About 1am the owner of the motel staggers accross the street to the Wayside Tavern & stands facing the doorman.
It looks good when replayed on camera. The motelier lurching erratically accross the street, then stands swaying like a palm tree in a strong wind.
By the look of him he's got an entire bottle of scotch inside him.
After a short time (possibly to remember where he was) he begins to berate the doorman. It looks fantastic on camera, stabbing finger pointing, swaying on the feet.
He is carrying on about the "damage done to the street" by the Wayside Tavern. He alleges that drunks are lurching along the street at all hours of the night, that after we close there are people "pouring onto the street, vomiting everywhere, throwing empty beer bottles into gardens, smashing windows" and so on.
The only drunk we've seen on the front street, at any time of the day or night, is Mr. Motelier himself.
None of the allegations are even possible. There are no "gardens" in the CBD, our patrons do not exit onto that street, nor do people carry "beer bottles" out of the Wayside Tavern late at night.
Finally Mr. Motelier, seeing he is not getting anywhere with the doorman, loses his bundle completely & storms off, lurching back accross the street to home.
The camera replay demonstrates that his sense of direction hasn't improved any in the half hour he's spent sobering up at our front door.
Heaven only knows what got into him.