Day 69. 118,823 words.
On Saturday, the 12th of January, we returned to the Fairy Garden in the morning for more playing. Hey, it was a cool spot.
After that, the Day of the Fairy continued relentlessly and we returned to Fremantle to hit the Pickled Fairy shop once more. This time, Wump and Toop were not to be put off with empty promises that we’d come back again, so we were there for … I’m going to say, three and a half months. It was quite surprising to find that only an hour or so had passed by the time we finally emerged.
I also took some pictures around Fremantle, for anyone remotely interested in the history and mythology of Bad Cow.
This is “Preston Point Anglican Church”, not in fact named that … but this is the church of the Archangel Barry.
And directly across the street from the church, at least as far as my recollection serves, there was a late-night bar and cigar lounge. It’s not there now, but there’s an interesting and eclectic little collection of businesses around the church, just as I remember. The titular Bad Cow, on the other hand, was not here – the Bad Cow, gastropub ahead of its time, never really existed but it was an amalgamation of British pub The Elephant and Wheelbarrow, and Irish late-night pub / franchise The Bog. Ah, the memories.
And this is Metropolis nightclub, or Das Wampyr’s, aka. Dwamps. This is the basic location and the club I was thinking of (I believe it was called The Clink back when I lived in Western Australia?), but the structure of the nightclub was modelled on the Perth version of Metropolis nightclub, which was far more impressive. The old names for the place – The Night Train, Kittykat’s, The Old Town Hotel – were in turn taken from a hodgepodge of different pubs and clubs that changed names regularly when I lived in the area.
Beginning to flag by this stage, we also visited the Fremantle Markets for another round of gift-buying, and I found an amusing selection of terribly-written signs that Edpool could dig his teeth into.
Starkers, by the way, is more usually Australian slang for naked, not crazy. Although “stark raving mad” is definitely a thing.
Then, holy shit, we came back from Fremantle and went to the supermarket to buy jelly (that’s jello to USians) and chocolate to take home as gifts, and another toy and costume shop for the girls to get one last round of doting-grandmother gifts from my mum. Man, they cleaned up on this trip.
I don’t remember what we did that night. I probably just collapsed.