Ben Welsher | Writings

Seth Sentry The Metro Theatre Sydney 24/05/2013 So I'm at a gig. Scribbling away at a reporter-style notepad to pass the time. It's awkward, how the hell did Bob Woodward work with such a small piece of paper? I guess I look a bit like a reporter what with the pad and the trench coat I'm wearing. Or maybe a music journalist given that I'm at a gig. A bad music journalist since I thought the first support act was the main act. One and a half stars. For him and me. But I'm standing where I suppose a music journalist would stand. Leaning dispassionately against a wall, elevated by a single step, close to the exit, next to a heavily bearded guy. In my defence the support act looked a lot like the main guy, I googled it. That's how familiar I am with Seth Sentry, I had to google his face. There's another support act on now. He is also not Seth Sentry and I could have told you that without the aid of a search engine. He does have a song about Thundercats though

The new guy, whom we shall call Jonny (for that was his name) had never considered himself racist. But there was something that grated about taking orders from Asians with a limited command of English. Being the new guy though meant everyone felt entitled to boss him around and deny him the privilege of using the spray guns. You could see this behaviour as the result of Balram's autocratic management style, the more experienced employees desperately grasping any shred of self-respect they could by elevating themselves above the others in informal authority. Jonny had never been especially patriotic, feeling the line between patriotism and nationalism to be too thin. But removed to a country far from his home soil he took a slightly arrogant pride in his Englishness and the automatic respect he felt should be afforded it. He had hoisted the cross of St. George in the front lawn of his conscious. Whilst he knew not what history was taught in Asian schools some of his nation's glo

Based on true stories. Scene: The White Wash, a carwash/café in Sydney. "Will! Will!" Who was Will? It seems he was urgently needed. "Fix Will!" Will must be broken. The new guy had no idea how he might be fixed but a job at The White Wash was probably not the solution. Newly resplendent in red uniform his head spun in 360° of confusion as instructions in diverse accents issued from every direction. Judging by the frantic gesticulation that accompanied the order he was required to do something to the 'wheels' of the car in front of him, clean them perhaps. The impassioned voice was that of Balram Halwei, manager of The White Wash. Two days previously the same voice at the end of a phone had brusquely told the new guy to be at the carwash at 9AM on Sunday morning for training. Sunday morning had arrived and here he was yet it would be two further days until he actually learned the name of his immediate superior. Naming on the whole was a haphazard affair i

Day 400 - Sydney My list of favorite cities reads like the signage above an international fashion store or perfumery - London, Paris, New York...um...Sydney. So the latter is somewhat incongruous but here I was carried back across the country on the wings of fond remembrance and affection. I was on a high, in my mind (a fertile, febrile place) returning like a conquering hero. Flushed with western success life seemed a simpler game or if not simpler then one at which I was now more adept. I'd taken a room in Coogee for a couple of weeks and its streets (street) and bars (bar) held happy memories. Amy and Laura were my temporary flatmates, Jeanette, being away for Christmas, was the other resident whose room I had taken. I went directly from the airport to CBH not even stopping to dump my bags. Amy and Jayne were back from their tomato farming and familiar faces were there in force. Christmas is an understated affair in Australia, they don't go in for the cold, dark days broken