Pravda snapped this in Broome. I have never been to Broome, but those who have, tell me it’s a total craphole, and that the only highlight, Chinatown, is apparently about half a metre long. The locals look good though eh? Fwoar. What I find more disturbing than the invitation to skank it up with a local, is the Kokoda brand pink shirt. Did our brave Diggers fight the Japanese in order that Broome based metrosexuals could ponce around in pink Kokoda shirts? Pink fucking Kokoda shirts! Owen Stanley styling wands, men’s styling wands are openly on sale from a recreated pearling lugger in the centre of town. Can I extend an open invitation to the Japanese to re-bomb this abomination. Drop a few more on Wyndham if you want too. On another topic, I really do want to find out what Tim Winton was doing in the ladies toilets at Amuse Restaurant, as witnessed by Lady Skink and rendered by Jaidyn-Jaxxon.
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The Worst of Perth 
Fishing on Broome time
Herring springing into boats
Leaves Lazy shirty.
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just in case I get any blowback from Amuse for outing a VIP guest, might I just add that the meal was superb.
the second course chestnut polenta with black truffle was possibly the greatest thing I have ever eaten. It transported me to a place where I was struggling to find adjectives, and any attempt by me to wax lyrical about its flavour would sound like second-rate Wintoning.
I wonder what Tim thought of the marron?
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You have no problem saying xxxx xxxxxxxxxxx is also rooting xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, but have concerns about revealing at which restaurant Tim Winton was using the ladies?
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Is there not the possibility of putting a disclaimer on the site? To avoid being liable to libel/slander?
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I have double standards to maintain
I like the restaurant, and I would like to eat there again.
I don’t often say anything nice about anyone or anything, but that place is bloody brilliant. In a town where mediocrity is commonplace it is important to recognize true excellence.
on the other hand, the fact that xxxx was rooting xxxx and may have therefore contributed to xxxxxxx winning the xxxxxxx makes me sick to my stomach in so many ways that I hope the pair of xxxxx are shamed into never sullying the public arena again.
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But then its more than two years until the election.
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I meant the last one
we’re not talking about him rooting xxxxx xxxxxx
but rooting xxxx xxxxxxxx
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machine
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Once again, it is all about the rooting.
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Troy was rooting Carps?!?
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i think they took turns.
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Tawdes buddens? Claaaaaghss.
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Broome used to be OK except for the massive caravan park resembling entire Perth suburbs and run by english toilet fascists. Then after the carmen lawrence debacle the entire ALP centre left lackey scene moved up there, claiming to be in PR, journalists, novelists, illuminated by the miracle of creative writing etc etc and living off aborigine development grants they interecepted. This shop with its New Bush homo-rm williams style shirts certaintly reeks of their presence. most of them have now escaped via darwin to melbourne, because it’s so european.
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“………….because it’s so european.”
Isn’t that exactly how the majority of Metrocentric Twats (©Rolly2008), and those who espouse “vibrancy”, want Australia to be?
Cultural cringe rools….. for eva!!!!!!
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ha english toilet fascists!
greggo seems to prefer the old Broome – chock full of poofta cattlemen and barely literate syphilitic truck drivers who couldn’t write a delivery invoice let alone a whole book.
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That does sound a little better.
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It does sound a little beter. I wanted to pretend I knew what a toilet fascist was. Any clues?
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Max Mosley?
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brown shirts?
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DN7Aqq0500
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Broome, Saturday afternoon, 1992.
Thin strip of bitumen down the middle of a wide elevation of red dirt.
3 seagulls
1 dog, asleep in the sun.
memorable for getting a flat tyre on my pushie. Nothing else.
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Thought you were going to Winton there for a second.
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It’s tempting, take a look at one of those pictorial WA calenders, describe what you see & add Johnno or Mikey now & then.
with respect to those who do have literary talent/training/vocation of course.
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mate you’ve nailed it
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I will always remember my first beer that morning. The smells of domestos and toilet blocks and hoppy liquid. The way the glass rose toward me like a body drawing in air. How the froth drew me forward and I closed my eyes, skating with the cool beer in my throat. I leant across the bar at the Roe-ey and the beer mat came with me as though it was part of my body and mind. The blur of spray. The billion decibels of ZZ Top. I remember the solitary skimpie figure on the stage and the flash of my mate’s smile as I downed it; I was intoxicated. And though I’ve lived to be an old man with my own share of happiness for all the mess I made, I still judge every joyous moment, every victory and revelation against those few seconds of living. Then I had another beer.
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Them was the days, orbea. Pre McAlpine.
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The man in charge of Broome Port Authority is called Captain Vic Justice.
Never has a ordinary civilian had a name so deserving of wearing underpants over the top of their trousers.
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I once had a client called Omar McDoom. He could perhaps be Captain Vic Justice’s arch enemy.
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