A guide to eating and drinking in Wellington

I have found this year's recipient for the best barman of the year award. And how appropriate that he should receive it in the year 1969 Picture a very drunken Tums with an equally drunk Big Mitch in the Battle Bar of the Waterloo. I had just purchased a round when this tart walked in with four letters written figuratively across her forehead. The Big Fella and I were transfixed. No so the barman, as he pushed my sixty-nine cents change towards me.

'"Soixante-neuf, sir?" he enquired.

This Battle Bar is really a first class place. There is the must amazing painting on the ceiling which I interpret as a satire on the fumbling stupidity and profiteering involved in war. After a while it freaks you out. A lovely black bar adds to the charm.

For those who want to strike up a conversation, the barman's name is John. Five points.

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I called in at the public bar of the Grand on Saturday night and listened to the Varsity rugby people. Apologies to Peter Cook, but the conversation in the Grand was very boring. And I mean boring. Amazingly boring. It is some of the most boring conversation I have ever heard. You know, really boring. In fact, if you wanted a word to sum up the conversation in the Grand, boring is that word. It goes something like this:

"Good game today."

"Yeah."

"Should beat Onslow next week."

"Yeah."

"Going to a show tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Taking a dolly?"

"Yeah."

"Ho, ho, ho."

"Yeah."

A saving grace is that Waikato beer is on tap, and fairly good meals can be obtained at relatively cheap prices. The barmaids do not like sauce. I don't like the Grand. Two points.

Athough I haven't yet investigated the bars of the Clarendon Hotel in Taranaki Street. I give top marks to the lady in the bottle store. Her male assistant was just wrapping me up a bottle of wine when she asked whether I was drinking it that evening. I said I was, so she went and got me a chilled bottle instead. Very nice touch.

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'The Barrets'. The very name has a romantic flavour to it that smacks of wood panelling and old plus furniture redolant with hazy drinking memories. Names can be deceptive. The Barretts has no such delights. It is just another pub.

But, and this is a most important but, they do have the most extraordinary counter meals served in the Pacific Bar. Served a la Kinks with a plastic knife and fork. Obviously it's plain tack.

But I have never seen such an enormous quantity. Your plate literally runneth over. All for less than 30 cents. Amazing. 3½ points.

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