Mancey was “helping an Aunt clean” as the young kids say. He came across these wonderful souvenirs of Hilite 33 from 1979.
Mancey Sez, “When you went to this joint in 1979, they offered to take your photos and present them in this beautiful folder. No doubt so you could rub it into the faces of the plebs that visit your Dianella abode, that couldn’t afford to dine in such auspicious surrounds. Supping on exotic fare like bananas, pineapples and a bowl full of avocados, while looking out over council house.
Check out the décor, the geometric carpet, the poo brown chairs
Bonus immaculate WA 150 sticker still with adhesive backing!” wonderful. Can I say as a discovery Not Worst?
The Worst of Perth 
I can vaguely hear the distant sound of Rolf’s ‘I want to go back to WA’ ditty wafting intermitently through the tinny Purvisonic PA system of my mind as I gaze up in awe.
Frankly though, the Red Castle was far superior decor wise. ‘Burgundy velvet meets medieval brothel’ interior design cues trumped the more sedate poo and mustard palette of its revolving competitor.
I did hear that Stewart Wagstaff and John “I’m free!” Inman much preferred the Sheraton’s Clinker Grill for a lunchtime carafe or two of beaujolais over a duck l’orange to Hilite 33.
One thing is certain, back in the halcyon years Perth’s flambe dish to diner ratio was the highest in the southern hemisphere bar none.
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I had the misfortune to be invited to dine there a couple of times, on both occasions it was in attempts to impress.
Quite successfully.
After each event, I refused to have any further dealings with the host.
Admittedly it was not only for the poor choice of venue, but it was a contributing fact.
Pretentiousness was/is no way to elicit my esteem.
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Did you avail yourself of a banana?
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The city was once a great place with so much to do. All the art deco theatres were brilliant. All the department stores. All the shopping. The billiard rooms. The eating places. I would go there often until the ‘gate keepers’ booted everyone out along with the very heart and soul of the place. It will never regain them and it will always be nothing more than a mining town especially the way Mr Faulty has run it this past decade. For the next 30 years the numerous ground zero’s will sit empty. Bland beyond words, unimaginative and with a village mentality. The more it chokes on its own traffic the more the cure will be found in raising parking rates and reducing through traffic. I’m certain the root of all my griping is simply this, ‘Aw…… We dornt lark chenge’. Say it again. You’ve nearly got the accent down pat.
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The Purple Pumpernickle?
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yawn.
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not LOL?
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it’s not as if it hasn’t been moaned out many, many times before.
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Boan-sed about.
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Colin Barnett has stopped you riding the escalators at Boans? I would be pissed too.
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Aw … we dornt like chenge
Not perfect but passable max kay impersonation, perhaps minus a dinna? Over to clan Ralph for an adjudication
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Great find from before the word “people” was invented. Not worst sticker.
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I prefer the “sheeple” designation.
Silly, I know, but it does bring to mind the seemingly mindless milling about of the lunchtime mobs and/or the “rush hour” [now extended to you courtesty of successive ineffective governments].
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and, of course, all those who say ‘sheeple’.
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Yep. Played.
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like a street mural.
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That’s why I’m moving to tequila. I really feel I should be regretting the things I say to these artists.
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Tu ne regrettes rien !
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