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Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

~ The Home Pub of the Famous Pink Drinks and Trotter's Ale

Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

Category Archives: The Public Bar

Merv Quits

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Public Bar

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Gordon O’Donnell, Merv

Merv takes a breather...

Merv takes a breather

 

 

Merv Quits

Story by Mark

There was a buzz of excitement at the Arms tonight as apparently Merv is set to make a special announcement. So special that no one is to know, not even Glenda, hmm, now that’s special.

“Gather round you lot. I just want to let you know that I’m quitting!” roars Merv.

“Shit, who’s going to pull our beers!” exclaims Gib W “Why don’t you get Hedgie now he is out of Silver Water?”

“No but…” cries Merv.

“I know lets have a game of cricket to decide if Hedgie gets the job or someone else” pipes in Angler getting the nod of agreement from those assembled. When

Angler on holidays on the moon...

Angler on holidays as usual

you hear crickets in the Front Bar at the Pigs Arms, well lets just say you may have some work ahead of you.

The girls are acting disinterested in this earth shattering announcement and go back to the racing guide.

“Anyone got fags” asks Hon Shades. “That horse in the fifth, Run No More, sounds like the winner to me. Can I borrow your lighter Merv?”

“No, you lot, I’m quitting smoking”

“Sorry but that’s ennui Merv, anyway can I have your left over smokes, there’s a pet” states Nurse Barbara .

The girls...

The girls

Sister Yvonne winks to the crew and with that indelible smile says “Yeah wheeze thought that you might get some nice boys in here with tight pecs, know wot I mean”.

The walls start quivering, I mean rippling like corrugated iron sort of does when hit by a tornado, well sort of, just adds to the drama. So what the hell is happening.

Out of nowhere came a bright white orb in the centre of the room and of course it’s Gordon. If I was there I would be pooping the longjohns, let me tell ya.

“Gordon, you scared the you know what out of me” says Merv.

“Sorry. Took the old spaceship for a weekend run and ended up in the future. Brought this nice gizmo from McBunnings-Mart, good for party tricks. It’s a SOFTON”

The crew erupt. “A soft on, to many Trotters Gordy” says Gib.

“Now” replies Gordon “SOFTON* stands for, wait for it, it’s pretty exciting, Suborbital Optic Fibre Transfer-o-gram Over Network, classic hey. So now whenever

Gordon and his gizmo...

Gordon and his gizmo…

I travel in space I take my SOFTON. It’s quite comforting to know that on any occasion I can always call on my SOFTON.”

Gordon grins away at his new toy while the crew join in a round of laughter.

“Anyway I’m in space somewhere till I heard Merv is quitting” continues Gordon.

“I’m quitting smoking as it’s bad for my health. Think of the money I’ll save. Hey hang on a minute, Hung, do you know that you’ve never paid me?” Somewhere in Merv’s head a synapse has been electronically processed and the penny drops. Ting.

“Sorry Merv, lets talk about that later. The good folk want to know what happens in the end, for sure, 100%, hmm, hmm.” Hung says from the commentary box.

Merv feels confused. Everyone seems to think he was quitting as barman at the Arms. He started thinking, dangerous I know, I have always been here at the Arms

Unique Pigs Arms charm

Unique Pigs Arms charm

and I always will be, Exactly! interrupts Gordon in Merv’s thoughts.

“So yes my son. That is real. No shit.” Spooky music plays in the background and the crew become hushed. “Smoking? Merv? Really? Give it up and God bless.” Merv looks up and sees Gordon playing with his SOFTON as he disappears from the room. Please anyone watching at home, try not to image that scene.

Gee you know. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction

*Had to get an acronym in there as it’s been awhile.

Merv at the end of the day

Merv at the end of the day

Merv goes Mobile

25 Saturday Jun 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Public Bar

≈ 23 Comments

The last know version of Merv

The last know version of Merv

“Hey everyone, look what I’ve got” announces Merv pointing to some sort of gadget in his hand.

“What is it?” asks Gerard looking rather inquisitively at the object of Merv’s glee.

“Fucked if I know but granny gave it to me” replies Merv. “Lets ask Angler, he’ll know”

Angler examines the object at some length. “Nah, dunno but it has a picture on the back like some form of half eaten berry and the word Eyefone” says Angler.

“What the fuck is an Eyefone?” asks Gib W “And more importantly anyone got any drugs?”

“Granny didn’t use it either but she said it makes funny noises sometimes” informs Merv.

“Jesus wept, you lot are a bunch of dumb arses, it’s a mobile phone” states Nurse Barbara. “You ring people on it”

Merv was dumbfounded. What did ring people mean. He was too afraid to ask as he didn’t want to be seen as a dumb arse. He thought back through his life and he didn’t think that he had actually ringed anyone.

“See the telephone on the bar. It’s like that except you can put this in yore pocket and take it with you when yore out so people can ring you and talk to you” explains Sister Yvonne.

“Why in Gordon’s name would anyone want to do that?” asks Gib.

“Fucked if we know” replies the crew.

Merv was having mental contortions about having a phone in his pocket when the phone rang.

“Hello it’s Emmjay” says the voice on the phone.

“Hang on, how come I’ve been ringed when I’m not out” answers Merv.

“Well you don’t have to be out to be ringed. People can ring you any time and any where, even in the out house.” replies Emmjay.

“Shit” says Merv.

“Shit exactly” says Emmjay.

Well this was just a bit too much for Merv. His thoughts were racing, his palms were sweating and he didn’t like the idea of being ringed while sitting on the toilet. What that could do to his ring was painful. This modern techno stuff was all a bit of a worry. Lets face it what was Merv going to do with the phone on the bar?

“Yes, I remember now,  I’ve herd of these Merv” interjects Gerard “Apparently you can take pitches, tell the time and even get directions from one place to another”

“Piss off Gez, are you taking the mickey. Can you order beers and pizza?” inquires Gib.

“Hope so” says Hung. “What about you Angler, ewes a techno wizard”

“Nah, lets face it, who in their right mind would want to be contactable 24 seven. Me kids have one I think but I’ll have to check with the missus” replies Angler, “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t we all get one so that when we are at the pub wheeze can ring each other so that wheeze can tell each other what a great time wheeze are having at the pub”

“Well, we could just talk to each other” pipes in Nurse Barbara.

“Hmm” replies the crew.

 

 

 

 

Merv meets RSA

23 Saturday Apr 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Public Bar

≈ 22 Comments

Merv serving some glass canoes

Merv serving some glass canoes

 

“Gordon fucking O’Donnell ” cries Merv “I have to be responsible for you piss heads”. “Re spon a la  billy tea for all of you, RSASDFGTREY, get it, [Any one not covered see Emmjay.] Oh, for fuck sake”

“Merv, not so much swearing pleas” crows Yvonne.

“Another glass canoe” interjects Foodge.

“Did you say pleas?” presses Merv.

“No” replies Foodge “do I have to say pleas?”.

“Yep” says Merv “and pleas and fank ewe”

“Fank ewe for fucking what and some dots like this … just to make it a bit spooky” says a nameless character that won’t exist next paragraph, probably Emmjay.

“I have to swerve you reprehensibility okay, dot, dot dot” says Merv, doing his best to get the word count up. Grrrr.

“Wheeze a bunch of piss heads, tod, tod tod” says Gib W.

“That’s not dot dot dot” interjects Gerard trying to keep a straight face.

“I agree with Merv, from now on no more swearing or cussing unless we fucking feel like it” inserts Angler On, as you do.

“Yea…dot dot dot” cry the patrons.

“Now, how many drinks has everyone had?” enquires Merv.

[Sorry: Service is down due to abnormally high numbers coming in form the enquiry.]

“It’s the gubbermint that is putting down the working classes…dot dot dot”  says HOO

“Shithouse service and dot dot dot. Next you’ll work for channel mime, dot dot, dot.” informs Nurse Barbara as she lights here fag and sips her pint, may as well slap arse on the way…, all good.

“Are you responsible bunch of pissheads?” says Merv.

“Yea…dot dot, dot dot” says the patrons.

“Well that’s all right then. RSA over, situation normal, well sort of” adds Merv.

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pig’s Arms Bumper Christmas Edition 2012 – Diving on The Flight Deck

25 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in The Public Bar, The Sports Bar, Warrigal Mirriyuula

≈ 19 Comments

http://www.abc.net.au/stateline/nsw/content/2004/s1156736.htm

Diving on the Flight Deck

Diving on the Flight Deck

Story and Graphic by Warrigal Mirryuula

Benny sat down on the crumbling edge of the warm concrete, the water lapping at his flippered feet.  It was a beautiful sunny day again and visibility below should be fantastic.

He spat into his visor and rubbed the spit around the glass.  Ensuring the strap didn’t twist, he put the visor on and having connected the air supply, took a few deep breaths just to be sure. He checked his watch, 11:30AM, air gauge was hard up on “FULL”, he’d have about two hours.

“Hey “Fish”, ya right, tied off?”, Benny shouted over his shoulder, waiting just long enough to hear “Yeah, off ya go.” before slipping into the water, sorting out his line and then with a pike and a kick, set off down the concrete face of the wall.

Like it’s neighbours on this section of Pittwater Road, The Flight Deck too had been demolished down to the fifth floor when the Greenland and West Antarctic ice had let go and sea level rose several metres in just a few years.  Snapped off like old teeth and the rubble dropped over the seaward side to create a breakwater to hold back the worst tidal and storm surges that now came regularly in early spring.

Here on the land side, the lagoon like conditions meant the water was much calmer.  Benny figured he might be able to find a way down into the old foyer.  He’d heard stories about the now demolished and partially submerged tower. He wanted to salvage the great tiled wings that had greeted tenants and their guests in the main lift lobby.

As he’d suspected the water was clear and visibility was almost unlimited.  He could see all the way to the bottom. As he stroked and kicked his way deeper he thought of those lost and wasted years Poppy had told him about.  When people had endlessly argued about climate change but never seemed to do anything about it. “Change is what happens in life.” Benny mused.  Trying to hold anything in place was a waste of energy.  Well it had all changed now and Benny didn’t really mind.  It was all he’d ever known and he loved diving on the old beach side apartment blocks.  Stripped of all their re-useable materials they had become high-rise concrete reefs, home to dazzling darting fish and the little Bronze Reefers.  A pretty little shark that had come in from the open ocean and downsized in response to rising sea temperatures, Benny had tried to befriend a pack on his last dive on the Flight Deck and received a nasty bite for his troubles.  They were smaller than their forebears but no less aggressive.  A few stitches had put that right and today he had his mesh gloves. They weren’t going to get a second bite.

Benny pulled up a few metres from the bottom. All around him in the dappled half-light swam fish of every conceivable colour, various brachiopods where beginning a tenuous tenancy on any clear piece of concrete and the plant life was a riot of forms and functions.  Perhaps this was the beginning of a new speciation as niches were abandoned to those that could make better and more efficient use of the resources they contained.  “Precious”, Benny thought as he swam toward the gloom of the old lobby.  They were the first of the new wave.  It might take another million years before this incipient speciation replaced all the benthic animals and plants that had been lost in the last few decades.  Corals were going gangbusters though, as Benny’s dive on the submerged spine of Long Reef had revealed. The Great Barrier Reef, (Benny had only ever seen pictures), was long gone; a bleached skeleton battered and broken by the cyclones of summer. These southerly little isolated coral colonies basking in the warm shallows promised a big future if they could just hang on and sea level didn’t rise or fall too much for a while.

Benny checked his watch. Ten minutes.

He gave his line the double tug that alerted Fish that he was entering the Flight Deck’s lobby.  He switched on his lamp and immediately everything was thrown into stark relief by the hard blue white light. Brightly coloured fish danced with their black, hard edged shadows, flitting across the walls of the submerged foyer.  Making sure not to snag his line, Benny made his way into the black of the lift lobby, his lamp revealing the chunky sixties ceramic wings he’d come for; a dream of flight, of the freedom of the air, now lost and forgotten to a new watery reality.  In the bright lamp light the blue vitreous surface of the tiles showed little wear or corruption for their years under water.  As no light penetrated here, the wings were also free of pelagic life excepting a pair of ghostly white sea combs.  Benny would leave that tile in place.  “Precious” popped like a bubble in Benny’s consciousness again.

Taking out the mallet and chisel he began to prise the tiles from their wall one by one and place them in the bubble bag. It was slow, hard work and required a certain determination given that underwater everything happens as if in slow motion.  A blow which might fell an ox on land, impacted with little more than a soft thud in twenty metres of water.  Benny soldiered on and, with about ten minutes air left, exited the foyer, fully inflated the bubble bag and watched as it and its cargo ascended through the dancing light to the sparkling surface.  Doing his best dolphin impression Benny followed.

As he surfaced he saw Fish hauling the bubble bag in. Two strokes and Benny was against the wall again.  He slipped his flippers and slung them up onto the deck.  Gripping the end of an exposed piece of rebar he pulled himself up onto the slab that had once been the floor of a luxury apartment on the fifth floor of the iconic building; the ghosts of hostesses past and their guests enjoying the sea view.  The floor was now just part of the walk along the top of the breakwater. Getting out of his tanks Benny lay down on the hot concrete, enjoying the sun as it tightened his skin with a thin salt rime.

Having landed the bubble bag and sorted the salvaged tiles out to dry in the sun, Fish came over to Benny with a loaf of rough bread and some cheese for their lunch. Benny was ravenous.

They sat together quietly tearing lumps off the bread and cheese and yaffling it all down with a pull on Fish’s home brewed shine. That ex-military canteen seemed part of Fish and sometimes he resorted to it too often.  Fish was older than Benny by many years but they were the best of friends, almost family since Benny’s dad had died fighting the fires up in the mountains.  Benny remembered Poppy telling Fish and his dad that this world, the one after global warming, would be a world non-one had ever seen before. Benny was just a little boy then.  He didn’t really understand what Poppy meant.  Now that Benny was himself a man, that figure of speech seemed to hold a greater truth.  Kuhn had said something about scientists that used different paradigms literally living in different worlds; and Benny thought, not for the first time, that these older people, the ones still invested in that old past paradigm, they were the ones for whom this new reality was the hardest to accept.  Fish kept faith with that past by collecting examples of all its now pointless, broken and unworkable technologies.

“What for, mate? Benny had asked when Fish had turned up late one afternoon brandishing a disabled leaf blower that had once been the pride of some long gone suburban gardener.  “It’s a petrol one.  Even if you could get it to turn over, where are ya gonna get the petrol?”

“Ya never know mate.  Ya just never know.” was all Fish had said as he rubbed the grime off the Briggs and Stratton logo with something of a wistful and distant smile on his face.

Well Benny wasn’t fussed, and even lent a hand when Fish went out hunting for some piece of early twenty first century kit to add to the huge collection that now filled the rank grass at the rear of Fish’s shack over the back of the lagoon. He had tons of it and he vowed it was to be his retirement project to get it all working again. Benny had to laugh at that. Fish must be sixty if he’s a day.  When was this fabled retirement to be?  What was “retirement” anyway?  People used to retire to do the things that Benny thought of as every day life.  Growing a few veggies, keeping chooks, a few pigs and a cow. Fossicking for bits and pieces of useful salvage. Like the wings, which would look great above the new fireplace he had built over the summer.

“Yep, it’s a different world alright.” thought Benny; but he was certain in his heart that this time, his time, was a better time, or at least, could be a better time than either Fish and his Dad, or even Poppy had lived through.

Benny helped Fish load the tiles and the gear onto their cart and then, having harnessed up, they set of together at a trot for the land end of the breakwater. Tonight they’d feast on the fish that Fish had caught while Benny was diving on The Flight Deck.

Digital mischief also by …..    Warrigal Mirryuula

first published by the Pig’s Arms in July 2009, but cellared for your appreciation.

The Pig’s Arms Salutes the Young Henrys and Silverbean Saloon

11 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in The Dining Room, The Public Bar

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

Enmore, growler, micro brewery, Silverbean Deep South West hospitality, Young Henrys

Be there or B square !

Still life with Opera House

Merv was overjoyed to discover, just around the back, opposite the Enmore Theatre, a micro brewery.  THE MICRO BREWERY !

Name of Young Henrys.

The Young Henrys have been battling the bureaucracy for an eternity to get their wonderful industry up and running and have made a brilliant start.  Adding a real brewery to a cyber pub has left mere watering holes in the Inner West reeling.  Some 14 to date have seen the light and now stock the Young Henrys’ delightful products.

Look closely at the label – see the homage to la maison de porc ?

A growler waiting to wing its way homeward for a quiet evening of Letters and Numbers (yeah, right !)

It’s possible to sample a few jars and take home a growler (just under 2 litres) in a recyclable flagon-like receptacle.  Bring it back fresh and clean and the lads will top it up for a modest fee.

Ah, that foamy, amber / black / red / pale ale hoppy goodness. Hmmmmm.

The discovery was courtesy of running into Oscar – brewer extraordinaire at Merv’s escape coffee and Tex Mex deep south bolt hole – Silverbean Saloon  ……

Catch a great vibe and and look out for Ry Cooder, Red Stick ramblers and Delta bluesmen on close rotation and a delicious jambalaya, corn bread, home made muffins, freshly-squeezed OJ and hair raising coffee.  Lowan may even be persuaded to put on the New Lost City Ramblers……

Chef Lowan and Concierge George, Props, Silverbean Saloon  http://www.silverbean.co/index.html

2011 in review

01 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by Mark in The Public Bar

≈ 9 Comments

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 83,000 times in 2011. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 4 days for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Euronews/NoComment

23 Wednesday Feb 2011

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Politics in the Pig's Arms, The Public Bar

≈ 16 Comments

I posted a comment over at the Crikey video of the day, praising the work of ordinary folks who filmed the Christchurch disaster live from their mobile phones and posted faster on Youtube than any of the mainstream media.

More than that, there was no offensive bullshit halfwit news reportage a la ABC 24 hours.  There were the images – use your own mind to assess what you see.  No explanation needed.  Not helpful for some talking head to say how awful it all was.

“Lambkins” added a useful tip – that Euronews has a comparable segment called “no comment”.

So I had a peep – for example – surprised to hear what’s happening in Egypt as far as the important ancient site tourism.  I was wondering if I might ever get to see the pyramids and Valley of the Kings – and catch up with both the Emmlets who have been there independently….

“At euronews we believe in the intelligence of our viewers and we think that the mission of a news channel is to deliver facts without any opinion or bias, so that the viewers can make their own opinion on world events.

We also think that sometimes images need no explanation or commentary, which is why we created No Comment and now No Comment TV: to show the world from a different angle…”

And so we have   Euronews no comment

Check it out

New Cellar Master – Dermot O’Logy

27 Saturday Nov 2010

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, The Public Bar

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Beer Tasting

Quality control is a vital part of every commercial organisation’s business.  And this is especially true for purveyors of fine beverages to the gentry – like the Pig’s Arms.

In keeping with the pub’s dedication to maintaining the highest standards in fine drinking, Merv has decided to appoint another new staff member to the team – our new Cellar Master, Dermot O’Logy.

Dermot O'Logy, resting after a hard day's taste testing

Merv selected Dermot from a highly competitive field on the strength of his dedication to the work and from an outstanding example of his tasting notes – that fell out of his pocket when Manne removed him from the gents helped him disengage from his work.

Merv is pretty sure, no almost certain that this is Dermot’s published work.  Possibly.

Merv is expecting Dermot to wax lyrical about Trotter’s Ale (when he regains consciousness – Dermot, not Merv) and he (Merv, not Dermot) wonders what the patrons of the pub really think about the brew – inviting comments from the astute and discerning patrons de porc.

Fighting the Toblerone

11 Monday Oct 2010

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in The Public Bar

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

First Dog on the Moon, Julia Gillard, Toblerone, Tony Abbott

It’s been a while since we republished the wonderful First Dog on the Moon from Crikey.

Today is priceless…….

So if you like First Dog - go over and subscribe to Crikey.......

ABC News Goes Off News

13 Tuesday Jul 2010

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, The Public Bar

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

ABC News, martini

I have this entrenched pattern of behaviour at the end of the day that goes: drive home through peak hour Sydney traffic for an hour or so, arrive home and pour some kind of liquid relief, assemble something resembling food for First Mate, Tim the Cabin Boy and for me, and flop in front of the ABC news.

But as the ABC’s decline into mediocrity or worse, as the cliché du jour says, as the ABC “races the commercials to the bottom” and incredibly, as they stretch out this bit of linguini to “cover” 24 hours of News, they have unwittingly set me free from the chains of habit.

I don’t know whether you’ve listened to ABC News radio, or as an antidote to insomnia watched the interestingly arrayed Virginia Trioli on ABC2 in the morning, but the modus operandi is well-established here and here.

OK, it’s not just that they run a tightly-repetitive cycle that’s so off-putting, it’s the bloody content.  Who’s responsible for throwing together this dog’s breakfast of thin, gruelling, regurgitated tripe?

Let me illustrate.

Take a look at the news items that show up on the increasingly not worth the trouble web site.  A quick scan this morning reveals the cheerful parade:

  • Liquid bomb plotters jailed
  • Oil spill, oil spill oil spill
  • Gangster’s girlfriend charged over murder plot
  • Men ‘possibly’ shot in mass brawl – let’s hope so, otherwise this item loses its punch
  • Child sex scandal
  • Drunk attacked after attempting to wrestle croc
  • Death toll in Uganda
  • Scary economic news
  • Outrageous medical fraud / misinformation
  • Endless speculation about political power / malfeasance, skulduggery and incompetence.

There was more folderol, but I’m sure you get the drift.

Today is clearly a pretty upbeat day – after last week’s headlines with photographs of one deceased digger coming back from Afghanistan and another being buried by his family and all the political heavies – 2 out of the 5 headline articles – only broken by an apparently important game of soccer going on in South Africa.

I used to think that the ABC was the last refuge for staying in touch without having to sit through or listen to unremitting trivia, gloom and despair.  I used to think that it was important to stay informed and keep in touch. But when I stopped perving on Juanita Phillips and actually listened to her speak her lines I  fell into a rather deep disappointment.

We were given a warning when Kerry O’Brien mistook insolence for investigative reporting and Tony Jones confused his guests’ shameless self-promoting buffoonery with “public debate”.  We should have heeded the warning sooner.

But now, I can comfortably set those silly notions aside, comfortable in the knowledge that there’s nothing left to miss and sink into a post-work stupor, blissfully numbed, reminisce about the days when the ABC was more than just a recycler of BBC comedy and take a long pull on an exquisitely dry martini.

…. also showing off over at the Daily Bludge

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