By golly, it’s Day 17 already and I’m sorry to say I don’t have a lot to tell you. Well, that’s not strictly true, I have loads I “could” tell you, but I think divulging my extra-curricular activities could maybe prove a little too saucy for this blog, and for fear of alienating a younger audience with how risqué my antics have been, I’ll refrain…for now.
So Wednesday was hilarious. We had a new Juke Box delivered to the pub (I got all excited at the thought of having some actual decent music to play, alas, Cold Chisel and Powderfinger still remain firm Aussie favourites, even on an up to date music system…for the love of British Indie!) and after much tinkering we discovered it has a Karaoke option. Oh yes. Undeterred by the fact I was working, I managed to sneak a few gins down my neck and join in with the drunken, jovial camaraderie that was taking place on the other side of the bar. Graeme, my Scottish Princess, was sinking double JDs and fancied a round or two on the mic. I couldn’t refuse, and so the singing commenced.
We kicked off proceedings with a shaky version of “I Will Survive” which paved the way for some of the guys to get involved. Cue lots of Kenny Rogers and INXS and a few bum notes from the more intoxicated of the gang and we were well and truly on form. The singing died down once we realised that bad karaoke and hearing The Gambler fifteen times in a row can actually get boring but it didn’t halt the party, for once the volume was cranked up on a few carefully selected tunes, you could have mistaken our little country pub for something out of Coyote Ugly – dancing on the bar anyone?!
Anywho, by the time we shut up shop, Graeme and I were hammered. I had polished off half a bottle of gin and he was sweating double jacks, so much so was our inebriation that we thought it would be a spectacular idea to turn the lights out and have our own little private karaoke party. For over an hour we serenaded each other with terrible versions of Heartbreak Hotel and Dolly Parton. Our take on Black Velvet probably woke some of the residents and our Wonderwall attempt definitely could’ve burst ear drums. We were killin it!
If terrorising the karaoke wasn’t enough, once our vocal chords had given out we went to terrorise Trine and destroy her bedroom, albeit accidentally, well, we can’t be held accountable for trashing the joint while under the influence can we – it’s to be expected. Naturally.
Suffice to say my head had seen better mornings come Thursday and I was truly grateful to have a day off. I decided that instead of torturing myself with a hungover gym session that I’d go for a nice walk. The sun had finally decided to prove its existence and it was absolutely charming to get out and about and catch some rays. I wandered about 8km (half the circumference of Marvel Loch, I shit you not) and came across pretty much nothing, apart from a cemetery with no graves in it, a load of ‘Warning’ signs and a Kangaroo carcass. Which was nice.
I could tell you what I got up to late Thursday evening, as it’s quite gossip worthy. But I won’t. Instead I’ll leave you with this: I managed to find out a little more about the old Marvel Loch School. The girl in the shop happened to be among one of the last pupils to attend the institution before it was shut down. She informed me that the reason it still stands today is because it is in fact, a listed building. It’s about as old as the pub (107 years or something) and can’t be pulled down for preservation purposes. There was talk of turning it into camp rooms for some of the miners but the government of WA can’t decide if the building belongs to them or to The Shire of Yilgarn. The Shire can’t decide if it belongs to them or to the government. And both the government and the Shire have no idea if it actually belongs to the mining company. So it remains erect and derelict, abandoned and lonely. A slice of history in a tiny country town.
Chasing Amy-Lou 