A Night at the Pink Poodle

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The Pink poodle was an art-deco styled motel built on the side of the highway in Surfers Paradise in the late 60’s. Its bright neon sign and prominent location led to it becoming a Gold Coast icon seen on postcards for decades.

By the late 80’s the shine had worn off and the motel had become a den of prostitution and criminal activity. The sign still shone its bright sickly pink hue over the rain-slicked streets on summer evenings for years to come as the building continued to deteriorate beneath it.

My 11th grade teacher once made the class made read and analyse a fictional book called ‘A Night at the Pink Poodle’. It was about the Gold Coast, its tacky superficial materialism and how chasing it all may eventually leave you feeling like a big fat phoney. Near the end of the book the protagonist, a wildly successful High-rise Apartment Salesman, spends a night at the latter incarnation of the hotel after fucking up his life by questioning its validity. He has some kind of spiritual epiphany while he sits in the faded, stained, dated interior of his room listening to only the passing traffic on the highway and in the hallway.

In 2004 they tore the faded motel down. The sign remains. Next to a Hooters.

I regret never going inside and taking a few photos. When it was in its final form. I regret this now. Then it never really crossed my mind.

There were a similar motels in Palm Beach. There were actually dozens of similar motels up and down the Gold Coast Highway. Many have been knocked down. Some are still running. Others fell into gradual disrepair.

I remember walking past one that was near my house when I was 18 or so. A man called out asking for a light from a darkened door frame. I went up a flight of stairs to this strangers door and gave him my lighter. He pulled out a filthy pipe and had a cook right there on the balcony. He offered me some. I said no thanks and went on my way.

I’m finding something in them as the coastline becomes increasingly gentrified. They’ve become fewer and further between. So I’m trying to get a few shots whenever I see the chance. They have something you cant make.



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Boxing. An underrated day. It’s a bullshit no reason holiday which is what makes it so good.

Its a day to sit on the beach and do little else. It’s a day for mates, family, to cruise around, get blazed, whatever you want.


Eyes Wired Up

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That’s the last leg of the trip. The Kimberly to Queensland in about 6 weeks finished off with an 800km overnight drive up the east coast.

I caught up with an old mate from a lifetime ago…. then split in the evening. expecting to drive just a few hours and nap in the back of the car. I couldn’t swim or surf any stops up the coast because I’d had a tattoo done. I didn’t want to go bush. I just wanted out of the car.

So I kept going through.

There’s a lot of traffic going at night. Its a busy road. A lot of Lorries. They don’t give a shit. They know the road better than the backs of their hands. They’ll ride up your ass and blare their horns if you’re not going at least 10k’s over the limit.

I’d be cranky too if I had to drive that road all night all the time.

Bright lights kill when tired. Headlights passing made me cringe. Service stations blinded me with their kaleidoscopic fluorescent lights causing my head to throb. I knew it was time for bed but I was wired on 80 cent Caltex coffee. It was only another 4 hours away.

I got to the border at dawn. Got two hours sleep then met my family for a coffee.

They told me I looked like shit.

They weren’t wrong.