It's not me, it's you

Dear Fortitude Valley,

I am writing you this letter to say that we should break up, yet remain friends. Acquaintances, maybe.

As what happens with many long term relationships, I have begun to see your flaws. And sadly, some of those flaws are things I cannot live with.

Firstly, you are high maintenance. Your standards of wealth meet at such a high level that spending a night with you empties every cent from my wallet and bank account. And then you insist on staying up til the wee hours of the morning.

Your associates are also really beginning to annoy me. I don’t like your friends who are grown men but insist on wearing fluro, and your screechy female friends with their bums hanging out of their dresses. Either that or sad old seedy men who hang out in the pubs by themselves, waiting to latch themselves onto some poor unfortunate lady. The last time I saw you I was trying to watch The Pretty Boys from the outside of Not Quite 299 but was driven away because a rather annoying man kept obstructing my view and enthusiastically telling me to come inside.

A typical inhabitant of the Valley.

But we had a lot of fun in the early days, dear Valley.

Remember the tequila sunrises at Club 299, when I used to think it was a legitimate alternative venue and before it was “Blink” or “Trash” or whatever?

Remember vomiting in the mall after too many vodkas at Ric’s?

Remember dancing about at the cocaine-caked sausage fest that is the Mustang Bar?

Remember cocktails at the Glass Bar? (actually, that place is still pretty cool and makes the best Long Island Iced Teas ever)

But maturity makes us all move on to bigger and better things. Like a beer under $5. Waiting at the bar and being served within five minutes. Competent bar staff that are not hired for their extensive knockers. Being able to sit down with a beer and talk to someone, rather than being forced to shake your rump to shitty house music on a stinky dancefloor. Being able to walk around and not being hassled by guy who thinks his sexy dance moves will get me in his pants.

But do not fret too much of my absence, my dear, for I shall visit when you choose to host sweet bands and drum ‘n’ bass nights. You still have many good points like the Step Inn, Not Quite 299, The Jubilee and The Tivoli.

Apart from that, I could only really enjoy you if I was two years younger, fashionable in any way and pumped full of pingers. But I’m none of those things.

Just understand that my love for you is over.

Love,

Ellie

PS. Before you ask, no, there is no one else. But I find myself becoming closer and closer to The City these days, and the promise of the Victory and the Brewhouse eventually reopening is something that will possibly lead to a greater commitment.