Saturday, 10th March 2001.
If it's not country, what is it?

There was never any doubt what we would be doing tonight. Right from when I first suggested to Barb that I might visit her it was high on the agenda.

Let me say from the outset that this is not something which I would do under ordinary circumstances. But I suppose that it's not unusual to experiment a little when you're on holiday. Do something a little different. Get out there. Let your hair down. Lose control. Break some social taboos. (You get the picture.)

I went to a country bar.

Barb is Miss Country Music, and while she's not quite a regular at "The Ranch", she's certainly no stranger. Barb and I were accompanied by Nancy, one of Barb's workmates, and Jen, one of Barb's flatmates.

We took a cab there. The mulleted taxi driver took a real shine to Barb (and who wouldn't!) but I don't think his choice of late 80s stadium rock pumping from the tape deck really pushed Barb's buttons.

From the outside The Ranch looked like a big shed. Inside, it looked like a big shed with wooden floors. A Canadian beer was thrust into my hand, and we bagged ourselves a table next to the stage. A live band was playing, and in front of the band was the dancefloor. There was some boot-scootin' going on, an art solely practiced by hat-wearing cowboy-types and their cowgirls. It looked too difficult for "Tassie two-step" Ian!

After a while the girls dragged me onto the dance floor. Nancy soon became the centre of one bloke's attention. It's hard to describe this bloke without sounding unkind, but that hasn't stopped me before. He wasn't as young as he used to be, his hair (thinning on top) could have done with a cut, the sideburns just weren't a happening thing, and nor was his figure-hugging sky-blue shirt. Figure-hugging? Well, the shirt stretched over his belly. Yum! Ladies, form a queue! And the queue starts behind Lucky Miss Nancy!

Nancy worked her booty for a wee while longer, then we adjourned to our table. Shallow individuals that we are, we encouraged Nancy to hit the dancefloor again and go get some more of that sweaty middle-aged man action. In her slightly drunken state she thought this was a bloody good idea, and made a beeline for our man on the dancefloor.

But it all came to nothing. Eventually he smelled a rat (possibly when Jen and Nancy were both flirting with him at the same time) and wandered off.