Last night I was playing at The Eumundi Hotel, or more specifically Joes Water Hole, in the aptly named Eumundi with C W Stoneking and his band of mad troupers. I haven’t been to a pub like the Eumundi Hotel in a long time and actually forgot that these places actually still exist. In fact I forget places like Queensland actually still exist. Eumundi is a tiny almost novelty like town that has built its entire reputation around it’s famed markets. SO when that’s not on there ain’t much to do but sit in the pub. And sit we did. Our sound check finished at four giving us 6 hours to sit before the gig started.
The front bar of the hotel is like some sort of set design from a forgettable Australian movie from the 1980s. Every man was wearing short rugby shorts, some sort of blue singlet or collared tshirt and a cap that had been provided for them by a tooling or paint company. Most of them had beards that dropped down to their knees. The few women in the joint had earned there place in the front bar by the physical resemblance to there male counterparts and the stench of rotting underarms was coming from both sexes.
At 5 it was free dinner time and plates of overcooked rock hard party pies, chips and spring rolls were placed on the bar. As I bit into one it scolded my lip so badly a blister rose up immediately. A bell rang at 6 indicating Happy Hour which reduced the price of beer by a grand total of 30cents Raffle tickets were sold and the meat tray and free beers were won by the scrawny tart sitting to my right. The previous week she had won a meal for two at the local restaurant to the value of $20 to which I pointed that might only pay for half her meal she didn’t seem to bothered as she was struggling to find a partner anyway.
Gig finally got under way and the room was heaving with humidity charged alcohol fuelled Queenslanders. After letting a couple of youngsters break into the venue by climbing through the bands changing room window I found my way to the stage.
It was an interesting night for me because I was testing a new theory. I have recently taken to shaving my chest in an attempt to change the way I wear my cloths. Up until now I have buttoned my buttons up to the top of my shirt but I thought if I have a new chest appearance it would be like having a different persons chest so there for could be decorated differently. Almost like disassociating with my various body parts and treating them as though they were somebody else’s. I have therefore been taking to have at least 2 of my buttons open, but last night I thought I would set marker points in the set where I would open another button and therefore aim for the glorious point of having a completely open shirt by gigs end. Things went well initially and by the 45 minute mark I was down to one button left. It was at this point, which is always the most challenging part of a set as your mind recognizes the end is near and so starts to lose focus, it also lost focus on the fashion challenge at hand and a mild paranoia set it and my own chest started coming back to my body. No matter how much I fought this I regret that I failed and was sure that I would be cut down by various members of the band for my failures. Fortunately for me no one seemed to notice as the were more interested in watching the more than entertaining an violent fights breaking out in the audience.
Queensland is a great place to experiment via subterfuge