Hold onto your schooners, people.

Shocking news today. See page 12 of today's Daily Telegraph:


As indicated from previous posts, one of my most favourite pubs in the whole universe is The Lord Wolseley Hotel in Ultimo. The reasons for this:

• No inner-city schmiddies
• Seldom a wanker in sight
• Friendly bar staff
• Equally friendly fellow guests
• History etched through the pub's many wrinkles
• Pictures of the grand final winning footy team from 1973 still adorning the humble walls
• The lamb chops and mash taste like my nan's

...and most importantly

• You can go outside to drink some of the fabled amber under a fading crimson sky in an adjoining park.

Until now.

It seems as though this practice will again become another 'wrinkle' - a laugh line representing the good times, if you will.

Basically, the special agreement that allowed people to drink in the park until dark has been squashed by Sydney City Council, meaning I'll have to now go inside to drink my beer. Why am I pissed off? Because this kind of move is typical of where the character of Sydney's pub scene is headed - squandering its way toward monotony.

Solution? I say Mr T replaces Clover Moore as Lord Mayor. I pity the fool who limits my beer drinking opportunity.