Episode 3: Meat Pies, Sausage Rolls and Better.

I stared at my watch, trying to concentrate, trying to remember how to tell the fucking time. Was it really half past one? We'd left our previous destination at a quarter to, I was sure of that. This meant that it had taken us in excess of half an hour to cross a bridge which would have been no longer than three hundred meters in length, I would imagine. What had happened to the time? It had been stolen from us. I tried to affiliate with Patrick about this strange and rather frightening phenomenon but he was busy producing identification for the bouncers at the door of the pub. We all got in without any hassle. It's always a nervous experience trying to get into a pub, trying to pull the wool over the bouncer's eyes. I've always found that if you speak calmly yet loud enough about for the bouncers to hear you about some dull political debate or how Australian Rugby is of such high quality because there are so many Tongans playing in it, the bouncers generally had no problem letting you in.

The downstairs area simply consisted of a large round-the-house bar surrounded by bar stools. We didn't want to be there. The part of the hotel we wanted to be in was upstairs where the pool tables were. Getting up the stairs proved to be a slight problem, however. As we walked up, a barmaid passed us with a huge tray full of party pies and mini sausage rolls. When we asked if we could have one each an almost insulted reply of "no" emerged from the barmaid. Patrick's retaliation was spontaneous. He grabbed hold of the barmaid with one hand and threw her down the stairs. He had the foresight, however, to hold onto the tray full of munchies so that when she went flying the tray didn't have the misfortune of going with her. There was what seemed like endless thumps combined with cracking noises which were, I'm sure now, her fragile skeleton being destroyed as she went crashing down the spiral staircase. Her body layed lifeless and there was a sceond of silence. "But I'm hungry" Patick calmly argued. The tray was soon empty.

Again I didn't feel like playing pool so I sat in a dark corner with Mick and dribbled shit. Mick was an interesting character. He was one of the few people who could could just talk and talk and talk about bullshit without drugs. Granted he was constantly drunk but I couldn't help but suspect that he dumped the odd upper without anyone knowing. Surely no-one can talk this much about nothing. He'd make an excellent arts student I thought to myself as he sat there and tried to explain to me how one infinity can be bigger than another infinity. I wondered what would happen to the poor bastard if he did decide to indulge in any such substance. Such an intense character being made artificially more intense? The mongrel would probably talk so much about deep and meaningful bullshit that he'd burst an artery in his brain and his head would explode right here in the Pymont Bridge Hotel. It would give a whole new meaning to "off your head". I thought it would be best if he stuck to just drinking ridiculous amounts of beer. Different strokes for different folks, I thought.

I, on the other hand, was different. I liked to feel on edge in an exaggerated way. I was usually a very calm person and I figured I had to compensate for that in some manner of fiendishness. Pills on the odd Friday or Saturday night was The Answer. I had a teacher who had once told me that you can substitute every feeling that any drug can give you with something that's avaliable in life itself. Relaxation: tai-chi. Adventure: white water rafting. I wondered who actually lived by those kinds of standards. If tai-chi or white water rafting was something you could do at the local pub on a Friday or Saturday night, then perhaps yes. Otherwise, those kinds of sensible ideals would have to be saved for my later years, when my body can't handle drugs any more. "Do you know what I mean?", Mick inquired. I nodded even though I had no idea what he was talking about. I was too deep in thought to give a toss what anyone was saying to me. At that point Eddie McGuire could have approached me and told me that I'd one a million dollars without even having to go on the show and I still would have just nodded and smiled. I would have asked why later and the explaination would have been something like, "it was the series special. We just chose someone randomly from the phone book and you were it. Congraaaaaatulationsss!".

I've always wondered if I'd like to win a million dollars. Most people would suggest that it's a foolish thing to wonder about. The fact of the matter is, most people who win risable amounts of money like that spend it within a year or two and they're left more miserable than when they didn't have the cash in the first place. Happiness comes in anticipation of something generally. People are more happy in spring because it's just before summer. Once summer eventuates people then start whining about how "bloomin'" hot it is. You can be happy constantly if you don't settle for how happy you are at the moment. If you search for greater happiness constantly. You can feel good and you can feel better.....I prefer to feel better.

We had spent enough time at this destination and it was time to leave. Where to was something we'de decide when we got outside. We all finished our beers and left, making sure we stepped over the barmaid who was still lying at the bottom of the stairs. Patrick didn't though. He just stepped on her head and told her to move.

To be continued...