I spent New Years with Marissa on the Island. Her boyfriend Leigh had a holiday rental in Cowes and was having a fishing/boys week. They annually invited a bunch of valley mates and random girls looking for free accommodation to bring in the New Year. We surfed YCW during the day. It was stinking the whole time we were there. Late afternoon when we arrived and the boys and their respective dates were roaring with laughter and booze on the balcony of a trashed, filthy 70s weatherboard three-bedroom.
These were real valley boys. On my arrival they were challenging each other to heavily gesticulated and poorly practiced martial arts, then would get aggressive and swear at each other, then would be apologetic and make up like ten-year-olds.
I approached them with caution, momentarily baffled by the 70s tunes pumping from a stereo more expensive than my computer; the women wearing bikinis even though they weren’t near the ocean, tainted by foundation and vodka cruisers, giving Ripcurl a bad name; the men discussing concerts at Rod Laver and going to Crown for a night in the big-smoke.
I sat at their table crowded with empties, bottle caps and salsa left to dry in the sun. They exclusively drank Vic and Melbourne Bitters and screwed their noses up at my imported beer as if I was whiffing and swirling an aged red from a crystal glass refusing to abandon my Chanel heels and handbag. I was in fact drinking from the bottle, completely lacked shoes for my particularly grubby feet, and was wearing a white dress I had found on the clearance rack for two bucks at Targ’et.
How to gain their interest … they were here to fish, right? I discussed types of bait and what to soak them in to attract fish legally; the various mammal eating species of sharks and how they kill their prey; and boat motors and how to keep them from blowing up. Sold.
Corey did Scouts throughout his life along with the other boys, didn’t have a girlfriend. His last name was Smith, which he told me was Dutch. He was from Kowaar. Danny owned the smaller of the two boats parked by the house, enjoyed fishing with two rods for various species. Jay, psych student, knew my city and we held easy conversation. The year younger than me at school, Jay remembered me but I didn’t remember him. Marissa had described him as the only single guy worth pursuing, and later described his tendencies for picking-up to as “he doesn’t miss out”. He was cute in a baby face kind of way, and was better than his brother both in how he presented himself and how he spoke to me and others. And he surfed. Sold.
The power went out on the entire street from 6pm so that meant it was candles, car stereos and takeaway. I think they had already decided on takeaway before the power went. Four of us got in Corey’s Landrover and Marissa drove us into town to pick up over a hundred bucks in pizza. The stereo was pumping old music that of a different generation – all these boys listened to tunes from the valley-culture.
Cowes was crowded with teenagers and early-20s out on the town to pick-up and to have the night of their year. Our car was the centre of attention as we proceeded through the cue of cars, some famous 70s track blaring through open windows, three blokes cheering and singing inside and bass echoing through huge tires out onto the street. Traffic was backed up. Corey swung his door open and got out of the car, doing some kind of chicken dance to accompany the track artists with his drink to cheering, hooting bystanders.
In the car and later back at the house, these people were in their prime: most relaxed and easy going amongst friends and booze and a rental house. The balcony was like having Foxtell, I’d been camping by myself for three weeks and this was the most entertainment I’d seen in months. We’d bought ice-cream and put it in the eskies, which by this stage had started to melt. I started to eat my icecream, a little tipsy with Jay alongside. We sat, legs hanging off the edge of the balcony, dripping of icecream and enjoying the Victorian melt.
