Lake Boga Hotel by Jai Thoolen tells of a city slicker who wanders into a country pub and decides to prove he can outdrink the locals.
What begins as a simple challenge soon draws the whole town, as Grandad quietly takes his place at the table and a night at the Lake Boga Hotel becomes the stuff of local legend.
Lake Boga Hotel
By Jai Thoolen
31 August 2019
Way back in nineteen-ninety-two,
Where there was not that much to do,
In a country pub where Grandad used to stand…
A city slicker from the south,
Had wandered in and run his mouth,
How he was the greatest drinker in the land.
He was gettin’ pretty vocal,
And he stirred up all the locals.
He was challenging them all to prove him wrong.
So, then as quickly as a flash,
He pulled out fifteen hundred cash,
And me Grandad couldn’t leave it very long.
The publican knew Pop was broke,
And so to him he went and spoke,
And he slipped him fifteen hundred on the sly.
He said that this’ll be a laugh,
And they were splittin’ half and half,
But please don’t make this city slicker die!
They’d drink as long as they were able,
Sat at each side of a table.
The rules were set at seven pots an hour.
And so one bloke would win it all,
Once he had made the other fall.
It’s all fun and games until the whiskey sour.
It was the city bloke’s idea.
After ‘bout twenty pots of beer,
To introduce a drink to speed things up.
Now, both these men were pretty plied,
But Grandad took it in his stride.
He would never shirk whatever’s in his cup.
Now, word spread quickly through the town.
It got the locals comin’ down,
So they could watch this spectacle unfold.
While these two men took to beering,
All the local folk were cheering,
And the pub made quite a killing too, I’m told.
They ramped right up the pots per hour,
And doubled all the whiskey sour,
To hurry this along and find a winner.
And all the crowd would scream and scoff,
While try-na put the drinkers off.
But Grandad didn’t care, he’s no beginner.
They were about five hours in,
The slicker dribblin’ down his chin.
When he spoke it sounded like he spoke Chinese.
But Grandad kept pushin’ on through,
Because it’s all me Grandpa knew,
And he’d come across a million blokes like these.
Then, up to pot seventy-four,
The slicker toppled to the floor,
And the roaring from the crowd was like a quake.
He’d done what other blokes could not.
He’d celebrate with one more pot,
And the legend says they heard it ’cross the lake!
At night time, Grandad baked meat pies,
And it would come as no surprise,
That night was just the same as nights would bring.
It’s not like his work was formal,
But he went that night as normal,
And his boss never suspected anything.
I think the real unnerving part,
Was when the drinking comp made start.
Me Grandad had already had a few.
He’d been in there since the morning,
And that shoulda been a warning,
’Cause the drinking competition was at two!
I sometimes go there for a drink,
And have a look around and think…
I wonder how I’d gone if it was me?
Walked in all cocky with some cash,
And gave this drinking comp a bash…
But he’s gone now so I’ll never get to see.
But my money’s on him.
Keeping The Verse Alive
Lake Boga Hotel is shared with permission from Jai Thoolen through Keeping The Verse Alive, Country Campfire’s bush poetry preservation project.
By preserving poems like this, we’re helping ensure the stories, humour and characters of country Australia continue to be enjoyed for generations to come.
Jai Thoolen
Poet • Children’s Author • Publisher • Performer
Standing six foot seven with a great beard, quick wit and a mind that rarely stops rhyming, Jai Thoolen is hard to forget. From Rosebud on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula, he writes bush verse, comic rhymes, tongue-twisting wordplay and children’s stories—all delivered with the warmth, imagination and wonderfully unexpected humour that make his work unmistakably his own.
Poems, recitals, photographs, stories and original works remain the property of their original creator and are shared by Country Campfire with permission.
