Perth is party town. Most definitely. We are out on a Saturday night, with my old friend Tommy Goggin from Limerick, who has lived here for the last twenty five years. The centre of town is hopping. At nine o’clock, people are queueing to get into clubs and bars. The streets are thronged, the restaurants packed, the party is in full swing. We start in Rosie O’Grady’s, where I have my first Australian pint of Guinness. OK, it wasn’t bad. We move on to the Síbín. You can probably see a pattern emerging here. We don’t stay long and finish up in a great jazz bar. Good music until it’s time to go home. Yep, Perth is party town.   
 We didn’t only party there. Well, we did mostly. But we also went to see the mint, the first place that gold sovereigns were minted outside of England, apparently. We also went to see, and hear, the Swan Bells, a wonderful set of church bells, brought over from London’s St Martin in the Field, and played specially for us I’m sure, on Sunday morning. We also visited the art gallery for an exhibition of modern art. It was ….. em ….. em, ….. em…, very interesting! But then we went to a Brazilian party. Yeah, that was good. Good music, drum band and Brazilian dancer. And good beer. Yes, it’s a party spot all right. 

   
 It’s also the most isolated city in the world. This from our most genial, volunteer, city host at the airport. I just thought I’d throw that in, in case you think it’s all about the party.