I love a good bowling club. And by “good”, I mean one resolutely stuck in a timewarp of garish carpets, electrically-lit wall-mounted Legacy torches, themed dance nites, meat raffles, and so on.
My profound emotional attachment to such bowlos stems directly from my childhood summer holidays. Every year, my parents, brother and I would spend the second last week of the Christmas holidays in Lake Cathie, just south of Port Macquarie. I am not exaggerating when I say we went there every single year during the 1980s and early 1990s. It never varied. And I am not sorry in the least. We all loved it.
Several times during the week, we would take a late afternoon stroll from our modest nearby accommodation and dine at Lake Cathie Bowling and Recreation Club. What a great place. You knew immediately it was a proper bowlo when you were greeted by “the big bowl” on arrival. We dined in the bistro on such exotic delights as fish and chips, chicken and chips, and calamari and chips, washed down with a “fire engine” (ie, fizzy red drink). Out the back, koalas nestled on the boughs of the gum trees. Brilliant.
Last Saturday night, I attended a friend’s 40th birthday party, phaze two of which was held at Marrickville Bowling Club. Despite living in Marrickville for nine years, I had never been there. I was beside myself with excitement when I was assured it would meet my criteria for a “good” bowlo. And boy, did it ever! Ghastly carpet? Check! A liberal use of wood pannelling? Check! Nanna-style light fittings? Check! And, best of all, a pressed-copper ceiling that has to be seen to be believed. During the party, it was lit somewhat eerily by the disco ball.
I am thrilled to announce that I am now a Member. Let me know if ever you want to accompany me for some members’-rates bevvies and the meat tray raffle …