Guest Author, Luke Preston: Escape from Melbourne

Luke Preston spent most of his twenties as a freelance writer and listening to rock ‘n roll. He drinks heavily on occasion, is a half decent musician and his idea of a good time involves a jukebox designed to bleed ears.

Luke’s work has been recognised by The Inside Film Awards, MTV and The ATOM Awards. He writes in cafes, bars and in parking lots on the back of old fuel receipts and cigarette packets. He doesn’t believe in writers block or in the magic bullet theory and his favourite album is Exile on Main Street.

Luke’s writing is as much influenced by AC/DC and Johnny Cash as it is by Richard Stark and Raymond Chandler. He is undertaking a Master of Screenwriting at the Victorian College of the Arts and has absolutely no intention of moving to a shack in the middle of nowhere. He likes bad traffic, noisy neighbours, cheap beer, loud bars and has been occasionally known to howl at the moon.

“Dark City Blue,” Luke's debut novel, was longlisted for the Ned Kelly Award and garnered critical acclaim from around the world. His follow up, “Out of Exile,” is available now.

As I am writing this, it is 2:43 AM and I am sitting in the downstairs bar of Tony Starr’s Kitten Club. The upstairs band are murdering a Stevie Wonder song, the crowd is starting to leave and I’m starting to think about doing the same. Although getting out of the city of Melbourne at 2:43 on a Saturday night can be as dangerous as Alcatraz in the 30s, Iran in the 70s or Ikea around Christmas time. Melbourne in the heart of a Saturday night is one filled with danger and darkness, fear and ugliness; women with too much make-up and men with too much to testosterone.

Getting home anytime after midnight is always a gamble.

I sit at the bar, order another drink and way up my options. I could catch a taxi and in theory, that sounds like a plan but I know from experience the trails and tribulations of implementing this logical train of thought. Empty cabs are scarce and if I were lucky enough to stumble across one, the bastard wouldn’t let me in until he knew my destination, and upon hearing my address, they speed off in search of a bigger fare. Nope, cabs are out.

Melbourne does not have a 24 hour public transport system. To supplement this embarrassment, they run the ‘Night Rider’ service, which is nowhere near as cool as it sounds. The ‘Night Rider’ is a series of busses that specializes in ferrying drunks out of the city and back to the suburbs. They’re flooded with blue light to stop poor junkies from finding a vein and shooting up, but as a result they make the drunks nauseous so there’s a faint air of vomit in the air. These booze busses may get you out of the city but any chance of them getting me anywhere near where I live is slim, so as tempting as that mode of transport sounds, I am still in for a walk.

And speaking of a walk, that seems to be the only option I have left. I generally have a violent reaction to anything even remotely exercise-esk but hell, when all other options are exhausted I may just have to endure. Like many Melbournians before me, I have made that drunken trek home in the middle of the night. It is a journey fraught with Hobbit like perils of in the middle of the night. It is a journey fraught with Hobbit like perils of danger and mayhem. Violent packs of drunken men prowl the concrete streets, many of whom have been kicked out of a club and continue their frustrated search for a good time on the streets but in the meantime will settle with starting a fight with anyone who they think has looked at them wrong.

It’s almost 3 AM and these are my options. I ask the bartender what time the bar is licensed to and he tells me it’s 7 AM. I order another drink, peel open the pages of the book in my pocket and am happy to wait out the night until the sun is in the sky and the streets are laid bare from the night before. For no matter how dangerous the streets of Melbourne are on a Saturday night, there is always a warm bar to seek refuge in and with a book in one hand and a drink in the other, what more could you want.

Luke—guest posting on Sunday

Guest Author Luke Preston

Melbourne doesn’t have anything to match the drop-dead-spectacular beauty of Sydney.

But I’ve always remembered it, from the time I spent in Oz, as an attractive city of genteel people possessed of the best restaurants in all of Australia.

It has also topped, more than once, the list of  Best Places In The World To Live.

I was somewhat surprised, therefore, to read the portrait Luke Preston painted in his new book, Dark City Blue. Has the place changed so much in the years that I’ve been away? Or did Melbourne always have an evil side that I never knew?

Either way, I’m sure the city fathers won’t be thanking Luke for this book. But many readers will.

Dark City Blue is a gritty, dark crime novel that people who like gritty, dark crime novels are sure to love.

And it’s a steal, for only a little over three dollars. (American, not Australian) Unfortunately, it’s only available, at the moment, in a Kindle format:

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-City-Blue-ebook/dp/B009DF1IBI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1351269757&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+city+blue

Today, the author is going to tell the drinkers among us how they can take a walk on the wild side in his home town.

Leighton – Monday

MELBOURNE’S MOST DANGEROUS BARS

Melbourne is a city that likes to drink. Beer, wine, spirits, motor oil, it doesn’t matter. If it’s going to get you tanked, a Melbournian will drink it. It’s a city with bars hidden down dingy back alleyways, in abandoned warehouses, vacant car lots and in the converted living rooms of people’s houses. Essentially, if you have three milk crates and a room in Melbourne, you have yourself a bar. But there are some places, that no matter how pretty the bartender or loud the music, that first step inside may be your last.

KITTENS

68 Cecil Street South Melbourne

In the world of bars, pubs and nightclubs, Kittens is the one place that just should not exist but has somehow, through some moral loophole exploited by the devil himself, survived. It’s the bottom of the barrel of strip clubs in a city with more than its fair share. Any rule that has the guts to step foot in the place is thrown out the window. The carpets are sticky, the music loud, the drinks cheap and ugly and so are the women.

The main threat of Kittens doesn’t come from the poisonous booze or the tattooed bouncers, but the punters who walk through the door and think that spraying the roof with gunfire should be part of the night’s entertainment. For some reason that I haven’t yet figured out, this happens on a regular basis and twenty minutes after it does, the girls all bail for the night and the joint resembles a gay night club, but without any of the class.

MAIN THREAT: Gun shots & STDs

YOUNG AND JACKSON

Cnr Swanston and Flinders Sts

The Young & Jackson Hotel, at the heart of the city, has existed under one name or another, since 1861. It’s played host to travelers and locals, beggars and celebrities and has witnessed the world change over the years through newspapers, widescreen televisions and bar-room gossip.

During the day, the hotel is a museum-like piece of architecture and design but by 2AM, the old war horse of a pub reverts back its good old fashioned street violence days. Drunks, young and old, plague the front bar mouthing off, starting trouble and looking for any excuse to get into the thick of it. Fights will erupt for no reason whatsoever and if there ever was a reason, nobody could remember it in the haze of the hangover the next morning.

MAIN THREAT: Being hit from behind

THE ANGLERS TAVERN

2 Releigh Road Maribynong

The Anglers Tavern sits along the Maribynong on the edge of the city and is the first port of call for all those who live out in the suburbs where good drinking holes are few and far between or altogether non-existent. Monday through to Friday, The Anglers Tavern is a nice waterside venue where the food is reasonably priced and the water setting calming. But even on those relaxing days in the sun, the horrors of the weekend are present on the blood stained concrete and the stale smell of vodka Red Bull in the air. Unlike most other bars, the violence doesn’t explode in the late night mayhem but in the traditional Sunday afternoon, booze soaked sessions. By five, the joint is packed with hundreds of people, all hammered and creating an environment more volatile than the Greek economy. Brawls break out regularly for no reason that anyone can remember and if they could, probably wouldn’t understand. So if you find yourself at The Anglers Tavern late into a Sunday afternoon, keep your eyes on the floor and if you can’t do that, you better be prepared to get your knuckles bloody.

MAIN THREAT: Riots, bashings and bad music.

THE CARLTON HOTEL (circa 2007)

The retro entry

193 Bourke Street

The Carlton Hotel was a joint you could go to after you had been kicked out of all the others... and they would take you. The entrance was nothing more than a hole in the wall that led up to the second floor where punters from all walks of life could shoot pool, listen to the juke box trapped in 1987, and drink themselves to sleep (as long as the snoring didn’t bother anyone). If you could get over the smell of the urinal, which few people could because it engulfed the entire bar, then you could sit back and enjoy a Carlton Draft at eight in the morning. If you were in the mood you could do a spot of shopping from the two-bit crims who would pass in and out like a mobile shopping service with stolen tee shirts, DVDs and whatever else they pilfered from the night. The old Carlton Hotel (because sadly it has been refurbished) was dangerous not in a physical sense, but it was your soul that took the hit. If you found yourself in there between the hours of 7 AM and 10 AM you weren’t visiting, you were home.

MAIN THREAT: A broken heart

The bars of Melbourne can provide the locations that play backdrop for those cherished memories that make up the history of your life. They can be places where the best times of your life are spent, where you fall in love or simply just the place where you discover your favourite drink. But if you’re not careful, they can fill your mind with horrific memories that your soul will never forgive. So if you’re out and about in Melbourne, having a few drinks, having a few laughs, just keep your wits about you, your mind sharp and occasionally throw a look over your shoulder -- because you never know what might be coming when you’re not looking.