6 MONTHS FOR 'ARRY

Rip It Up, Issue 95, 1 June 1985, Page 36

6 MONTHS FOR 'ARRY

Crikey Dick, Ed is that all I get for an 'ard month P? / collecting filth on musicians? ; ‘ Not bloody worth it, I reckon. V<| Better get onto a bit of moonlighting, eh see if l can kill two birds with one empty W Jk So I did /and went and got p j myself a gig at the Dynamic Duo's new haunt, the Six Month Club, as, of all things# Jß? barman. Now after being on the : other side of the bar for so tong I took to the job like ■ cockroaches take to my flat. So opening night bit on the j busy side and pouring drinks ain’t much fun, but giving the /patrons stick is where it’s all at. So the average night's - v conversation between myself / and Cliff (sidekick) goes like | this: Gawd Cliff, 'oo's that paying for 'er drinks with one cent bits? /;/ “Oh, that’s the Minister Of

Finance’s daughter.” J Yeah, well next time charge r ’er GST. Oh, Christ, ’ere come Jordan Luck, toss some more beer, in the fridge/p^?P ?, * “’Elio, 'Arry, can I’ve an iced water?” Ah, I see you made a lot of bugs bunny on tour. ipLv. “Yeah, about 10 bucks.” There you go mate, that’s on the ouse. / / * “Good, that’s all I ean afford.” /gf Quick Cliff, 'ere comesjr M. Corless ready with the tequila. “Fuck 'Arry 'oo would give you ajob?”*^ ,/A lot more people than would give you the time of day Mike now what’ll it be? / / J “Oh, a bottle of Moet to shut ' ’Arry Lyon up, and a glass of isopropyl for Graham.” There you go next? “G’day mate, can I have a double tequila, Baileys and

Cointreau?^, Listen squire, you’d be better off drinking petrol and that won’t cost you sl2 a throw. Anyway, Cliff, you see that guy over there? , Well that's Andrew Fagan so don’t serve the girl 'e's with until she proves she’s, okay? And speaking of’l’ underage, there goes Katango. f Now we better be quick with the scotch tonight because the Flying Nun contingent is 'ere and Doug Ood ’as an ’abit of paying people in drinks, or more like them paying ’im in drinks, so/ make sure we've got at least a dozen bottles and ’alf as much dry. y Eighteen bottles later and as usual they're the last to leave. Nigel, the Terror of Christchurch, shouting and screaming laughter at the top of is lungs and Paul ex, Propeller j executive cum Flying Nun j 'anger-onner asleep with '■ / chunder down the lapel of 'is / Allensteins jacket. C’mon/ . Doug, get rid of ’em so we can clean up. Why is it always a bunch of yobbos that stay to the early ’ours of the morning —( but wasn’t I the same last f month? I 'ARRY , WJr .