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She was one in a million
So there’s five more just in New South Wales
This is from the song, ‘Up Against the Wall’ by The Whitlams and stick with me as I connect it arithmetically, if not desperately, to The Hotel Royal in the Adelaide suburb of Torrensville. On Henley Beach Road, of all places.
So, nationwide, how many Royal Hotels are there?
As Deane Hutton used to say on The Curiosity Show, ‘I’m glad you asked’ and I can tell you in Australia there’s roughly 240. In the 19th century even Bendigo had four such pubs: Royal Duke, the Royal George, The Royal and the Royal Mail which made bewildering the generalised if earnest invitation, ‘Let’s meet at the Royal.’ Especially if all communication was by telegram.
On this 26-degree winter’s afternoon (weather both welcome and existentially troubling) Claire and I navigate through this renovated pub to the Back Pocket sports bar. The roof’s open, there’s chirpy folk about, and a girl’s strumming a guitar and applying herself to some Friday tunes.
Having secured our corner table, I set off bravely to buy booze and returned in minor triumph with a Sauvignon Blanc (never to be described as Savvy B. Oops, failed.) and one of my preferred occasion beers, a Stone and Wood Pacific Ale. However, while at the bar I had this conversation.
Me: I’m unsure what beer to buy.
Barkeep: Hahn Super Dry is only $9.
Me: It’d still be over-priced if it was a dollar.
Barkeep: Oh.
Pleasingly, our chosen drinks were comforting if unspectacular. Festooned across the walls on the TV screens, Fox Footy talking heads ‘provided’ pre-game ‘content.’ Mercifully, the sound was on mute.
On the ceiling were some electrical appliances which rank highly for me. Yes, I know, the accurately and funnily named, Big Ass Fans. While these were still, it was of considerable comfort to see them sitting above us with quiet majesty. Next time you’re at the Adelaide Oval (or in The Royal) check them out for these are truly Big Ass Fans.
With, ‘I was tired of my lady’ the singer then played ‘Escape (The Pina Colada Song)’ which despite its depiction of a largely grim marital situation, I always find amusing. I do enjoy some aural pub nostalgia, and this ranks highly on my list of 1970’s one-hit wonders.
I’m not much into health food and I’m not into champagne so it was timely that our plate of wedges then appeared. Like that first opening of your motel room door, the delightful arrival of food is one of hospitality’s petite joys.
I tried to order the wedges (Wedges? We don’t need no stinkin’ wedges!) using a QR code but our table number wasn’t included so I had to walk upwards of seven metres to the inside bar and place the order by actually speaking to the barkeep. I thought of sending a telegram but this wasn’t on the app. No-one was harmed and you’ll be relieved to learn, I did recover. Can’t life in 2024 be tricky?
They were, I’m thrilled to report, most succulent spud segments.
The bacchanalia continued with Claire then buying me a second beer and an espresso martini for her kindly self. Our corner table now resembled Caligula’s palace on a most raucous Thursday (well, not entirely). What an hour we were having!
With that twilight moment arriving when the afternoon folk depart and the dinner crowd’s still in transit, we took our leave. Mystery Pub was done for August.
We had things to do, and on the couch in front of Escape to the Country with its reception rooms and chickens and ruddy-cheeked village lifestyle, I was scheduled to take my obligatory Friday nap.
Read more from Mickey Randall HERE.
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About Mickey Randall
Now whip it into shape/
Shape it up, get straight/
Go forward, move ahead/
Try to detect it, it’s not too late/
To whip it, whip it good
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