bully in the alley
i docked into the port of freo
way hay, bully in the alley
i walked around and felt so freo
bully in the shinbone al
back in the maritime days, everyone was always getting bully in the alley. this was sailor slang for having a really great time - a time so great that you woke up the next day in a disgusting old alley, and when the captain would call his roll, any missing sailor would be marked as B.I.A. - “bully in the alley” and the ship would sail on without them, and the sailors would sing this song.
help me bob i'm bully in the alley
way hay, bully in the alley
help me bob i'm bully in the alley
bully in the shinbone al
it is a rollicking shanty with many verses of local interest, however, in my experience, the song is not true. i have never felt bully or freo here.
the trouble with freo is no one ever moves like a human being. everyone walks like enemies in an old and rigged arcade game.
the best trick for navigating fremantle is to memorise your enemies' patterns, and fortunately, freo has only three variations...
first there are the drunks, who glide diagonally at slow moving speeds, rebounding gently when they reach a stucco wall. a single drunk is easy enough to avoid, but unfortunately, there are often more than a handful of them in any given space - you have to keep on your toes.
then there are the gangs of dumb teenage boys. they tend to walk three or four abrest as if they're in the opening scene of reservoir dogs, except they don't walk in slow motion, they walk at double speed. their movements are always uncannily smooth and unprofoundly unrelaxing. their heads are always twitching, always looking back at one another and raising their brows or flashing sharp teeth, always sneering, smirking, jeering; always chewing bubblegum, always jumping up and slapping the signs. i don't actually really mind them. they move at the same speed as me, and when i am walking close behind, i get to feel like i am one of their boys. but, if they are coming my way, coming towards me on a dark winter night, well, then i worry.
yet the most difficult enemy is of course "the hens night". there are always at least twelve in group, their movements lacking any perceivable algorithm. the party of hens is always squashing and stretching but not like an inchworm or sentient blob - more like a flock of guinea fowl trying to cross a quiet suburban road.
they scrabble forward, stop, shriek, backtrack, shreik again, turn round, scrabble forward, stop, turn round, shreik, backtrack again... x steps forward, y steps back, the x and y of each hen never clearly defined.
you always know when a hen's night is around the corner because you hear the honking of traffic and the r rated language. the hens are always making vile hand gestures. they are always laughing too loud and hurting my ears. they are always losing their purses or phones. they are always making fun of my cowboy boots, and then asking if i have a corkscrew for their chardonnay, they nicked it from the sip 'n' paint.
the problem with freo is everyone is always bully in the alley. everyone is bully here except me.