the lennox. lunch.
The Lennox pub used to be a bit of a bloodhouse in the early days, especially after the local game. Kiwis on one side, Kooris on one side, locals salted throughout and anyone who wanted a non-specific fighting role in the middle. This is gospel, this is what is written.
But not any more. Someone has spent good money on the pub and now we have a clientel that is a little more suburban. Men who wear shoes on hot days. Women with jewellery. Well-behaved children.
Gone are the suntanned thugs who would lean over the balcony and chuck empty kegs onto the roofs of cars fleeing back to Sydney, gone are the all-in brawls in the carpark. When was the last time you saw a car with a stove-in side parked at the pub? Doesn’t happen, you have to go to Federal to see them these days.
Every chipped tile in the dunny has been prised out and replaced. There are neutral carpets, mood lighting, American oak floors and Libby in the kitchen. Libby has the Power.
Libby is from Paddington and that’s her, barring Workplace Entry with her knife. Behind her is Laura – also with a knife (she hides it in her hair) and as you can see Laura has not yet come to grips with the situation; being that no customers are allowed entry to the kitchen evah unless they are related to Troy. You should lose the smile Laura, this is a tense moment. If this was Queensland you could be arrested.
Troy is the manager of the B&B and at the moment he’s busy downstairs trying to make sense of the mostly articulate soliloquy being delivered by Richard, a visitor from somewhere. Richard has spent fifteen years studying violin under the tutelage of a German martinet and the influence of his wealthy mother. Richard has only just realised, over schooners, that he would make a better accoustic bass player, like Jaco.
But life’s like that Rich, so harden the fuck up.
Back to the knife-wielding Libby and her offsider, Laura (who thinks the whole thing is ridiculous). We are not seeing a lot of moral back-up here Laura, knife notwithstanding, at least you are holding it the right way up.
The Penguin (that’s the big bloke dealing with an order for coal-roasted andalusian goats cheese with drizzled madhu honey and creeping thyme) is completely unaware of the two women holding knives behind him. He’s got a good future waiting tables with that sort of peripheral vision.
What has developed here is that a customer only wished to congragulate Libby for her dish of balmain bugs in creamy butter and garlic – creamy butter and garlic. A simple mission and I’m having them again next week, just after Troy buys me a schooner.