Category Archives: drinking

Controlling the covid by keeping everyone at home has meant housing for the homeless is happening at last. Some, however, feel more at home back out on the street.

Parked Up, Off Street.

Call me one crazy cat
Or crazy as a shit-house rat,
Or a footloose lush and loser.

I’m a surly solitary soul,
An unsociable drunk, on the whole,
Happy alone, I don’t think.

Back outside here I’m sat,
Back in my natural habitat,
Tipplin’ back ‘nother Vodka Cruiser.*

Life keeps taking a spiritual toll
So I keep filling the empty hole
With every drop I can drink.

 

*Cheap and nasty Kiwi alcopop.

 

©Obbverse

How being a two-faced cocksure two-timing bastard can come back to bite you in the assets. Yep, there is a moral to this common story, it’s deep in the fine print.

Girl With A Problem.

There I sat, silently sipping in a darkened corner booth
Drinking in the boastings of the Big Man loudly holding court-
Into every bucket-full of bull-spit he’d toss in one grain of truth,
Oh, how I wished he would cut his overlong stories short.

Lewd tales of eyes meeting across a crowded bar-room,
Of another conquest in another cheap motel room tryst,
That heady mix of sweat, cheap wine and cheaper perfume-
All to tap another false first name on his ever-growing list.

How he craves to be his Locals centaur of attention,
Soaking in the adulation while his cronies toast to his excess,
His sweet wife innocently sat at home alone, she he doesn’t mention!
The times he’s deceived her would take him an eternity to confess!

He has those blue eyes and blond locks all the ladies like,
A bit of the bad boy’s readily displayed in his eyes, and pants,
His antenna’s always up for whenever any opportunity might strike,
He’s not the kind of nice guy to pass up a passing glance.

All the young dudes look up admiringly at their heroic stud
As the leopard-skin skirted cougar offers him her cocked eyebrow,
That lascivious look, that sultry smile guarantees that rush of blood,
They leave, his excitement as contained as skin-tight Levis allow…

…Dawn, and heavily hungover even as the day grows lighter
He clambers from the King-Size as his queen snoringly slumbers,
First, he sends a text to his wife truly saying he’s pulling an all-nighter,
Second, a tote up on his notebook proves he’s piling up the numbers.

Another night of cut and thrust has run its course
So he slides out the door, slips on his wedding band,
Returning to find his wife welcoming him home with a divorce
And a trusted friend there, offering her his guiding hand.

Didn’t you know she knew how little you thought of her?
Did you never stop and think, before swinging into action
That her fine up-standing friend and loyal family lawyer-come-lover
Found your affairs afforded us both relief and mutual satisfaction?

My free advice, should you be indiscrete
Is to keep your affairs quietly hushed up,
You’ll find it doesn’t come cheap when you cheat
If her lawyer didn’t disclose you signed a pre-nup.

©Obbverse

Every time I think I’ve met the perfect woman some tiny little flaw seems to ruin my hopes of bliss. I can’t imagine why.

Everybody’s Best Bud.

After being rudely ejected from the Nags Head
I wandered up to the Star’s bar and woozily said
‘Barkeep, I’d like a shot of Johnny Walker Black-
Better bring the bottle, save you coming back.’

‘Hey, I’ll sip here quietly, leant against the wall,
Hey, you won’t even know I’m here till last call,
Good old Johnny is company enough for me,
He’s all I’ll need to help erase her memory.’

She wanted the ‘security’ marriage brings,
My freedom in exchange for two cheap rings,
My fancy-free days have come at quite a cost,
She showed me her door, told me to get lost.

Could she dump me so easily out of her apartment?
Forgetting the week I once chipped in with the rent?
The time I selflessly cleaned out the beer refrigerator?
So now she says I’m a drunken loser and see ya later?

She heaved me out, left me with no place to go,
Barkeep, I hardly had a chance to grab a momento,
I took her cookie jar, to remind me of the good times,
I swear it’s mine it’s chock-full of hard-sworn dimes.

Finally everyone but the barkeep and I had moved on,
The time was nigh, even my friend John had gone,
Then for the second time today I was shown the door-
Barkeep, ain’t no hospitality in your business anymore.

Twice this day this bum’s been kicked to the street,
This time by a size fourteen foot direct to my seat,
I tumbled to the pavement, my head began to spin
Staggered he could toss me out in the state I was in.

Another one to add to the list of ‘you’re barred’ bars
It felt fitting to lay there, alone, looking up at the stars
As mien host locked up and pulled down the shutters;
Yet another night, sleeping tight in the Gorbals gutters.

(The Gorbals is  a less-than-salubrious part of peaceful bonny Glasgow town.)

 

©Obbverse

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