‘Good people drink good beer’
There are some things we’ve done away with that won’t ever come back, that’s good to let go of… like having to hand wash your clothes, like we did before washing machines were invented. Then there are things we’ve forgotten we need, like human connection beyond our iPhone and our laptops. A conundrum of modern life in most large cities. Recently on a trip to old London Town I was reminded of this. In a world gone mad with the possibility to connect or reconnect with more people than ever before, we appear to be isolating ourselves, going in reverse-cycle. Can we tune into each other again and put our iPhone away?
I’m in a pub in Holborn in central London on a warm night, and believe it or not there is no music playing inside the bar. The punters, mixed in age, are being forced to communicate in a music free venue. The pub is busy, everyone is talking, no one is yelling over loud ‘thump-thump’ music pumped out of cheap sound systems, like you’d find on a stroll down Chapel Street in Melbourne on any given night. At first, to be honest, I didn’t notice the lack of music, I just order a pure brewed organic lager, as you do, and found comfortable a seat. But, gradually as I sipped my beer, my mind started to search around for sound and the thump-thump-thump. But, there was none.
“I come here all the time,” a woman in her 40’s propped up at the bar told me. “I love it. This is one of the best pubs in London. Honest!”
“But, there’s no music being played. Is that normal?” I ask.
“That’s right. No they don’t play it at all. You can go to any of their pubs, they’re all over London you know, and there’s no music in any of them. They’re all like this. Everyone’s chattin’. I luv’em. Look around,” she smiled and finished drinking her fruit lager.
‘There’s no music playing’
A pub with no music, who thought of that? I ordered another pure organic pint and snuggled up close to the bar. It did indeed appear to be working, everyone was talking, even me, a total stranger in town, talking to the people around me in the pub. “I am just going to take some photos, if you don’t mind,” I tell the barman who is wearing a T-shirt stating ‘good people drink good beer’.
“Are you a famous writer or something?” he asked.
“No I’m just one of those annoying people who just keep at it, because I can’t think of anything else to do,” and I pull out my iPhone.
“Here, take one of me. Go on then.” He stands close to the bar pretending to pour a brewed beer and smiles. I snap a picture. Too easy. I look around the ornate pub and think, ‘this is probably the best pub in the West End… or the world. Lucky me’.
“It’s good here ain’t it” a young bloke across from me calls out, slightly pissed. “I just popped in for a few on’me way home. I live with’me sister, she’s cooked dinner. I best go after this one.”
“I’m from Australia” I announce unexpectedly.
“I can tell. How long are you here for?” he asked, sipping his organic pint of pure beer.
“Three weeks. I use to live here. A long time ago. I’ve a few days in Paris this weekend, then back to London. Just here on hols”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Hols. Short for holiday. Australians shorten everything, all of us do,” I smile.
As I drank, I chatted. I chatted with the barman, then the barmaid. We talked about Europe and organic beer, naturally. I finished my pint and I left. In the two hours I sat in the pub, I can’t recall anyone taking out their phone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they did, but I didn’t notice because I was too busy talking absolute rubbish to total strangers. Just passing the time of day or what we use to call, shooting the breeze.
I walked back to the hotel and started to sing Slim Dusty’s classic Aussie song A Pub With No Beer.
It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call
But there’s nothing so lonesome, so morbid or drear
Than to stand in a bar, of a pub with no beer
I took the lift to the 7th floor, brushed my teeth, stripped naked and tucked myself into bed. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear tomorrow calling me. I turned over, pulling the sheet up over my head. I must wash my clothes first thing in the morning before I head to Paris for the weekend, I thought. Then, I gently sang myself to sleep.
About the author – Noel Anderson has worked in film and theatre and is featured in Breaking the Code a two day symposium for writers/authors, 6-7th Oct 2018. Noel is currently adapting his play Sammy & Dave into a film, about two bisexual-married men who rendezvous for a one night stand. Based on a true story.
Welcome to make an independent feature film. If you are reading this I’m guessing you like movies or maybe you’d like to be involved in Aussie filmmaking, or you’re a professional who has checked in to check us out. No worries, it’s all good. Welcome to the Rendezvous Hotel 😜 Remember Hollywood wasn’t built in a day. Lets check-in.
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Noel 
As I leave, pulling my hoodie over my head, I notice all the people in the restaurant on Friday at 9.30pm are… coupled. I am the only one alone? How’d that happen? But, is this what I want? Silence over sizzling beef, coupledom over cheap Chinese chop sticks? Is this what I dream of? Nervo, flower power jackets served up on a hot bed of white boiled rice? I decide there and then it’s too early in night to answer my eternal questioning, so I cowardly push all thoughts aside. I pay my bill and I leave, thankful for the cheap wine, Adele songs, tasty meal and full tummy.
My thoughts are interrupted by someone who knows me, a crew member who worked on a play I wrote and directed for Midsumma called ‘Andy Warhol’s 15 Minutes of Fame’ back in 2013.
As I pass Naked for Satan I hear Adele singing somewhere in the distance, her English accent reminding me of when I was young. Album 19, 21, 25 … then, 27, 32, 42, 47, the years I recall as memorable… to me. Turning points, turning tables, songs and albums, tracks of unequalled pain and bittersweet romance. Somewhere, someday, I know there will be a new fire starting in my heart. I have at least one album left inside of me, I think, maybe two?…I am not counting.
R is for Rear Window – based on a short story by Cornel Woolrich…believe it or not, I didn’t see Rear Window until I was in my mid 20’s as Rear Window disappeared from public view after its initial run. Hitchcock had withdrawn it from circulation, and held the copyright. My first viewing of Rear Window was at the Sydney Film Festival in the State Theatre and the event was hosted by no other than, James Stewart. Hitchcock had passed away sometime earlier. I remember watching it with my partner at the time. My relationship sadly didn’t go the distance but Rear Window certainly has stood the test of time. I love it! My rating 5 stars – Murder delivered perfectly, with a touch of class.
I is for Ingrid Pitt – Mum and dad often dropped me out front of the Capital Theatre in the city. One Saturday arvo I went to see an M rated movie (kids must be accompanied by an adult) on my own called the Vampire Lovers, with Hammer Horror’s leading scream queen, Ingrid Pitt. The Vampire Lovers is a film full of…well, saucy lesbian vampires and lots of tits. Mum had no idea what the movie was about, I didn’t tell her. God knows what I made of all the heavy breathing and girl-on-vampire-dyke-action. But, to this day The Vampire Lovers is one of my favourite lesbian thriller/horror films. My rating 5 stars – See it with someone you want to have sex with 😀
L is for The Last Wave – I can’t pass up mentioning this great Aussie thriller directed by Peter Weir. The Last Wave was made by South Australian Film Corporation at a time when Australians loved hearing the Aussie accents on screen and cinema chains invested heavily in Australian movies with a Hollywood star, in this case Richard Chamberlain. Australian films at the time were billed as an event. The Last Wave started my interest in aboriginal culture, and the ‘dreamtime.’ I even have a pair of message sticks in my home, a gift from the Festival of Dreaming which I worked on in Sydney, a year before the Olympic Games. My rating for The Last Wave is 5 stars – Thought provoking, alarming, spiritual stuff.
S is for Suspiria – Where do I start? An adult fairytale handled with flair and grandeur by one of the worlds great auteurs. Suspiria was released with a pounding soundtrack by Italian pop group the Goblins. I remember sitting alone in a cinema on George Street in Sydney and being bowled over by its brilliance. Suspiria introduced me to another idol, the Italian Hitchcock, Dario Argento. In fact I became obsessed with Italian thrillers, particularly ‘giallo.’ You know, where the murder is seen from the perspective of the killer, often a gloved hand holding a big bloody knife. My rating 5 stars – Unforgettable
Liz meets her therapist Rod, who has the looks of a movie star. During her first therapy session, Liz is constantly interrupted by voices in her head, one of them is Audrey Hepburn, who behaves like one of the characters from famous movies – ‘My Fair Lady, A Roman Holiday and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’ Rod wonders just how many voices are actually inside Liz’s mind.
At her Catholic school, Liz is given the lead role of Eliza Doolittle, a role made famous by her Audrey Hepburn in Hollywood film ‘My Fair Lady’. At rehearsals, Liz starts behaving more like a diva every minute, insisting on changing the lines from the play, which makes her unpopular with the teachers.
Mum hurries to dress, she’s late for a date with a young man she met on the internet. Audrey Hepburn sits watching the scene unfold like a 1940’s screwball comedy, excited that mum had the guts to cruise the internet. Things spiral out of control when Caroline declares she is pregnant to Liz’s father and Emad gate crashes the house, proudly announces he is in fact mum’s internet date…and they’re off to see Now Voyager at the Astor Cinema. On hearing this, Liz fears she’ll fall apart and reminds Emad that Now Voyager is one of their favourite Bette Davis films. Liz is left alone with her imaginary friend Audrey Hepburn, together they ponder the meaning of love. Audrey Hepburn tells Liz to just accept life, unconditionally. 
Expecting a battle of the minds, Liz is surprised to find Audrey Hepburn is packed and ready to go. The two old friends hug and say their goodbyes. Audrey disappears as if by magic, back into the world of movie marathons and Hollywood make believe. Audrey’s parting words are as Eliza Doolittle, “Now common drover move ya bloody rear, ya got a train to catch.” Dad arrives to take Liz to the train station. He notices she has grown into a strong independent woman and believes now, without Audrey and in a good mindset, she can do anything her heart desires. Dad is proud of her, even of what she wears. 
Flinders Street Station under the Clocks – Liz waits for a train to Perth. Just as she is about to board Len arrives with a suitcase. Liz tells him that Audrey Hepburn is gone for good! They kiss in the busy train station as millions of people walk by. 
