Basia Unleashed

Last night in Sydney, the sky was particularly clear and for all the light interference of a big city, the southern sky was remarkable. There is something special about the southern sky, something bigger and wider and more infinite than its northern counterpart could ever hope to produce. It reminded me of Margaret River, of surfie glass blowing Gary and his hillbilly Hilton house in the bush, where I played chicken with a kangaroo the size of Tana Umaga (guess who won that one?) and lay out half the night on the trampoline in the yard just watching the heavens in all their glory. That was an amazing place to live - there was zero light interference, there was a skink under the porch who thrashed around a lot when beer got spilled, and the bathroom walls were made of glass. Comments like “Guys, I am going for a shower now, stay HERE!” always made me wonder - did they?

The Margaret River and the surrounding part of western Australia is a special place. One night in a pub, with my vat of beer, I bet on a dog race purely because the dog, Sheza Worry, had a pink coat on. She won. The bar was full of men peculiar to out of the way places in Australia, the kind of throwbacks who went to establishments that banned women and their carb-lite beers and white wine spritzers and even though times had changed and there were women drinking wine, it was one of the best atmospheres I had encountered. Maybe it’s the Irish in me, but I prefer unfashionable pubs with grumpy old men who always come around in the end and have a laugh. You can make friends in places like that. Anyway, Sheza Worry’s pub had this poster on the wall, a 1950s-inspired image of a clean cut man tipping a bottle of beer to his lips. And it said: Beer - because every man needs a hobby.

I have hunted high and low for that poster ever since. If you know where I can get one, email me…