Bar GarryOwen

The estate agent put the 'For Sale' board up outside the house today. This will be the first time I've lived in a house that is on the market. We've chosen Peter Large after taking advice. I met him a couple of years ago when he valued our old house. Nice bloke, named after the size of his wallet apparently.

We briefly considered attempting to flog it ourselves to avoid paying the middle man. People do it these days, using the internet. We'll give Peter and his team a month or so and review the situation then.

I've been doing some serious surfing over the weekend, checking out a prospective local in Albury. The pubs look pretty good, much better than I expected based on my memories of Sydneys pubs from my visit in '96. The pubs were like slums but the punters within these slums were top notch.

Our local was the GarryOwen Hotel in Balmain. What a gaff! It reminded me of drinking establishments I'd visited in the Third World, a giant ashtray surrounding the bar with a lone armchair complete with upholstery spring poking through it's seat, positioned far too close to the cracked, worn-out dartboard. We called in one Friday afternoon for a swift one and ended up leaving on Sunday night decked out in the rugby league shirts of our choice, given to us by the lads we had met during the session. I've still got mine. South Sydney, the pride of the league, with the number one on the back. Given to me by Yummy, who, despite his handicap, ran all the way home and back in the rain to present it to me.

I plan to return to the GarryOwen when we move to Oz. It's had a right touch-up since that weekend in November ten years ago. It looks like a gay bar now, with shiny metallic furniture that looks less inviting than the broken chair from '96. It bears more resemblance to an Ikea showroom than a boozer. It's even got its own website.

I'd love to catch up with the gang that kept us royally entertained and made us feel so at home when we were twelve thousand miles away from home. They even managed to squeeze a 'punch-up' in for us, which despite the obvious violent overtones, still managed to be a comical and ultimately friendly segment of the evening.

I doubt whether the GarryOwen of today would permit that sort of behaviour, let alone encourage it as was the case back then. Couldn't see the dartboard on the website photographs either. Nor any of the faces I would recognise anywhere. No Yummy. I imagine they've moved on, unhappy with their local being turned into Bar GarryOwen, selling latte and mochachocachino. On to somewhere where they can watch the dogs, spit, curse, have a punt and thump each other.

I hope they took the dartboard with them...