Rainy Adelaide

I rise around 10:30. Feeling much better than yesterday. And even better after a shower and an English breakfast tea.

Getting Andrew up is a bit of a struggle. I woke at 3 AM and he wasn't asleep. I do some pottering around for a couple of hours. While he snores on. He finally surfaces around 12:30. Looking dazed and confused. As always.

We rock down to Woollies once Andrew is looking human. I get some more fruit salad. And some English cheddar. And a small quiche lorraine. That should keep me going. Oh, and a litre of milk. 

“Don’t you want to get any food, Andrew?”

“Not really.”

“You mean ‘Let’s just go to the BWS.’.”

“I suppose we could go there.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, then.”

In the BWS he gets six packs of Asahi and some Japanese alcopop. I get a litre of the cheapest bourbon. I don't want to hang around. My stomach is feeling a bit weird. I don't want to shit myself.

Back in our room, I give the toilet a visit. And the shit flows like piss. Now that could have been embarrassing. At least I had the foresight to bring a change of kecks, should the worst happen.

Our room was tidied while we were out. Leaving me fully supplied with English breakfast tea. I celebrate by having another cup. A nice cup of tea really does work wonders. Just like Double Diamond.

Around 4 PM we head out for today's destination: Cooper's Original Ale House. I wasn't going to come to Adelaide and not drop by. Andrew persuades me to walk there.

"It's only about a mile."

"OK, then."

“That was easy.”

“You sound disappointed.”

It gives us a chance to see a bit more of the city. Some of which has quite a North American feel with 8- and 10-storey buildings. Mostly insurance company offices. At least, originally. And some classical stone buildings. All very handsome, with quite the big city feel. Much more so than Perth. Which, ironically, is a good bit larger.

As we get closer to our destination, the scale drops to just two storeys. And there are some classic balconied Australian houses. The cast-iron structures shielding the interior from harsh direct sunlight.

The Alehouse is quite empty when we arrive. And it's happy hour. Thatchers cider for Andrew. Cooper's Pacific Pale Ale for me. It's not bad. Is that tropical tang from US hops? Or are they more local?

Quite a few breweries have beers called Pacific Ale or XPA. No idea what exactly those names mean. Other than Pale Ales of some sort. Among the vast range of Cooper’s beers on draught here, there’s also an XPA. 

I order a second Pacific Pale Ale before the end of happy hour. Well before I've finished my first. And find myself doing what I did when I lived in Australia. Being a drink ahead so that, while I'm drinking one, I've got another warming up. In a vain attempt to combat the freezing serving temperature.

It's an impressive choice of beers on tap. Around a dozen of their own. Including Mild Ale at 3.5% ABV and aged versions of both Sparkling Ale and Best Extra Stout. Just a shame that they don't have a couple on cask. 

I go for Mild Ale next. Which, surprisingly, is rather pale and thin. And a bit underwhelming,

"This must be the most southerly-brewed Mild in the world, Andrew."

"Well, you can't get much further south than this. At least, and be on land. Other than Tasmania or Patagonia.”

“Finally taking an interest in Mild Ale-brewing?”

“No, just being geographically accurate.”

“That’s close enough.”

“You’re pathetic, Dad.”

“Thank you.”

“What did I tell you about saying that inappropriately?”

“That you find it endearing?”

“Shut up, Dad.”

The Dark Ale that I have next is more like my idea of a Mild. Dark and malty. We're ordering what they call "pints", but are maybe two-thirds of a pint.  They don’t seem to do Imperial pints here in South Australia.

The pub is really filing up. Though most punters are eating and leaving after their food and one beer. In most cases a schnitzel. As it’s schnitzel night.

My back is absolutely killing me. I blame the backless high stool. 

“Have you noticed that there’s no comfortable seating in here, Andrew?”

“You mean seats for oldies like you.”

“Sensible people who don’t want to fuck their spines.”

“Oldies like you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what I heard.”

There's footie on the telly. Richmond against Carlton at the MCG. I'm supporting Carlton, obviously. As I used to live there. They concede a few early goals and trail by 30 points most of the game.

When I go to the bogs, I notice that there's a massive restaurant section at the rear. With a large pizza oven. I’d show you a picture, but I don’t take my phone to the bog with me. I’m not a fucking animal.

I finish with the Best Extra Stout. Which is excellent, as always. 

“This was my favourite beer, when I lived in Melbourne. All those years ago.”

“1950s was it, Dad?”

“Very amusing. Early 1990s. It’s still a cracking beer.”

“You won’t be letting me ‘finish’ that one, will you?”

“No fucking way.”

We leave just before half time.

"We're taking an Uber back." I say, putting my foot down.

“OK, dad.”

“I was expecting an argument.”

“You’ll be disappointed, then.”

“What’s your game.”

“Nothing. I don’t fancy walking in the rain.”

The devious bastard.

I found the walk down really tiring. I'm still not fully recovered from the pneumonia I caught in Argentina. Though I can now breathe fairly normally.

Back in the hotel, I nibble on my food and sip on my whiskey while watching the rest of the game. Carlton loses. Never in it, really.

When I turn in just after midnight, Andrew has already dozed off. Maybe he'll manage to get up before noon tomorrow. Maybe.



Cooper's Original Ale House
316 Pulteney St, 
Adelaide SA 5000.
https://coopersalehouse.pub/