adelaide-how to?

I write an irregular collumn for the Adelaide Review. Here is an early attempt to engage.....


I came to Adelaide to do a show. I love playing in Adelaide. I love the ambience and the kinkiness. Some rooms are for the kind of people a cab driver identified to my sister as “Jeremys from Adelaide” and the others are total tool blue collar style. I am a country fellow and blue collar junk. I enjoy all kinds of people.
When I say “kinky” perhaps “whimsical” is a better word. For instance, we always stay in a hotel in Hindley street near the remand centre. it is called “Break free”. Is that funny? Its built of the same brick as the remand centre. Was it built for family and friends? But surely you’re only supposed to be in remand for a short spell!
I went out for a contemplative walk in the morning . There are some cricket ovals fortuitously nearby nearby. I was bouncing a football, I find this makes walking or running a bit less dull. If I get the space I let loose with an attempt at a long droppy or a scorching stab or a try to get onto a decent screwy. I walked past four guys having some morning tea outside their place of work, a mechanic shop. They all gave me lip about the ball. I whatevered them. I took my exercise and walked back across South terrace. A carload of drunks all leaned out of their cab giving me bronx cheers about having a ball in my hand. A football! In November! It was about 10 am on a saturday. Later , I went to a deli, sorry, it was a providore. A table load of drunks outside a Hindley street pub asked me about the races. (I was wearing a hat) I did not engage with them. They offered that my sandals were gay and so were my trousers and so my shirt. I lived.
I recounted the mornings casual mockery to my father in law. He asked why I was carrying a bloody football and added that that was a bit weird! I admit, I am a feckin’ kook . Alright! Guilty! Leave off!
I think there should be perhaps a code of conduct published for visitors on how to behave appropriately in Adelaide. Some people are delicate, they do not thrive on conflict and rough discourse as South Australians seem to. How are we visitors to be able to be observers of the the local scene when everybody keeps lookin at us? How can you help us to blend into the background? A carton of Farmers Union Iced coffee in the right hand? Tattoos up to the neck line just above the collar? A stain from a late night AB box meal on the beige t shirt sleeve? Then a fellow asked me who I barracked for. I said Sturt. “No one barracks for Sturt” he said in a flat no nonsense , don’t be silly tone.
Perhaps some sort of an information guide that could be picked up from the old National Trust building on the nature strip as you come towards Glen Osmond Rd from the South Eastern Freeway.
On the other hand, perhaps an expensive public information series of tv adverts and buildboards and pamphlets advising locals not to yell at visitors?
Actually, to tell you the truth, I think its kinda cute. Thats what I’ll remember to say to the next bunch of Iced up , gurning, sunburned drunks coralled together outside the 24 hour bar on Hindley street as they stare at whatever I’m doing wrong as I walk past their flimsy compound at 9 am one morning. I’ll say “you people are cute!” Yeah, that’ll give some shape to a successful social exchange.