Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt…Oh no – that was Johnny Cash.
I woke up feeling pretty dusty myself, had a cuppa tea and a shower – content that the first big night was over and I didn’t have to drink tonight.
James arranged to pick me up at the reception and take me back to his place, where I’d be staying for the duration.
James’ place is actually Rachael’s place.
Rachael is James’ much hotter, older sister and has owned this double-story delight at Parap for over ten years. I had visited once before – late, after a night out – possibly a New Year’s Eve or Christmas? Back when I used to live a few blocks away at Parap Grove. My memory is hazy but I recall swimming in the pool with a bunch of girls – I have no idea who they were, but I think an Irish chick from Shennanigan’s pub – Louise I believe, was among them.
Regardless – this is a superb setup now, Rachael lives upstairs and James has his own space downstairs – fully equipped.
(And they have three sausage dogs to stand security and keep them safe – one of which is a spritely seventeen years old!).
Jimbo provided no clue as to the type of vehicle he would collect me in – so when I checked out of the reception and saw a little red, tinted-windowed hatch-back waiting in the driveway, I put my head down and towed my suitcase toward the passenger door. When I was a couple of feet away, with a hungover grin flashing across my dial – I noticed the driver had a beard and dark tan!
That’s not James.
The bloke looked at me and moved off into the street.
I pretended I was just walking that way – with no intention of ever hopping into some stranger’s car.
I finally came to rest on a bench and waited – before a silvery, Toyotarish type, medium sized car pulls up alongside me – and this time I can clearly recognise young Jimmy Picker’s phiz.
I dumped my hefty case in his boot and slid into the passenger seat – the air conditioner was working marvellously.
We had to pick up a family friend, Greg – from the Picker’s place at Larrakeyah and drop him off at Hidden Valley for the Super Cars. Greg was a top, friendly and helpful kind of bloke – Vietnam Vet, from Cowra, who spent a few months each year caravanning in the Picker’s backyard with his lovely wife Carol. They turned out to be excellent company on several occasions in the ensuing weeks.
The trip to Hidden Valley was interesting for me – taking in all the changes and familiar old scenery as we went. I’d forgotten just how good the roads are in the NT – very wide lanes, in fine condition.
In fact – it scared me again when I arrived home in Brisbane and realised how close one needs to travel to roaring B-Double trucks in the next lane! It’s a wonder there are not more accidents than already occur.
It could have been about then that James announced: “I don’t think I’ve told Steve yet – but we’re going to Monsoons for a few beers this arvo and then we’ll probably call into Mum’s place to say hello and have a drink with ya’s”.
More drinking? Lord have Mercy.
We called into Parap Bakery as we finally approached home, for a local mushroom pie for breakfast, a couple of rolls for some ham & tomato a little later, and a nice cold drink.
Rachael’s place was great – I had my own air conditioned, quiet room – with a recently erected double bed and lockable door. The orientation of the structure is such that, at this time of the year, a prevailing cool breeze flows right through unhindered – from front to back.
I dumped my bag off inside and we proceeded out the back into the entertainment area, around the pool.
James lounged back in a cloth-seated chair and I chose, what appeared to be a more robust, white plastic, outdoor type common to every backyard. I trust these – I know they’re sturdy, been using them for years.
Crikey – I wouldn’t want the embarrassment of my big arse ripping the bottom out of one of his cloth-seated chairs! That would make for an unbearably uncomfortable situation for me, having just arrived – and with ten days yet to spend there!!
I would postulate I’d been seated for some five minutes, chatting about the previous night, when – SNAP!!! My sturdy white chair goes suddenly wonky.
FUCK! I leapt straight up. The four legs remained true – but the side armrest had busted out due to the girth of my arrse!
(Now – that unbearably uncomfortable and embarrassing feeling I alluded to earlier – yes, this was it. In spades).
James sympathetically blamed the chair’s age and exposure to the sun’s UV rays for having weakened the internal structure – and I appreciated that sentiment greatly – but I knew it was my oversized, wide-load arse that was to blame.
So after that, I either stood up or sat on the pool’s edge with my legs dangling in the water – somewhere I could do no further damage.
I also became paranoid about the possibility of somehow damaging The Picker’s other possessions. Drinking-glasses, fridge, computer, bed, shower. I wasn’t game to take up his offer to borrow his car anytime I liked (he would in turn borrow his Mum’s). Early on I had visions of driving around a little more – visiting old haunts. I was even thinking about heading down to Cooinda, in Kakadu overnight and taking in the sunrise cruise on Yellow Water the next day.
James asked one day if I had any plans – and I suggested heading down to Humpty Doo pub for a beer (something I’ve done many times over the years) – it’s about thirty-five K’s each way. But I’d forgotten about the Berrimah Line!
The Berrimah Line is a mythical line passing through one of the southern suburbs of Darwin – which Darwinites like to avoid crossing! Beyond the Berrimah Line is like Never Never land – locals only head that far on extended holidays and such – and then, only when absolutely necessary!
So when I saw the reaction on his face as I suggested Humpty Doo, I decided I’d best keep the Kakadu idea to myself.
(Rachael invited me up to attend James’ 40th birthday – James told me I was welcome to stay there any time – so I said, Pisser! And booked myself in for twelve days or so.
It wasn’t till sometime later that I actually realised I perhaps should have discussed the extended stay with James, before I booked myself in!
When I lived in Darwin – I told everyone they were welcome to stay at my place for as long as they wanted. And I meant that completely. But not everyone does.
My instinct at the time of booking though, told me that this would be fine – and I felt extremely comfortable around James, despite not seeing him for ten years.
He’s a cool bloke, speaks the truth, I trust him implicitly, and he is among the most honourable men I have ever met.
Anyway – next time I visit, I’ll have a plan and discuss it with mine host before I leave home).
I was sitting with my feet dangling in the pool and was oh so tempted to dive in.
This was the middle of June mind you – winter and freezing down south, but I bravely took the plunge regardless. The water was still about 25 degrees Celsius and the outside air temp a brilliant 32.
James headed off somewhere and did some shopping for supplies to feed his unexpected new freeloader for the next fortnight – while I bobbed around the pool, chatting to Rachael as she waved princess-like from high on her balcony.
We made it to Monsoons in the late afternoon – to my great delight James was treating me to one of the Top End’s unique yet quirky little liquor promotions: Side Boob Sunday!
Well, that’s not the official title – but it probably should be.
When I lived there, they had a thing called ‘Tits-Out Tuesday’ – which is another splendid example of the local cutting-edge liquor promotion strategy. This however, was banned for apparently being uncouth and classless – bloody wowsers!
Here we ran into Pottsy, perched upon a stool at the bar – he tends to favour this particular watering hole above all others in Darwin. In fact, so much so, that he told me he was nearing the end of a two-month stretch of long service leave – and he’d spent every day of it at this very spot!
Pottsy is a well-educated and articulate young fellow with a diverse and sometimes bizarre array of interests – he is well read and quite the film aficionado. This seems incongruous with his passion for the deathly burn or Fireball shots, which he downs as a partner to each glass of scotch he consumes.
It seems he is known and well-liked by all who frequent this establishment – both customer and staff alike, and on this particular day he was drinking with a young Irishman who is at other times, employed by the venue.
At first I mistook his mate for a possible child of Pottsy – for he is naturally young in appearance and slight of stature. I wouldn’t have thought him old enough to enter licenced premises, let alone work there!
It turned out that the young Irish fellow, whom I’ll call Sean, was a really nice bloke. We all had drinks and a few laughs and a friendly chat – before Pottsy called it a day and left.
Sometime later, as James and I headed for a cab to his parent’s place for a catch-up, we came upon Sean lingering out front of the hotel, quite under the weather. He was in a pickle because he had spent all his money on booze but still needed to get home – which was gonna be forty-five bucks in a cab!
He was hoping to cadge the required cash off any acquaintance that may be able to render assistance, but it appeared no one was coming to the fore.
It was here that James once again displayed his character – by taking Sean by the shoulder, guiding him across the road to the taxi rank and organising a lift home for him, handing the driver his last fifty bucks with strict instructions to make sure Sean got home alright and to give him the change.
James knew he’d never see the fifty again.
Sean would wake up sometime later and wonder how the hell he got home – so James wouldn’t even get a ‘thank you’, or even a silent appreciation for his good deed.
No one would ever know – but that is his nature, he stands among the finest of men.
This is due in no small part to the exemplary job his parents have done in raising both James and Rachael. I’d like to see James have kids at some point – he’d be an outstanding role-model and I believe he’d make an excellent Dad.
(On a different occasion, many years before – James and I were drinking at Lizards bar in the Top End Hotel. Just sitting there drinking beer, shootin’ the shit and listening to music. There was a bloke and sheila sitting a few tables away – the bloke appeared to be chancing his hand. I wasn’t paying much attention but guess they would have been there for about forty-five minutes, when the chick sat forward and bitch-slapped the dude across the face!
He took exception to that and slapped her cheek right back!
Next thing I know – James is up and dragging the dude out by his throat, before handing him over to an approaching bouncer!
Then he simply returns to his seat and says ‘Ya don’t fucken hit girls’, and he continued on with the previous conversation. Didn’t miss a beat.
I just sat there like a stunned mullet – thinking, ‘Shit! That was pretty impressive’.
But once again, that’s his nature).
Speaking of the senior Pickers – this is where we headed to after Monsoons, for a fried-up seafood extravaganza!
Dave Picker, the father, is a big man – a retired Territory cop.
He was the gun ballistics expert of the Top End before his eyes began giving him grief and loss of vision forced him into an early exit from the force. He remains a man of many talents though – with limited sight, I suspect he just ‘thinks’ his way around the place like an ancient master wizard! He is the backyard catering king and can barbecue, or roast any beast to perfection. I’m not sure if he summons some kind of mystical, magical instinct – or he was born with an innate sense of timing, but you can rest assured, once Dave declares it done – it’s time to grab your knife and fork.
Dave is also a brewer and purveyor of fine spirituous liquors. Once again – I cannot determine what kind of sorcery a legally blind man uses to conjure up such tasteful delights, but he certainly knows his shit!
I had the pleasure of sampling one of his rums (mixed with coke), and enjoyed a couple of straight Butterscotch Schnapps which went down a treat – though I was warned they may kick my arse!
Nola Picker is a beautiful woman with a happy disposition and kind heart. She seems to keep everyone else pretty much in line, which I imagine can be quite the challenge at times. There is nothing Nola wouldn’t do for her family. I love the way this family all help each other out – at the drop of a hat, and without hesitation. Simple things like giving a lift to town, lending a car, trailer, esky or bed, picking someone up – cooking for each other and pretty much anything else one might name. My family do the same – but it’s a pretty rare and beautiful thing!
It doesn’t stop there. On several occasions, when I was stuck in Darwin for Christmas – devastated, despondent and depressed about not being with my family for this most special of days, the Pickers invited me to join them as one of the family to celebrate with a beautiful Christmas dinner and even better company. No great fuss was made – but I appreciate those invitations more than they’ll ever know and will carry those memories and good will forever. I’d love to repay them in some small way some time.
Sumo. Sumo is a big sooky dog who runs everyone’s lives.
He is an enormous Bull Mastiff, with a head like an African lion – but he still gets excited and loses his shit like a baby goat when his Master arrives to take him for a walk! He has uncanny timing and will let you know if when it’s Dinner Time (not drink-finishing time!). Sumo tips the scales at sixty-five kilos and could tear you limb from limb if the fancy took him. But for the most part he seems content to just lean on you, or rest his big black jowls on your leg.
He is extremely well disciplined and placid of nature for such an intimidating beast – though I wouldn’t recommend jumping the fence unannounced.
So we enjoyed our dinner with the Pickers, as well as the entertaining company of the backyard caravaners from Cowra, Greg and Carol.
We finally headed for home (Racheal’s place) for a few more drinks, before crashing for the night.
Next day we did a tip-run – I was glad to see a second plastic garden chair, which had similar side damage to the one I destroyed, sitting in the trailer with the rest of the rubbish.
I think we had brekky about lunch time, bobbed around the pool for a while before ending up back to Monsoons for drinks.
By this time in my recollection, several days seem to run into each other – though I do recall we drank to excess each and every day.
We visited the Waterfront precinct, which I’d not seen before – and I found that to be an eye-opener. Though I could really have settled in there, the Fat Yaks going down nicely. Incidentally – since I arrived and Jimmy and I commenced the old ‘Shout’ routine with our drinks, it seemed that I always finished mine first – leaving James with an inch of warm beer in the bottom of his glass as I served up a fresh new schooner.
Sometimes I’d try to slow down and wait – but the Territory is a hot place and I was thirsty.
So when this occurred at the Waterfront pub, I offered to have a second shout – James insisted he get them and disappeared into the bar.
Thinking outside the square, as Jimbo is apt to do – he returned, placed a pint of Fat Yak in front of me and a schooner of mid-strength before himself. Nodding contently, he muttered that we should now be in sync!
Curiously, the roles were reversed when consuming a meal.
James would serve me up a plate full of awesomeness from the barbie and then retreat to finish off cooking and fetch his own. I’d be well into mine by the time he returned – not letting good tucker go cold and all, yet he would without exception, finish before me.
So apparently I drink like a fish and eat slowly, while inversely – James drinks slowly and eats like an Irish Wolf Hound.
Though most things he does, he does with energy – so it must just be beer that he has an issue with?
We dined at the Pickers several times – on one occasion I was presented with a most exquisite looking slice of dragon fruit. It was an intense reddy-crimson coloured juicy morsel – with little taste compared to its impressive appearance. It is certainly not objectionable by any means, and tastes like nothing else I’ve eaten previously – certainly worth checking out if the opportunity presents itself.
Nola happened to mention that they used to frequent the Darwin RSL Club – enjoy a meal and play the pokies for a bit, but lately it seemed that the old Rissole had lost its way. The club was in dire financial peril, with whispers of being forced into the hands of receivership in the near future.
Lo and behold – the next day the Darwin RSL Club burnt to the ground!
The News had vision of a blackened old snooker table, burnt chairs and bar – I sure hope they were insured!
We drove past in the arvo – there were still a few Firey-Inspector looking coves milling around the entrance, with danger tape keeping the punters at bay. Perhaps they found something suspicious?
There was more swimming in the pool, some local site-seeing – including my old house (which I strongly felt like entering and walking around), more late nights and sleep-in mornings, and James seemed to have no end of domestic chores to do before the Big Day – party day, on Friday.