Tuesday, August 18, 2009

A Trashbag's lament On The Death of the Surry Hills Party House

Whilst moving house, a gloriously disorganised friend stacked the majority of her frocks into a shopping trolley to push the two blocks to her new home. Enroute, a wheel fell off the trolley, leaving her dragging seven years of carefully selected Party Outfits (and a not-too-shabby collection of Heels) through the late night streets.

To see her through this disaster however, she did what most Surry Hills dwellers did when relocating home: took another swig of Vodka, smoked a fag, and had a little snort of something to keep her spirits up.....

But the times they are-a-changing. The humble last minute move to yet another crappy Terrace House is fast becoming impossible in Surry Hills. And Why? Cunty families from Ryde are renovating our Shitholes into pretty little bungalow's, catapulting rental prices and making noise complaints like they're going out of fashion.

A case in point is your bloggers recent eviction from one such shithole. With it's crumbling fireplaces and scum stained bathtub, I thought I'd found my perfect home. Five weeks later, my roommates and I were out on our vintage-clad arses. The reason being? TOO MUCH NOISE.

I mean sure, it's possible that we often did escort a gaily dressed throng of gurners back to ours at dawn for more drinks and No-Doze. It's possible also, that we were in possession of a Megaphone which was used at such times to holler such vital questions as "Does anyone have a cigarette filter?"....But Come On! Isn't such behaviour what makes city living so colourful and effervescent? Didn't we, the Party Pigs, lay claim to the city suburbs long before the Pram-Pushing, Beige-wearing 9am power walkers???

It puzzles me, In a world where a pair of earplugs will set you back a couple of dollars, that the noise complaint process even exists, let alone is utilised. I don't furiously dial the police when the upwardly mobile "funky" professional families roar up my street in their SUVS at 9am on a Saturday morning to hit fucking IKEA. Will they not show us the same courtesy?

I've certainly got a couple of more evictions left in me in Surry Hills. I'm sure, however, that eventually a new suburb will need to be found to call home. Maybe Redfern? At least the poor know how to Bloody Party.....


6 comments:

David Grrr said...

you're a brilliant writer mr

dood said...

This is why we move to Chippendale.

Anonymous said...

Really the adapting alcoholic has an easier answer, megaphone is locked away til bang on 6am, party-poopers cant kill perfectly timed popstar roosters.

Love your work Agatha.

Chanelle said...

You talented fuck. You know it too. Keep it coming. Send this to Ten Mag or i-D. They will froth

meggitron said...

i fuking love you

Danielle said...

hullo! i stumbled across your blog. it's really good :) what country is this from?