"Tassie's Actually Not Bad" Says Yuppie Mainlander Strolling Through Battery Point On A Sunny Day

ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Some chode in a beanie has whispered the immortal phrase that millions of mainlanders have said before him as the Antarctic winds and springtime apricity got to his head while strolling the backstreets of Battery Point.

"I could live in Hobart," he said to himself.

"I really could."

This Sydneysider's image of Hobart hasn't yet been sullied. He's been here for a day or two and hasn't yet ventured further south than the Wrest Point Casino. Only been over the bridge coming in from the airport. There are plans to go to MONA tomorrow, but it's the ferry or nothing.

"Wow, what an amazing pub," he announced to the Shippies front bar.

"I love all the decorations. Do you have scallop pie on the menu?"

He was glad to stumble upon the Shippies after running afoul of the day drinkers at the Prince of Wales around the corner. He asked to use the toilet; the manager asked if he'd like that beard punched off his chin.

Come Saturday, he'll be down at the Salamanca Markets getting ripped off and enjoying more than a few undercooked satay skewers. And after that, a slow walk through the harbour until something primeval draws him to the Hope & Anchor in a sort of cosmic destiny. He'll have a singular pint of Guinness, which he'll struggle to finish, and then proceed to blame it for the salmonella mud bum from the Salamanca skewers.

The mask slips a bit over the hill at Errol Flynn Reserve, where he observes a young mother smoking in the playground. A dog tied up in the sun with no water. Christ, this must be Sandy Bay. An early 2000s Corolla drives past with two doors a different colour to the body. An unrestrained dog in the back. He's reminded of passing through Lithgow on the way to a Mudgee winery. He shakes the thought away.

More to come.