Mr Breakfest

Gary wakes up on Boxing Day to the soothing sounds of test match cricket. There is no time to spare, he is feeling a little hungover, but has to get his hole down to Leach Highway Maccas to catch the bus down to Belvoir Amphitheatre.

He slips on a white Enjoi t-shirt, blue shorts and a new pair of laceless blue Royale Elastics. He gay-bar dances around his room to the sounds of Krafty Kuts and checks his cheeky stash: 3 pingers, a stick and a couple of emergency d-bangers in case he needs to strap it down and reign himself in. Sorted.

You’ve never seen a group of 20 friends drink more enthusiastically at 10am in the morning. Vodka is being mixed with everything from Harvey Fresh to mega cans of Mother.

Some lad’s older brother is arrogantly talking himself up in the back, “First time I went to Breakfest, I had 10 pingers and did lines with London Elektricity”. Some say it’s tough to let go, but he is holding on as tight as a man who just devoured the unrefrigerated leftovers that had formed a pool in Matt Preston’s man-gunt on an overnight trip from Alice Springs to Dubai.

Finally, the bus rolls into no-mans land, the area between the road and the arena that each breaks-gladiator will battle to prove themselves the loosest unit.

Gary downs his first pinger and prays to the gods of gurning that it gets the job done. 45 minutes later he is sitting on one of the Amphitheatres tiers and chain-smoking cigarettes while discussing the brilliance of Breakfest with some crusty DnB-head.

His bickie kicks in and Gary immediately jumps to his feet and starts flailing around like an Orangutan trying to mimic a washed-out Ballerina. It’s majestic.

Gary is a bit mashed, so he decides to go in search of some water. He initially heads to the toilets but is warned against drinking the bore water, “fuck it”, he thinks and smashes a good litre of liquid death.

He heads back to his group to stomp the night away when two clowns wearing bathrobes accost him with a rag covered in medic spray. Gary loves the little boost the spray gives him and asks one of the robed men for a bang on their Vicks inhaler. Awww yeah.

Gary is getting on really well with some hot-panted hottie. They dance, smoke and even share half of one of Gary’s pingers. This ain’t Romeo & Juliet though, their interest in each other will last for as long as the elevated levels of dopamine flood their bodies.

By the end of the night, she will be about 500% less keen to come back to Gary’s after party in Nedlands. What will be, will be though, and even a fleeting connection in the bowels of a laser-lit pit will invigorate Gary’s spirits and result in a little grin the next day when he is trying to force a bacon & egg McMuffin in his torn up mouth.

Breakfest is coming to an end, and Gary jumps in a mates car who came later. They smash it towards the Nedlands house for the afters.

The scene is characterised by ruthless bong smoking and intense shit talking. Hours pass and people start dropping off like flies. Not Gary though, he slops till he drops. At 4am he takes one last swig of warm goon. “Christ”, he thinks before falling asleep on a pool recliner.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?