Scarfie Chronicles | Issue 5

Scarfie Chronicles | Issue 5

If there’s one day when it’s acceptable to claim a bit of “Irish ancestry” because your great-grandmother’s brother’s cousin was born in Dublin, it’s St Patrick’s Day. The dirty old town of Dunedin was evidentially on good terms with old Paddy, who got the fella upstairs to deliver a stellar day for his favourite scarfie leprechauns.

The Woodhaugh Hotel, nestled somewhere between Willowbank and Wellington, was one of the main stopping points for the day. Its eight strapping hoteliers are committed to high standards and sent out an invite to “anyone” to come join in the shindig. Out the back, an array of greenies (and not of the political kind) sprawled out in the sunshine and sunk into a state of glorious oblivion.

The Mongrel Mob, although not wanting to join in, dropped by for a cup of Irish breakfast, and a peek-a-boo at the hotel. Shit later got crazy, not – surprisingly – because of the Mongrel Mob, but due to some “P-Heads” who charged onto the dance floor to lay a formal complaint about the noise levels. Obviously not satisfied with the reaction to their work, the P-Heads returned and this time took matters more physically into hand, smashing decks and ripping the sound system. Thankfully, security at the hotel was on the ball and rolled them out of the house and back to the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like they’d be getting their room key deposit back.

Back on the other side of town, a group of lads took keg racing up a gear. Seven thirsty scarfies snuggled up together in a car with a keg and shut the doors. Drinking commenced as did the not altogether successful attempts to urinate and vomit out the window. Things came to an early close when one lightweight, who “hadn’t had dinner”, passed out after six beers. He’s now known to these high-minded lads as the “six-beer queer”.

And then there was the unlucky lass who had herself a real hair-raiser of a night. The Octagon was ablaze with fire dancers doing their thing and this girl managed to get her luscious locks to take on the form of real-life fiery ginger. While the lass’s hair follicles were frying, her boyfriend proceeded to confiscate the offending firestick and fight the fire dancer all in his girlfriend’s honour. Hair hair young chap!
This article first appeared in Issue 5, 2012.
Posted 4:26pm Sunday 25th March 2012 by Claudia Herron.