Ms North Perth

North Perth is the angry emo brother of it’s neighbouring Leederville. Much like a rebellious teen, North Perth chooses to disregard its inherent affluence and embrace an alternative culture that is characterised by unadulterated attitude. All true North Perthians are still rage-frothing over the Hydey’s transformation from a filthy seed-den to a classy establishment. Such is the way of life in North Perth, you think Hyde Park is an innocent little Kings Park? Wait until you get stuck by a junkie at 3am.

Lauren is getting dressed for a session at the Rosemount. She slips into her usual get-up of dark colours and Converse sneakers. Her hair has a streak of purple running down the side, and her lip ring warns potential males: “I am unlikely to agree with your musical tastes”. She applies some purple lipstick and busts a few chords on her guitar while she waits for the lead singer of some rockabilly band to pick her up in his van. She looks at the long-haired weasel’s poor excuse for a beard. It looks like he gorilla-masked himself, and much like the spoofy splatter of pubic hair, his beard should be flushed down a toilet.

On their way into the Rosemount, she spots a guy she used to date, gorging himself like a human anaconda at KFC. She is suddenly struck with the realisation, that the guy feigned his interest in animal welfare and vegetarianism to get into her pants. If you are a self-professed girl with attitude, the laws of the ‘tude state that you must always throw down, anywhere, anytime. Lauren storms into KFC, “you caged-hen cunt”. She proceeds to berate the dude for 5 minutes, before seizing an opportunity, “so yeh, fuck you, and could I grab a bitta weed off ya?” The bloke has been ripped to shreds, and any attempt to say no would be a pathetic attempt to hang on to a lifeboat of self-respect that has already sunk into a sea of emasculation.

Lauren starts drinking cider and smoking the greasy weasel’s Peter Stuyvesant’s in the beer garden. She is having a great chat with some bearded-bozo about the days of Thursday night Roller and how they used to stomp the night away to Greg Packer. The bearded man oversteps his mark, “we should have a private jam at the Hens Studio, babe”. She channels her inner Gwen Stefani from the No Doubt days, “I’m pretty sure you are a busker, so no, creeper”. Ouch, she knows how to stick a musical knife into someone’s artistic stomach and rip out their deluded innards.

After consuming enough cider to tolerate his dates shit-stain of a beard, she heads to Red Chilli Burger Bar for a vegetarian burger, and a rant about Rosemount creeps. Lauren speaks through a mouthful of veggie-pattie, “let’s get high and fuck shit up at the Hydey, fucking sell-outs”. A date with Lauren makes a tour in Baghdad seem like a Powderfinger concert.

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