Geographically isololated as the Wayside Tavern is, Mine Host has been free from many of the problems afflicting his brethren victuallers in the metropolitan & more heavily populated areas.
Holdups do not happen, break & enters are rare. If you "hit & run" in a pub, the police (at their convenience) call at your house sometime in the next couple of weeks & arrest you for affray/assault/whatever. A bandit pulling off a heist & making a getaway by car would be met by police roadblocks before the next town. If said bandit were to take to the bush for a getaway he would be ill advised, as every piece of bush is actually the domain of a farmer/grazier, who possess guns, and has a markedly black & white attitude towards criminals!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Dial 000
It is a very quiet night, only a few regulars are in the bar, the very occassional road train or lonely ute passes by the Wayside Tavern.
Mine Host thinks to himself: "How boring can it get? I wish something would happen"
(Always unwise to tempt fate by making such wishes)
Suddenly in rushes one of the toughest young men in town, tattooed, wiry, muscles like whipcord, reflexes of lightning, he gives ground to no man! Er.. until tonight that is, for his hands are waving as if from rubber wrists, his skin has paled to whiter than an Irishman who has never seen the sun. In an advanced state of fear & agitation his voice is high pitched & panicked, quavering he bleats: "They're after me... help me"
Unable to resist some inward gloating at a physical superior throwing himself at Mine Hosts' mercy, I escort "mean John" to the office & LOCK HIM IN. Hee hee hee....
The gloating evaporates when Mine Host returns to the bar & dwells on the thought that if "mean John" is scared, perhaps we all should be scared.......
.... All thoughts are banished by the entrance of a bikie. This man has SERIOUS tattoos, aggression & violence ooze off him, but the atmosphere of electricity & fear is caused by the small shotgun the bikie is carrying. It is not so much that he is carrying it, as that he is attempting to conceal it behind his leg.
"Where is Mean John?" barks the bikie (I've never seen this bikie before, perhaps he is a *gulp* hitman up from the big smoke, with mean John his intended "contract")
Affecting a bored tone of voice Mine Host casually wipes an ashtray: "Not seen him for some days now"
"Don't mess me round, he just came in here, I saw him!" As much as mine host pretends to behave normally, the bikie tries even harder, asking for mean John as if asking does anyone know the time. This affected casual air is clear proof of the gravity of the situation in which mean John has found himself.
"...um... ... he must have gone down one of the alleyways either side of the pub.. "
Not waiting to argue (his "target" may get away) the bikie rushes out to follow this lead. The Wayside Tavern is not within a thousand miles of an alleyway, & the facade is part of a solid brick wall running the full length of the city block.
Having thus diverted (albeit very temporarily) the hitman/bikie, Mine Host turns & makes the first (& to date only) triple-O call of his life. Thank heavens for push button phones, as the fingers quaver too much to use a dial.
What sort of response do we get to a Triple-O call in this neck of the woods, and how quick do we get it?:
Within 3 minutes more than 60 armed police section off the street (yes, sixty, feel free to be overcome with envy all you urban burglary victims who waited hours in vain for even one policeman) each officer is brandishing a revolver. This sight is somewhat incongruous, as most of the police are dressed in singlets & shorts, thongs or sandshoes.
Unbeknown to Mine Host, & certainly not known by the unsuspecting hitman/bikie, there is a gathering in town of the Stock-Squad. Behind the Wayside Tavern is located the police station, outside of which the town's regular police were "sinking a few" with every Stock Squad policeman in the state. Mine Host's distress call had interrupted them just as the entire group was comparing sidearms.
45 minutes later the "armed offender", by now very much sans belligerence, is located in the shunting yard, hiding under a railway carriage.
Mine Host thinks to himself: "How boring can it get? I wish something would happen"
(Always unwise to tempt fate by making such wishes)
Suddenly in rushes one of the toughest young men in town, tattooed, wiry, muscles like whipcord, reflexes of lightning, he gives ground to no man! Er.. until tonight that is, for his hands are waving as if from rubber wrists, his skin has paled to whiter than an Irishman who has never seen the sun. In an advanced state of fear & agitation his voice is high pitched & panicked, quavering he bleats: "They're after me... help me"
Unable to resist some inward gloating at a physical superior throwing himself at Mine Hosts' mercy, I escort "mean John" to the office & LOCK HIM IN. Hee hee hee....
The gloating evaporates when Mine Host returns to the bar & dwells on the thought that if "mean John" is scared, perhaps we all should be scared.......
.... All thoughts are banished by the entrance of a bikie. This man has SERIOUS tattoos, aggression & violence ooze off him, but the atmosphere of electricity & fear is caused by the small shotgun the bikie is carrying. It is not so much that he is carrying it, as that he is attempting to conceal it behind his leg.
"Where is Mean John?" barks the bikie (I've never seen this bikie before, perhaps he is a *gulp* hitman up from the big smoke, with mean John his intended "contract")
Affecting a bored tone of voice Mine Host casually wipes an ashtray: "Not seen him for some days now"
"Don't mess me round, he just came in here, I saw him!" As much as mine host pretends to behave normally, the bikie tries even harder, asking for mean John as if asking does anyone know the time. This affected casual air is clear proof of the gravity of the situation in which mean John has found himself.
"...um... ... he must have gone down one of the alleyways either side of the pub.. "
Not waiting to argue (his "target" may get away) the bikie rushes out to follow this lead. The Wayside Tavern is not within a thousand miles of an alleyway, & the facade is part of a solid brick wall running the full length of the city block.
Having thus diverted (albeit very temporarily) the hitman/bikie, Mine Host turns & makes the first (& to date only) triple-O call of his life. Thank heavens for push button phones, as the fingers quaver too much to use a dial.
What sort of response do we get to a Triple-O call in this neck of the woods, and how quick do we get it?:
Within 3 minutes more than 60 armed police section off the street (yes, sixty, feel free to be overcome with envy all you urban burglary victims who waited hours in vain for even one policeman) each officer is brandishing a revolver. This sight is somewhat incongruous, as most of the police are dressed in singlets & shorts, thongs or sandshoes.
Unbeknown to Mine Host, & certainly not known by the unsuspecting hitman/bikie, there is a gathering in town of the Stock-Squad. Behind the Wayside Tavern is located the police station, outside of which the town's regular police were "sinking a few" with every Stock Squad policeman in the state. Mine Host's distress call had interrupted them just as the entire group was comparing sidearms.
45 minutes later the "armed offender", by now very much sans belligerence, is located in the shunting yard, hiding under a railway carriage.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
The police deserve respect!
The Wayside Tavern is packed full of people. All are having a wonderful time swaying to the music of a VERY good country band. The staff are thriving on being busier than usual, & the carnival atmosphere is vibrant & upbeat!
Mine Host, with a sinking feeling, notices a line of 4 males aged in their late 20's leaning against a wall near the doorway.... Three of them are hangers-on, but one has the unmistakeable features of a complete tosser. The tosser commences aggressively banging against the wall. The sound of it loud enough to be heard accross the room. All the while the tosser is glaring challengingly at Mine Host.
Wearily Mine Host approaches the tosser & suggests the the banging stop. Tosser feigns ignorance & innocence, then aggressivly pins Mine Host to the wall by the neck. The 3 hangers-on give up leaning on the wall & gather behind the tosser.
Mine Host is comforted somewhat by the presence of his secretary who has appeared beside him, (nothing like a witness, & a strong personality to boot) Mine Host is preparing for the head butt which the tosser is readying himself for, (little chance of avoiding it, goodbye to the straight nose) when one of the Wayside Tavern's elderly patrons (aged 70) claps a hand on the tossers arm & authoritively commands him to let go. The tosser lets go purely to prepare to violently smite the elderly man. Suddenly an unexpected melee breaks out from nowhere. A bystander (transpires to be the father-in-law of the tosser) prises away from mine host the tosser, & pushes him out the door.
It has all happened in seconds, mine host is physically unharmed (to begin with it didn't seem like it was going to turn out that way) & has a shredded long white shirt (expensive those things)
The police arrive, summoned by the secretary, to the sight of the tosser stripped to the waist, prancing around on the footpath in the stance of a pugilist, commanding mine host (among others) to come out & "fight". Mine Host is standing nearby in the doorway with shredded shirt & informs the police that the tosser, by now standing sedately on the footpath, has initiated a fair sort of disturbance, refused eviction, assaulted several people, & was the sole cause of the ructions.
The Detective Sergeant attending whispers in the ear of the now miraculously subdued tosser, who takes off like a fox pursued by hounds.
The police then look left & right, then depart, just as soon as the lady constable accompanying the detective sergeant loudly announces "this place needs more security staff". (NB: Security staff can only remove unruly persons from the premises & place them on the footpath, which was the status quo when the police arrived. Police may wear a blue shirt, but this does not prevent them having a broad streak of mental inagility)
It dawned upon Mine Host that the tosser's father & the detective sergeant are friends. Of course there'd be no arrest.
Mine Host, with a sinking feeling, notices a line of 4 males aged in their late 20's leaning against a wall near the doorway.... Three of them are hangers-on, but one has the unmistakeable features of a complete tosser. The tosser commences aggressively banging against the wall. The sound of it loud enough to be heard accross the room. All the while the tosser is glaring challengingly at Mine Host.
Wearily Mine Host approaches the tosser & suggests the the banging stop. Tosser feigns ignorance & innocence, then aggressivly pins Mine Host to the wall by the neck. The 3 hangers-on give up leaning on the wall & gather behind the tosser.
Mine Host is comforted somewhat by the presence of his secretary who has appeared beside him, (nothing like a witness, & a strong personality to boot) Mine Host is preparing for the head butt which the tosser is readying himself for, (little chance of avoiding it, goodbye to the straight nose) when one of the Wayside Tavern's elderly patrons (aged 70) claps a hand on the tossers arm & authoritively commands him to let go. The tosser lets go purely to prepare to violently smite the elderly man. Suddenly an unexpected melee breaks out from nowhere. A bystander (transpires to be the father-in-law of the tosser) prises away from mine host the tosser, & pushes him out the door.
It has all happened in seconds, mine host is physically unharmed (to begin with it didn't seem like it was going to turn out that way) & has a shredded long white shirt (expensive those things)
The police arrive, summoned by the secretary, to the sight of the tosser stripped to the waist, prancing around on the footpath in the stance of a pugilist, commanding mine host (among others) to come out & "fight". Mine Host is standing nearby in the doorway with shredded shirt & informs the police that the tosser, by now standing sedately on the footpath, has initiated a fair sort of disturbance, refused eviction, assaulted several people, & was the sole cause of the ructions.
The Detective Sergeant attending whispers in the ear of the now miraculously subdued tosser, who takes off like a fox pursued by hounds.
The police then look left & right, then depart, just as soon as the lady constable accompanying the detective sergeant loudly announces "this place needs more security staff". (NB: Security staff can only remove unruly persons from the premises & place them on the footpath, which was the status quo when the police arrived. Police may wear a blue shirt, but this does not prevent them having a broad streak of mental inagility)
It dawned upon Mine Host that the tosser's father & the detective sergeant are friends. Of course there'd be no arrest.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Please Leave Now!
However, of all recent changes to the law, the biggest social impact on the lifetyle of publicans has been the Eviction Laws.
1./ Pubs may now evict or bar people without providing a reason.
2./The police may write a quite expensive ticket to anyone who refuses to leave a pub when the publican (or staff) ask them to.
Now my stress level is reduced to less than 10% .
Previously, publicans had to be burly enough, or wily enough, to remove even the largest & most belligerent & violent of persons.
This was particularly tricky in the event of more than one person disputing their "right" to continue harassing/assaulting & generally ruining everyone’s night.
(And the underclass DID have that right to remain, all the weight was on publicans, to present a “case” as to why a certain bully or serial offender would be not welcome in the pub)
Roughhousing with the public is now a thing of the past (& not before time either)
Nowdays Mine Host attends "discussion groups" & "meetings" with police, where the officer-in-charge of the local station explains that Mine Host must no longer grapple with the unruly.
Instead the police are to be summoned. The police will remove the "evictee" & if appropriate write a ticket... (YES! a summary fine for refusing to leave a pub!!! *Yippee*)
What a contrast from Mine Host’s first days at the Builders & Motor Trades Arms, when construction workers & mechanics would behave as dogs in a pit.
The official position of the police was "anything that happens there, handle it yourself, we do not want to know about it, it is your pub, if you don't keep it clean, we will crack down on YOU"
The mental strain on publicans & their families was intense. Any time of the day or night, year round, personally having to one-on-one front up to absolutely any brute who suddenly felt in the mood for some summary physical conflict.
The legal penalties for failing to front up, (the police call this “containing the situation”) or for losing the brawl, were such that Peace of Mind was never possible for a publican, unless he was in the premises, & could see for himself that nothing was happening.
Holidays, or even a trip out to the post office, were as brief as possible, & filled with mind numbing worry about what may be happening back at the pub.
1./ Pubs may now evict or bar people without providing a reason.
2./The police may write a quite expensive ticket to anyone who refuses to leave a pub when the publican (or staff) ask them to.
Now my stress level is reduced to less than 10% .
Previously, publicans had to be burly enough, or wily enough, to remove even the largest & most belligerent & violent of persons.
This was particularly tricky in the event of more than one person disputing their "right" to continue harassing/assaulting & generally ruining everyone’s night.
(And the underclass DID have that right to remain, all the weight was on publicans, to present a “case” as to why a certain bully or serial offender would be not welcome in the pub)
Roughhousing with the public is now a thing of the past (& not before time either)
Nowdays Mine Host attends "discussion groups" & "meetings" with police, where the officer-in-charge of the local station explains that Mine Host must no longer grapple with the unruly.
Instead the police are to be summoned. The police will remove the "evictee" & if appropriate write a ticket... (YES! a summary fine for refusing to leave a pub!!! *Yippee*)
What a contrast from Mine Host’s first days at the Builders & Motor Trades Arms, when construction workers & mechanics would behave as dogs in a pit.
The official position of the police was "anything that happens there, handle it yourself, we do not want to know about it, it is your pub, if you don't keep it clean, we will crack down on YOU"
The mental strain on publicans & their families was intense. Any time of the day or night, year round, personally having to one-on-one front up to absolutely any brute who suddenly felt in the mood for some summary physical conflict.
The legal penalties for failing to front up, (the police call this “containing the situation”) or for losing the brawl, were such that Peace of Mind was never possible for a publican, unless he was in the premises, & could see for himself that nothing was happening.
Holidays, or even a trip out to the post office, were as brief as possible, & filled with mind numbing worry about what may be happening back at the pub.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
On the House!
Of course with the introduction of the "new" liquor act (1992) much has changed, not only have "taverns" & other such names been removed from the official lexicon, but other more important requirements have changed also:
The Wayside Tavern is no longer required to have straw or stabling for 6 horses. Now we are no longer in breach of the law!
Holding a general licence now allows one to apply for a licence to operate poker machines. The pseudo-casino atmosphere inside Queensland pubs these days is a direct result of this change.
Poker machines: Where you sell something to people without having to give them anything.
Only a general licence (pub) is allowed to sell packaged (ie, take home) liquor. Random breath testing & severe penalties for drink driving has led (over quite some years) to an increase in drinking at home. Result: a proliferation of "quick-serve" drive through bottleshops.
Takeaway liquor could only be sold from a hotel premises, however now a hotel (general licence) may apply to open satellite bottlshops (maximum of 3, must be within 10km radius of the hotel). These can be found almost anywhere, although usually are in a large shopping centre, a suburban shopping precinct, or in a convenience location (I would prefer to have one located between a pizza shop & a video rental shop!)
The Wayside Tavern is no longer required to have straw or stabling for 6 horses. Now we are no longer in breach of the law!
Holding a general licence now allows one to apply for a licence to operate poker machines. The pseudo-casino atmosphere inside Queensland pubs these days is a direct result of this change.
Poker machines: Where you sell something to people without having to give them anything.
Only a general licence (pub) is allowed to sell packaged (ie, take home) liquor. Random breath testing & severe penalties for drink driving has led (over quite some years) to an increase in drinking at home. Result: a proliferation of "quick-serve" drive through bottleshops.
Takeaway liquor could only be sold from a hotel premises, however now a hotel (general licence) may apply to open satellite bottlshops (maximum of 3, must be within 10km radius of the hotel). These can be found almost anywhere, although usually are in a large shopping centre, a suburban shopping precinct, or in a convenience location (I would prefer to have one located between a pizza shop & a video rental shop!)
Second Round
Now that we are ensconced in the Wayside Tavern, what does the name mean? What is a Tavern? What is the difference between the following: Tavern, Inn, Hotel, and Pub?
Readers from Queensland (& possibly all of Australia & NZ) will be thinking "they are all the same thing!" Ah! Not quite so! Under the previous but longstanding Queensland Liquor Act, a "Tavern" & a "Hotel" were different liquor licences, with differing conditions. All were colloquially known as pubs. Under the new Queensland Liquor Act, all are now a General Licence, the licence conditions of which are quite similar, but differ from, those of a Public House.
Public House: A place, usually a building, where liquor may be purchased by a member of the public for no reason other than to consume it right there on the premises. (Commonly shortened to pub).
Inn: A place where overnight lodgings are offered to travellers, meals are provided & can also be a public house.
Hotel: A place where accommodation is offered, also meals, & may have ancillary facilities, perhaps shops in the foyer for the convenience of guests. The accommodation may be aimed at longer term residents, & meals are provided. A Hotel need not be a public house, however in Australia & some other countries the two terms have come to be synonymous.
Tavern: Public House which does not have guest accommodation.
Where is the Wayside Tavern? In Mighty Queensland! In various postings on this site it may be known such other names as befits a place or event in the experience of Mine Host. Events in this weblog are all factual, & are all in a pub operated by Mine Host. However chronology & location may sometimes be altered to protect the identity of those who have committed no offences.
For those who are still reading shall I refill the foaming tankards?
Readers from Queensland (& possibly all of Australia & NZ) will be thinking "they are all the same thing!" Ah! Not quite so! Under the previous but longstanding Queensland Liquor Act, a "Tavern" & a "Hotel" were different liquor licences, with differing conditions. All were colloquially known as pubs. Under the new Queensland Liquor Act, all are now a General Licence, the licence conditions of which are quite similar, but differ from, those of a Public House.
Public House: A place, usually a building, where liquor may be purchased by a member of the public for no reason other than to consume it right there on the premises. (Commonly shortened to pub).
Inn: A place where overnight lodgings are offered to travellers, meals are provided & can also be a public house.
Hotel: A place where accommodation is offered, also meals, & may have ancillary facilities, perhaps shops in the foyer for the convenience of guests. The accommodation may be aimed at longer term residents, & meals are provided. A Hotel need not be a public house, however in Australia & some other countries the two terms have come to be synonymous.
Tavern: Public House which does not have guest accommodation.
Where is the Wayside Tavern? In Mighty Queensland! In various postings on this site it may be known such other names as befits a place or event in the experience of Mine Host. Events in this weblog are all factual, & are all in a pub operated by Mine Host. However chronology & location may sometimes be altered to protect the identity of those who have committed no offences.
For those who are still reading shall I refill the foaming tankards?
Saturday, February 26, 2005
First Drinks
Door is open for trade, tankards await their foaming contents, mine host has just finished the final preparations in readiness for opening. You are all most welcome to enter & quench your thirst, seat yourself at a wooden bench, enjoy the cool air, shade & convivial company! A good time for you is our specialty!
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