Irked By Club Etiquette

After casting my discerning (although inebriated) gaze over the Huon club last week. I thought that I would highlight an interesting tradition from that other bastion of colonialism, the Yacht Club. The reason for this sudden interest is because I am still slightly irked off by an incident, involving that tradition, which happened there last Friday.

To call it an incident is probably overstating it, but if there is one thing that is guaranteed to irk me it is the combination of being told what to do and the Queen.

Now I don't mind following rules. I can handle that. I also don't have any problem with authority. So I admit straight up that I should have obeyed the club rules regarding wearing of a hat inside the club.

I also don't mind being told when I am doing the wrong thing. I would tell someone if they were doing something wrong, though in a, like I received the other day, amiable and jovial manner.

The problem I have though is that the reason I was in the wrong, for wearing a hat inside the club, was because there was a bloody picture of the Queen on the wall.

What the ...? Do people actually still care about the old bat that much? If there was no picture on the wall would it be ok to wear a sombrero? Showing off hairy legs sticking out of shorts is ok but covering a bald patch is not - not that I have a bald patch.

Besides it is not even that good a portrait, small, faded and with a thin border. The location is slightly dubious as well, hanging above the bar, slightly above other photos of the latest club renovations and about in line with the menu board. You can probably tell that I voted for a Republic at the referendum.

It gets worse, if you are caught wearing a hat, according to club tradition you can be in trouble. Old Bob, one of the long timers here, quietly whispered on Friday night that if the bell rings while I am wearing a hat inside, because of the portrait, I would have to buy everyone in the club drinks. I thanked him and promptly removed the hat and then stewed over it.

I shouldn't moan. I choose to go there. I guess I just need to abide by their rules. But what a wanky rule? Bloody old colonial geezers.