A splinter Mug crew made the trip down the coast this weekend, deciding there was no better way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon than inside the only local pub tab…

The layout quarantined the hard-core local punters - mostly ruddy, bearded seafolk - to an unrenovated space out back, albeit amply equipped with requisite betting conveniences, and convenietnly located adjacent to the dunnies. The more up-market front bar was well serviced by a couple of large screens feeding live vision, and two tv’s dedicated to teletext odds in a prominent spot over the main bar.

Honoured by the Noodle’s presence, we took up our position in the front bar alongside the well behaved, though worse-for-wear, Tocumwal Cricket Club First XI on their end of season trip.

A considered form study devised a plan to leave the Valley alone, and concentrate on the clockwise stylings of Sydney. A couple of nice early returns on Pacino (at which point i should have stuck with D.Oliver for the remainder of the afternoon) and Haradasun (the last time you’ll ever get over 4-1) had yours truly bouyant. Alas, the remainder of the program was nothing but hard luck stories, most prominently Blutigeroo blowing what was otherwise a succesful last three legs of a fat quaddie, and an inability to coax any hard earned from the Noodle onto a punt.

The ratings:

Tracky dacks - nup. Strictly shorts and thongs. A nod to the boys from Tocumwal though, who were resplendant in made-to-order polo shirts.

Taxi Drivers - no. Lets face it, it’d be tough to make a living driving a cab in Apollo Bay.

Smoke - the back room boys were giving it a nudge, otherwise the sea breeze through the vast front bar expanse kept things suitably coastal

Free Food - none sighted. A voracious looking country cricket club the likely cause.

Oestrogen levels - save for a few wandering in for a counter meal and a teenage bar-keep, nil