Public Holidays and Ping Pong

This weekend is a public holiday in the merry old land of Oz (for Waltzing Matilda's birthday or something), so yesterday after work I watched England play the equivalent of a Hollywood feel good movie in which they overcame the Scots in the final minutes of the game after being behind the entire match. So that was nice.

A little while later we ventured out to Oxford Street with the newest member of the 311, Jose from Spain and a bit later we were joined by our two Italian lady room mates (roomettes?). We visited a few places, like Pockets and Shady Pines. The rain did pour, but our sprits were not dampened, as we were out for the night, but our walking had hastened.

Nice...

And then onto ‘The Standard’, a place we stumbled upon by chance as we avoided anywhere that looked remotely gay (which is 90% of Oxford Street). The basslines were heavy(ish) and the beer did flow and Jose noticed some stairs and we said ‘upstairs we shall go!’

Then a peculiar place opened before us, cans of Carlton and OHSHIT IS THAT...?

BLOODY WIFF WAFF!? I mean, PING PONG!

I'm not saying this place was inspired by a youth centre, but when a bar sells cans and people play ping pong to Human League, Queen and House of Pain you have to question whether you have just blacked out and you’re having a crazy dream.

Eat my backspin Freud!

Good times had all round, plus Jose managed to nab a ping pong ball.

Today the weather is dreary, went to Coles earlier (everything carrots) and then watched the Grand Final (The Sea Eagles beat The Warriors) and saw Italy fail to upset the Irish as I chomped on a lasagne and drank pints of Boags!

Bye for now, or as they say in Italy, ‘Ferrari Totti Ciao’!