Heat by Rob O’Neill

Martinis at the RSL

A few days ago the Girlie called me a retard. It was early in the morning and I was feeling a bit tired and emotional having only gotten in at 4am. Despite that I couldn’t resist having my morning sport.

“Why aren’t you at school?” I barked, knowing full well the answer.

“We have a late start, you retard!” she shouted back.

The Girlie isn’t a morning person.

This morning was pretty much the same. I get up bright and cheerful:

“Good morning little girl!” I exclaim.

“Don’t talk to me!” Her Girlieship shouts back just before she heads out the door. Even better she can’t find her keys and has to limply back down and ask me to shut the door after her.

Bliss. Desired outcomes achieved. Girlie stirred and shaken.

Speaking of stirred and shaken, I was down the RSL the other day with my mate Dan, the self-styled Hebrew Hammer, and the other veterans… Actually I was down there with a bunch of trendies, lesbians, gays and nightclub types. There was one old digger hanging tough in the corner looking highly pissed off.

The Newtown RSL, went belly up a couple of years back and private enterprise came to the rescue, turning it into a way cool club with DJs on two levels and cocktails on the top floor – though I guess it can’t be that cool if they let me in. I ordered a martini just so I could use that headline. It was damn good too, despite a bit of lemon rhind substituting for the olive.

The Hebrew Hammer was in a fragile state of mind, having to wrestle with his own Evil Santa. The single life certainly has compensations.

I was reading the other day that in NY they are serving 100 vodka martinis for every classic gin martini these days. The world really is going to hell in a hand-basket.

Vodka is bloody everywhere. I’ve accumulated a couple of bottles at home, one good and one semi-good. So in a fit of creativity on Sunday I decided to try and knock up an infusion. One bottle of vodka plus half a rock melon and…. I’ll keep you posted.