 Forget about work, and going back…

It’s all too easy to wipe the foam
Away from a well inebriated lip,
And return to work, and not go home,
Packing a loaded pistol on your hip.

 

©Obbverse

What’s happening to the Lucky Country? Bushfires, shark attacks, oil and water drying up- and now this. Holden bites the dust. Crikey!

With A Whimper.

It all started up down at Fishermens Bend
We had a Genuine partnership, my Special friend,
Aw jeez, now yer dumping me, it’s journeys end?
Just like a busted wheel my heart cain’t mend.

Don’t ya remember when days were golden,
Back then when we were flush, the money rolled in?
We ran the hottest flamin’ dealership for Holden,
Now its been a cold day since a punter strolled in.

It was just a day after Valentine’s Day
I read my ‘Dear John’ letter with dismay,
My true love was packin’ up, goin’ away?
What a grievously monstrous thing to say.

My fingers slackened, as did my jaw,
The letter fluttered to the workshop floor,
Fair dinkum, my darlin’s duckin’ out the door?
I reached for some comfort, bottom drawer.

I took a drink, drank deep and long-
When the spirit’s weak, make it strong,
I wondered maudlinly ‘what went wrong?’
Then stumbled out to dribble by the billabong.

Nah, no more will the limping  roaring lion roam,
Flashing down the streets with teeth of chrome,
General Motors lit up them tyres, they’re flying home,
No last slow dignified ride back in the black Brougham.

Cobber, mate, I’m not watcha call a sensitive dude,
My oath, I’ve been called rude and f- far worse, crude,
But this  I can say with a high degree of verisimilitude
Unlike his bottle this guy’s gettin’ well and truly screwed.

 

Ps: For what its worth, minor inspiration  ‘Heart Like A Wheel’ Kate and Anna McGarigle and ‘The Newcastle Song’ Bob Hudson.

 

©Obbverse

Who does not like to see things being re-purposed, recycled, or reclaimed? Sometimes though, after the shabby-chic treatment don’t you just feel re-used?

Up Cycled.

We’ve recently taken a pedal into an old part of town,
It’s long been tagged as unsavoury and well run down,
But now it’s been all tarted-up, prettified and gentrified,
It’s been well flipped so as to show its bright not dark side.

For ever it’s been dumped on the wrong side of the tracks,
Here, even bad-as Hells Angels warily watch their backs,
The river runs high with rancid sludge and a ranker smell,
Even before the bikies ran out this ‘hood had gone to Hell.

But now the Victorian ruins have been lavishly restored,
The brick-work water-blasted, all rotten flaws refloored,
Now the developers can look at their enterprise with pride,
Cashed-up customers come a’flocking in from far and wide.

They’ve re-roofed the three-sheets-to-the-wind rusted roof,
The trusty developers reassure the tenants all is water-proof,
They’ve made a cash cow by scouring out the old Tannery site,
The lucky tenant’s leases are iron-clad and screwed down tight.

So, we dismounted our mountain bikes and strolled around,
What a fine array of whimsically priced fripperies we found,
A Tea Room charmingly infused with every blend of Specialtea
With organic free-range scones totally gluten and taste free!

Here, a hipster’s barber, complete with cravat, fedora and cheap cigar-
There, a ladies retreat, all sweet lotions, micellar waters, a stone cold spa-
Everywhere, wild-flowers, scented candles, potpourri perfumigate the air
Upstairs, a purveyor of pre-owned books, each volume precious and rare.

Behind the polished glass, hidden by glossy Grisham’s and Attwood’s
Lurking deep in shadow and dusty hibernation I spied the real goods,
What price the grubby Greene, what cost that long lost Crusoe?
I’d love to recover poor old Robinson but there’s only so far I dare go.

I admit I lingered longingly at the Lady Chatterley chastely tucked away
High above the wall of Da Vinci Browns and unmoving Shades of Grey,
We ended with a stroll down memory lane, perusing the Antique Shoppe,
To count the cost of junk wed’e once tossed away- I felt my heart might stop.

We’re not the demographic here,we don’t rashly rush in, buy and large
But we lined up at a ‘cantina’ and after coughing up the cover charge,
We laughed off our al fresco ale, our cracker topped with a sprig of rocket
Then pedalled off with hollow smiles, heavy hearts and a lighter pocket.

The year and I stagger towards our denouement. How many new year resolutions from last year did I break this year? At least my sweet wife Lorena will cut me a break?

Getting Caught Short.

Once more this year good cheer abounds,
I’ve packed up the presents, and on the pounds.

Oh, but tonight I’ve had a ball.

I’m over my limit- as far as my card can be charged,
My poor kidneys can’t cope and my livers enlarged.

I’ve tapped out, up against the wall.

I’ve put on half a stone, to the fine fluid ounce,
Tomorrow I hope it’s only my belly that’ll bounce.

I stumble home, in a crumpled heap I fall.

Over my comatose form wife Lorena holds me in low regard,
Reaches into my Levis to remove my precious Amex card.

Stirring uneasily, I hope that’s all.

 

©Obbverse

Isn’t Christmas great? I love the tradition, the gathering together of close family, the joyous imbibing. the gross consumption at the groaning table. Ah, good times.

Feastive Season, Festive Air.

That’s another Christmas meal complete,
Once again I’ve had far too much to eat,
Now here I sit, heavily settling in my seat,
Next, the dessert round, but first, the prickly heat.

I swore this year to avoid Ma’s tasty treat
But World Peace demands I keep her sweet,
And as the belt on my pants buckles in defeat-
Same ol’ story as last year, I’m bound to repeat.

 

©Obbverse

Holiday times. Ah, let’s let the hair down, escape to the country, see the wildlife, the fish and the fowl. Even time for the hair of the dog if you’re feeling a bit on the seedy side.

A Nest Of One’s Own.

We had all grown weary of the madding crowd,
Of the Apples pings, the Samsungs same old song,
The constant city clamouring had grown too loud,
We knew we’d been cooped up here far too long.

So we sought out a quiet country retreat,
Time, time to leave the big brash city behind,
To just chill, to swill a Sauvignon sooo sweet,
One to wash the city’s cares from one’s mind.

At the Te Kopura lodge we quietly took in the scenery,
The birds and the bees, the boat shed, the duck pond,
A haven of sweet silence, an oasis of lush greenery,
Glass in hand, down to the tinkling waters we swanned.

What dark apparition we found we had stirred
Up in the quiet backwaters of the Wairarapa?
This was one mightily ruffled honking big bird,
A black swan that thinks it’s a bloody snapper.

I blame that hissy pissed-off overly-territorial swan
For my spilling my fave Sav, sadly reducing me to Shiraz,
That swan done put me sat down plumb on my sit-upon
As I hastily backed away to land heavily on- the grass.

Still, at suppertime as I pecked at the chicken roast
I felt the need to stand, to raise my elbow from the bar,
And to the fine company gathered I offered up my toast;
‘To fine wine, fine food, to scrambled eggs and foie gras.’

 

©Obbverse