the sydney fishmarket and eddie obeid
What’s not to like in a fishmarket, this is what all those Japanese and Chinese tourists must have been saying to each other as they strolled around the floor, eating this and eating that. The place sounds like a beach covered with fragile shells being walked over by a hundred people in socks, a hundred people eating and cracking lobsters and crabs, bugs – sucking munching and cracking at this endless supply of food.
Waves of sound, a bloke has to smile – so many people having a good time is a good thing.
The Sydney Fisho though has plenty of problems, this is widely known, like trying to cab back to the city after Singapore Chilli Lobster live from the tank on deep fried noodles with a bottle of Doyles Reisling. He must have a few vines in Watsons Bay somewhere old Doyley, not a lot of info on the label there.
Yeah, … just the one thanks.
No trains over here, no bus, no trams, no mono-rail. No cab rank. Plus the garbage, this place is the home of garbage Putrid Grade. Sydney Fishmarket does outstanding garbage, particularly in summer when the thousands of plates that have been left with kilograms of shells, fish heads .. all the evidence of the day’s ongoing banquet are collected and chucked into large bins with no tops just over there by Doyles Restaurant. Alongside.
Left there to cook for a while, did I say that all the tops are missing? That’s because the guy on the phone with all the tattoos, the one driving the fork lift, the garbage guy, does not want to be fucked around with lids when he picks up this festering bird bath, it’s innards writhing with a sizeable collection Sacred White Ibis, maybe a crow blown in from Richmond.
He’s been told. Leave the stuff out there for long enough to have these fuckhungry birds eat half of it. This way we score an overhead win. Garbage disposal in this town is a severe hit.
This is also a win for the bloke whose job it is to chuck his restaurant garbage in there as well, quick turn-around time. Go go go.
It can be done.
He was told this by the two businessmen, businessmen meaning that they were wearing business shirts without ties, suit trousers with no shine on the arse and shoes with a shine on the tip. They came in and sat at the front with their lunch, up there and closest to the garbage scenario. They mustn’t have seen it.
Funny how that, because every Jap and Chinaman with a camera was wandering over to snap a few pics of the system, one bloke – probably from Taiwan – was trying to get a shot by leaning his camera inside the feeding frenzy, in the bin. He got to meet a lot of blowflies over there.
The two business execs, from upstairs in the office, they never saw a thing. They just ate lunch on the boss’s card and farted upon leaving.
Eddie Obeid was an accountant once, so now we have a precedent.
Eddie’s up on the ICAC stand being shown a wide trail of rotten significance, and he doesn’t see it. Not there. What smell? Where’s lunch?
These two guys have got the same moves.
subliminate yourself all day, this is how it reads