Just west of the city is Subiaco, once a grubby working class suburb full of Italians in blue singlets. But then along came Dorian, the Magic Yuppie Fairy, and lo and behold, before you can say "Another latte, ducks?" it's as trendy as flares and platform shoes (no, that can't be right) and the old railways yards are looking like Toy Town, and Big Ears is standing as a member of parliament on the lesbian green vegetarian ticket.
A traditional feature of run-down, crappy Subaico was the run-down crappy Subiaco Markets, and guess what -- they're still run down and crappy. One of the comforting things about international travel is that all over the world run-down, crappy markets are exactly the same, sell the same sort of cheap tat that wouldn't expect to get as a free bonus gift in a Cairo brothel, and smell of yesterday's satay sticks. Still, they're kind of fun.
Back to the pub crawl, and the quicker the better. This is Paddy McGuire's and as Irish theme pubs go, it's not bad. I know it's not much to look at from the outside. If this was a pub in Ireland, they'd bomb it on principle, even if it was the only one within a hundred miles. On the other hand, the chances of there not being a pub within a hundred miles of any given point in Ireland are remoter than the Chatham Islands, so the whole point is academic really.
Inside Paddy McGuire's for a quick Caffreys or seven, and it's a very pleasant environment of polished wood and shiney brass. Come to think of it, I wonder if there's money to be made opening a chain of Australian theme pubs in Ireland, fitted out with scuffed formica, stained brown carpet, garish brewery posters and photocopied notices about next Tuesday's quiz night for the pool team. Hmm, maybe not.
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