going bogan in logan

I’ve Beenleigh for 61 years. And now I’ve been to Beenleigh. Nothing to see. Today I’m going bogan in Logan.

A week back I awake to a bright Sydney Monday. It seems light years ago. At seven o’clock on this bright Brisbane morning The Lizard burps the rental car along the clogged M1 to the Bryants Road exit. We’re looking for Fitzy’s pokie palace, our home for the next two days training SKIPS presenters, in a suburb that doesn’t know if it’s Shailer Park or Loganholme.

We locate Fitzy’s, then focus on breakfast. Dad’s Pies across the road looks good to me, but even I can’t quite bring myself to consume a vegetarian pie at this hour. I ask Dad’s advice re breakfast but he has no ideas. I promise to come for a pie or two and we motor away, figuring on blundering into some coffee dive that serves toast at the very least.

Just as Beenleigh is a wasteland of places to eat dinner on a Sunday night, the Loganholme Hyperdome, a shopping megamart dead to the world at this hour, is another wasteland. No coffee place, no entry, even to the acres of car parking spaces. The Lizard tells me I’ll have to break my fast at McDonalds, photographs my shame eating hot cakes at a plastic outdoor table.

The pancakes are gooey, the sachets of whipped butter and artificial maple syrup adding little to the experience. The Lizard’s two bacon and egg McMuffins do nothing for her well-being either. We are strangers in a strange land.

Food on the move is a mixed feast. I’ve eaten majestically in Adelaide, tragically in Sydney. Last night’s hunting in Beenleigh leaves us no choice but Noodle Box. True to its name, there’s a box and lots of noodles. A couple of bits of rubbery broccoli hide under the box flaps, but further down is a vegie-less tangle of slippery noodles.

Because we’ve been to Beenleigh and found our way back to the motel we retrace our journey tonight, hoping some better eatery presents itself. That place is Bobby’s: Indian, three tables. Bobby’s real name is Jarmuja; she prefers Bobby. Her food is fine.

The Lizard is desperate after the catering at Fitzy’s—white bread sandwiches filled with lettuce and onion. I think she’s being harsh. I like onion and the scones and cream for morning tea achieved universal approval.

Rock on.