Goulburnite

“Fuck, why you wanna live anywhere else?” he stated. “You got the coast two hours away, the city two hours away and the mountains 3 hours away” he continued.

I logically argued that you would want to live somewhere else because, evidently you have to travel hours to get anywhere good. The short minded and sighted (the latter largely due to the alcohol) couldn’t comprehend this well structured rebuttal. “You’re an out of town, fucking clown”. If it weren’t so silly the rhythmic patter of his comment could have been comical.

I was left to banter with a brash faced Goulburnite who just would not let up. “I was born here and I’m a gonna die here!”. With his red alcoholic features and rotund frame, death might not be far away. Sensing the conversation had turned from that and moved into an outsiders attack, I decided it best for both parties to go their own way. He turned left to his work mate and with one parting shot announced to his buddy that I was a poofter.

Its dark and lonely in the corner of a seedy pub by yourself but in a drunken haze, I was the happiest I had been since my arrival. Maybe it was the plonk talking but I seemed to get some clarity about the overriding population of Australia’s first inland city.

Goulburn is a town of polar opposites. Bloody hot in summer, fucking cold in winter as cricket moves seamlessly into football. It’s Dominated by wannabe cops from the Police Training College and the harden crims, who have been released from Australia’s highest maximum security prison and now call G-town home. Good people and bad. The only two constants throughout the year are booze and depression with teen pregnancy running a close third.

There was no greater example of booze and depression – sometimes even pregnancy than the Goulburn Workers Club. The cliental can be ascertained by the name, not a place for the high brow. Serving up slop to the masses waiting in an endless cue of screaming kids, unhappy lovers and the ‘chinck’ of the nearby pokies  with that familiar music.

It is the convergence of future law enforcers and current law breakers. Many a man has been challenged to a duel in this place but not with a glove thrown to the ground – Oh not that sort of chivalry doesn’t exists here, just a glassing to the face or an unsighted punch to the back of the scone will do.

The routine is simply get pissed, sloshed, potted, inebriated,  hammered, pickled, trollyed, look just get as Annihilated as you can a-sap before the bar closes and you’re off down the street to one of Australia’s most violent nightclubs pre-capita.

There are a few ways to fit in, getting drunk being the obvious. Others include supporting a fight with audible sentences like “C’mon, hit the fucker” or you could always try the I’m shouting you a drink line.

To help avoid trouble never brake the cardinal rule. As plutonic as it might be never, I repeat never talk to members of the opposite sex – never! She is spoken for (but not with an intelligent dialogue). The concept of ex-girlfriend has no bearing here, a month, a year, a decade it doesn’t matter an ex is an ex and still the rightful property of the ex’s former keeper.

The girls are not happy about this, in fact they don’t look happy about anything. They always speak of moving away getting out of this place but I can’t see it happening. As we stumbled from the pub into the bitter cold and fog of an another early Goulburn morning, I knew it was less than a week until it would all happen again, such is the way of life up here.

Fortunately for me I could leave as my tenure ended. As I drove my Honda Integra (a poofters car) down the Old Hume highway the words of a great modern day poet or 80’s rock star at the very least came to mind. Bon Jovi’s song with the words. It’s just the same old shit going down in this two story town.