A guest worst from Victoria. An extraordinary sign. A woman with a bikini floats above celery. From the lens of Golden1. Thanks mate. More local, but separated in time are these shots of an excellent bookfrom 1971 I found. Perth, City of light by Ivan O’Riley. Amazing slice of life and dreams of Perth from 37 years ago. For insstance, the horeshoe bridge was doomed, at any moment about to be removed to link the city with Northbridge. I don’t think we can blame Alannah for that delay.
Alan Bond, businessman, sportsman. A young man in a hurry…
The biggest change seems to have been Perth’s nightlife. For the worse. Ivan writes of Perth by night, topless bars and seedy lounges. For example, The Riviera nightclub in Como was a sensual feast for marauding male eyes. What went wrong Como?
The Worst of Perth 
Strange, isn’t it, that somebody might equate a well turned out female form with something healthy.
The wowsers haven’t had it *all* their own way.
Like the “seedy” nightlife: “from little acorns mighty oak trees grow.” Without seeds we’d have to clone everything and be without naturally occurring diversity; which, of course is what the ‘morally upright’ denizens of the world strive for: Identical replicas of themselves, which, in view of the seat sniffing, factually dissembling, politically conniving and commercial exploitative behaviour of so many of them, is of doubtful benefit to the community at large. And then, of course, there’s religious conformity…………..!?!
I miss the brewery lights. Heading to Scarborough from Jandakot after a late evening shift they were a welcome reminder that home was not too far away.
Far too tired, though, to deviate (?) from my homeward-bound course to engage in the pleasures-of-the-flesh that Como had to offer.
As for the imperious Mr. Bond; the less said the better.
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The O’Riley is a must-have for any Worstphile. Bookfinder lists many copies, from $12.28 to $99.41. The costly edition (despite having a “slightly torn dustwrapper”) could be due to: “On page 136 is a b/w photo of Rolf Harris which he has signed in black ink and dated 1990. In addition he has drawn a small cartoon-style self portrait, with characteristic beard and glasses.”
The same author’s Giant In The Sun (with photos) is also reputedly a classic WA work.
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And of course it has the famous getting quokkas pissed photo sent to Rottobloggo previously.
http://rottobloggo.blogspot.com/2008/03/quokkas-are-wunderbare.html
The shot of Rolf Harris is serious, even sad. Quite an unusual shot of the bearded wobbler.
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I used to work at Visy Board, in the design department (if you could call it that). We used to develop the artwork for all the wine and fresh produce companies. Some of the “artwork” that came through our office was god awful. But we never saw anything quite as… unique as a woman in a bikini, chowing down on a stick of celery. Love the little twinkle on the “Fresh”.
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And what is “pre-cooled” celery??
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‘Schreurs Celery’ is such a great marketing name. Nothing like a 4 consonant combination to help a word roll off the tongue.
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Some nice viral youtubing from the WA liberal Party.
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“Labor – putting sleaze into your suburb”
“Tory Buswell – putting sleaze into your furniture”
hypocrisy is a cruel thing
I overheard this snippet of conversation in the supermarket:
“I see Troy Buswell is in the news again.”
‘Who?’
“Troy Buswell – you know, the chair sniffer.”
branded for life
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Yup, better to have good honest sleaze than fundamentally dishonest government/opposition.
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Thank you for that picture of the brewery lights, they were a childhood highlight.
Does it mention the tarantella for nightlife? Shouldn’t it?
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Indeed they were, poor lisa. The Brewery lights formed one part of a magical big-city trifecta for we kids in the back of the station wagon, bundled up in our tartan blankets. No evening trip into town was complete without a spin over the bridge to marvel at them, the windmill, and what we professed was a ( curiously stationary, now I think about it ), rocket ship. By day, we knew it was the Kings Park State War Memorial atop Mt. Eliza, but somehow it would be transformed in our imagination come nightfall. Back in those heady days of Apollo missions, space really was the place.
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I must get down to the Old Mill. I suspect it will reveal some choice worsts close-up.
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Oh those lights – what a childhood memory there. Like Snuff, I share the tartan blanket / stationwagon memory too.
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