It may shock some to learn that the great piss-loving-republic of Westralia used to prohibit licensed venues from operating on Sundays.
While the measure may have been good for our livers it was just another way Big Christianity tried to make Sundays as shit as possible for us. You worry about the holiness of your Sabbath and I’ll worry about mine, pal.
That was until 1922 when the game changed forever. Due to fears the outer suburban folk might one day collate their power and rise up against central Perth, a liquor amendment was introduced allowing any licensed venue 20m or more out of Perth CBD to serve sweet nectar for a FEW hours on Sunday.
Now, anyone who has been to an open bar at an Australian wedding knows that Aussies aren’t particularly good at dealing with drinking & time constraints. As soon as the liquid hits the lips one is filled with an intense anxiety that they may never get another drink again.
Naturally, these few hours became a show of semi-competitive binge drinking. Urban legend also has it the dart troughs at the base of bars were used for men to relieve themselves as they could waste no time chucking a slash when there was drinking to be done.
Is this true? Probably, we are the sort of brutes to do that. Hell, it’s not uncommon to see a country person relieve himself at a bar after a big day on the pints now. So, yeah, myth confirmed.
So, the Sunday sesh became an Oasis on the bleak, joyless hellscape of an old-school Australian Sunday. Needless to say, it became the hottest ticket in town. It’s hard to imagine trekking out to Mundaring to get pissed on a Sunday but that’s all they had.
Eventually, regulators removed the puritan stick out of their arses and opened up the Sunday sesh to all of Perth. Some consider this move to be the deathblow against WA commerce. How were we ever going to compete when every Monday was a write off?
Soon, the great Perth Sunday session would dominate the weekend dance card. With great pubs rising and falling in their dreams to be the main spot for this debauchery. There are too many greats to mention but one certainly will echo through eternity – The Cottesloe Beach Hotel aka The Cott.
You tell a zoomer now that The Cott was filled with Golden Triangle kids mixing with drunk bogans in thongs and white Sunnies and they probably wouldn’t believe you. Back in the 00’s it was a much different place.
Its large outdoor area with tiers served as an amphitheatre of such to watch the mess unfold. In a most just society they just would’ve wheeled out beer troughs and poured a slop bucket of liquid collected straight from the urinal. It’s more than most deserved at that stage.
Biffo, public displays of affection, and unadulterated peacocking were all commonplace. It also saw its share of drama outside the venue. You’re going to get that when every pissed kid in Perth tries to lie their way past the bouncers claiming they’ve only had a “couple today”.
To think how many unholy unions between SOR and Western Suburbs punters there were truly brings a tear to the eye. Just imagine going about your Claremont life knowing deep down you have about 6 inches of Thornlie in you. The shame.
Fast forward to the current day and getting on it on a Sunday is just in our DNA. Alas, it’s not without its drawbacks. In fact, a Sunday sesh can be quite a harrowing experience for the uninitiated.
Follow this handy guide to deal with the different stages of Sunday sesh grief HERE.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
