We thought we could set up a refrigerated demountable and continue to provide alcohol to the locals and tourists but unfortunately the law doesn’t let us do that so, at least until we get the place rebuilt, or work out another solution; sorry, there ain’t no beer for sale at The Burketown Pub.

I guess we should have spotted the give-away signals from their shoes. But we didn’t. Greg challenged them to a pool game. You never saw two guys more hopeless with a cue. Talk about trashed. I figure they blew about $200 between them.

But you know; what goes around comes around. They challenged the boys to a basketball game. “Tomorrow at 9” they said as they went back to the caravan park. “Find a hoop.” There was a netball hoop out the back so the boys nailed it up to a back wall. 9 o’clock came around and our two new skinny mates appeared bouncing a ball between them. Off came their shirts to reveal professional basketball shirts. Both were printed “The Thompson Boys” and were numbered 8 and 9.

Our turn to get creamed. Our boys never saw the ball. Curtis fell and twisted his ankle and the game went on; five of us against Troy. We still got thrashed. This guy could both jump and dunk. Turned out he was a semi-pro. It was fun though!

We knew it was her birthday and we decided to do a French theme night. The bar was decorated with Tricolour streamers, some pictures of the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. We thought it looked OK and we waited for her to arrive.

It would have been around six when they got here. Roy looked a treat, a blue and white hooped T-shirt and a red beret, where he got them from I have no idea. But mate, she stole the show. A can-can outfit. Like a show girl from the Moulin Rouge. Awesome. And could she dance! All night skirts were flying and the champagne flowed like the Hudson River.

Bruce had the killer line that night when he blurted out “Voulez vous couché avec moi se soir?” He got a slap on the face for it and I got to say he wore the bruise proudly for about a week.

Strewth, didn’t he know the whole area is infested with Crocs?

Johnno took control. “Sure mate, we got a ski boat. Wanna come out with us Saturday?”

Deal done. Little did we know what was going to happen?

So it’s Saturday morning. Nolan, Johnno and a couple of the lads put the boat in the river, loaded the skis and fishing gear on board and off they went. Nolan asked to drive and immediately put the hammer down. He knew how to handle the boat, that’s for sure.

Johnno pointed out a good fishing spot and within a few minutes Nolan had a couple of big ones onboard. He just kept on landing them and it was then that Pete noticed the logo on his tattered blue shirt “simPRO Inaugural Fishing Comp Winner”. Come in spinner.

“OK, who’s driving while I ski? He asked. We figured we’d give him a try, nothing better to scare the living daylights out of a bloke than a croc, hey?

Pete drove like a madman but couldn’t get him off balance. 25 minutes of high speed skiing and they were back at the ramp.

“Thanks boys, my shout, hey?” We let him.

How did we find out?

Jess came to the pub one morning after driving overnight from The Isa. And that morning the till had stuffed up. So anyway, just as we were wondering what the hell to do, in she came. Tall and surprisingly elegant in jeans and sand shoes, she ordered a beer and when Rex said he couldn’t change the $20 she offered because the till was rooted, she pulled this amazing wonder tool out of her handbag and just attacked the till.

No kidding, inside ten minutes the till was fixed. “Strewth lady, that was amazing” said Rex. “How much do we owe you?”

Her response made her a real favourite for the time she was with us… “Free beer”.

So we took her fishing the next day and of course, she caught the biggest damn Barra of the day.

My kinda girl – drinks beer and catches Barra.

They got out of a Toorak Taxi; he almost looked the part; jeans, RM Williams boots, T-shirt and orange cap advertising Santa Monica, California. But her? Mate, made up like a tart, tight skirt, blouse, suit jacket and friggin’ 5” gold stilettos.

And they were staying at the pub. In a donga for Christ sake. You should have seen their suitcases. Yes, suitcases – five of them. For three days.

Anyway, we checked them in and invited them for a drink. Figured the boys would enjoy a butchers at the city girl in a strange land.

Half an hour later they re-emerged, her makeup refreshed and surrounded by a cloud of Chanel #5. She immediately had everyone’s attention when she chose a stool by the bar, crossing her legs seductively as she sat down. A touch of beauty at the Burketown Pub.

The saving grace was that she didn’t order a cocktail, just a class of Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot. “That’d be a red wine, love?” asked Curly. “Hope you don’t want it chilled?”

He ordered a Green. At least Curly knew what that was…

It was a typical late November Friday afternoon, bloody hot with a threatening sky. As usual, the greens were flowing fast. Heads turned as the distinctive sound of a Harley-Davidson drowned conversation in the bar. The bike parked outside the pub and the rider, a huge guy with wearing a red bandana, black T-shirt a menacing look, walked in.

You could sense that Trusty Red’s dog Gopher didn’t like the guy as he launched himself teeth first at the stranger’s left leg. Showing no pain, the stranger grabbed Gopher by the neck, ripped him off his leg and dropped him on the floor. Nobody had ever treated him this way and Gopher scurried off to hide behind the bar.

The stranger shrugged and rolled up his jeans to reveal a wooden leg. The bar erupted in laughter and Trust Red said “It’s my dog mate, the least I can do is buy you a drink. What’ll it be?”

The stranger, in a surprisingly effeminate Canadian accent replied “A pink gin fizz thanks”

Joshua Bartlett, the gay Canadian bikie with a wooden leg… the only man brave enough to ask for a Pink Gin Fizz in the Burketown Pub.