The Baroness of Brunswick Street .....

There's no truth to the rumour that Jai Ogilvie is the only person ever to have entered schoolies week and never come out the other side.
But Brisbane's party girl does admit she left SomeEvil House girls school at the end of Year 11 partly so she could get into party mode a year ahead of schedule.
And Jai, 38, has been partying hard ever since.
Brisbane bored and bred, Jai dominates her bar at the Brunswick Hotel through a mixture of a bubbly personality and an over-the-top wardrobe driven by a fashion sense she describes as 'eclectic'.
But when The Bug caught up with Jai recently, she was almost dressed down with a chartreuse knit top and sombre black double-breasted jacket. At least the dacks – floppy red and white Uncle Sams – and gaudy "Have a Nice J" socks hinted at her ability and/or desire to stand out from a crowd. The lilac fingernails, brooches and assorted costume jewellery (hey, it could be real for all we know!) were other signs of her penchant for being way out there when the mood takes.
Jai's career in recent years - after many moons in advertising and radio - has centred on helping various Brisbane pubs build a following.
She's graced the Wickham and Bonaparte's, among others, and is now helping the Brunswick's new owners build patronage in what are tough times for the pub trade.
So why has she moved on from the other watering holes?
"I haven't got bored; it's just that once (a pub) is packed with people, my job is done," Jai says.
But she quickly adds a rider: "But I'd like to stay here for the duration. I like the people and the area. I can see myself in years to come being here as one of the old females managers."
The party girl says she has a couple of mottos that steer her through life.
Number one is: Always dress in the morning as if you're going to stay out to the following morning.
"I hate people who say they've got to go home and change when all you want to is go out for a drink.
"In my case, it's not so much a motto as a practical necessity!"
Jai's second motto is: I don't make plans; I live them!"
She looks askance when we have the temerity to suggest that motto belongs to Channel 9 television personality Doug Murray.
"Dougie stole it from me," Jai declares. Then the qualifier. "Actually, I said he could use it."
Despite her reputation for being a serial party animal, Jai says she's quite capable of going quiet for a while and enjoying it.
"Especially if I've fallen in love."

20 curly ones from The Bug

1. What one word best sums up your opinion of the dead Diana, Princess of Wales?
A: Caring.
2. As the daughter of Queensland's leading on-course bookie, what's the biggest amount you've ever won on a single bet?
A: It was $985 in a Melbourne Cup Calcutta at the Bookies Club.
3. Name your least favourite modern-day music group?
A: Aerosmith. But come to think of it, anything heavy!
4. Do you think Princess Diana would have been happy with Dodi if they had lived?
A: His dad owned a frock shop, didn't he?
5. Your favourite beer?
A: Fourex
6. Of the following supermarket chains, which best sums up the real you: Coles, Woolworths, Franklins?
A: Coles Third World, definitely.
7. Name you favourite Liberal prime Minister of all time.
A: I don't do politics!
8. Name the sportsmen you'd most like to spend a night with.
A: I don't do sports - or sportsmen.
9. Can you remember where you were and what you were doing when you first heard that former federal ALP leader Arthur "Cocky" Calwell had died?
A: Who's Arthur Calwell?
10: What's your least favourite motto or saying?
A: Early to bed, early to rise.
11: So then, what's the longest time you've ever gone without sleep?
A: About two and a half days.
12: What trait in Australian men do you find the least likable?
A: Stubbies and thongs, I suppose. Also their lack of charm. European men are very charming to females; Australian men put females down.
13: If you had to live anywhere else, where would it be?
A: North of Spain
14: Name the greatest invention of the 20th Century.
A: Surround Sound
15: Where do you plan to be on New Millennium's Eve?
A: I don't really care as long as I'm with all my good friends.
16: What do you think are the chances they might eventually find intelligent life somewhere in Melbourne?
A: Slim, but possibly in the restaurants and bars.
17: What's the thing that puzzles you most about life?
A: Spontaneous combustion.
18: What's been your favourite question so far?
A: Hard to say, really
19: Your favourite movie of all time?
A: The Party, with Peter Sellers.
20. Your favourite sex position and do you have any photos to back up this view ?
A: Any position with the person I love. And, no.

Have a nice Jai, says the Baroness's socks

It's on the cards....

Every Wednesday without fail, the male drinkers at the Jubilee Hotel in St Paul's Terrace, Valley, dream of getting on top of Fourex promotions lady Julie Hawes.
Buy a glass of Fourex there between noon and 2pm and the visually-pleasing Julie will soon swoop by in her white skirt/frilly shorts and XXXX top and cut a deck of tattered cards for a free beer ticket.
"Men usually call high," explains the super-fit Julie, who worked with the Brisbane brewer for 12 years up to recently and still does the Wednesday stint at the Jube, partly for a bit of fun.
Julie also finds that male patrons can also can get a little miffed if their luck deserts them too many times in a row.
"They tend to take it personally, " says Julie who now works as a massage therapist. No, guys, not that sort of massage. Get a grip!
Julie says that while men obviously try to big note themselves by calling high more often than not, women tend to call low and high in about equal numbers.
My female side must be particularly strong at the moment because I'm not all that fussed either about whether I end up on top of or under Julie each Wednesday lunchtime.
Regular card cutee, sports journo Steve Waddingham of The Curious-Snail fame, reckons you can't go wrong with Julie provided you stick with high or low for the duration and ride out the bad luck patches.
"Over time, the odds are that for every two beers you buy, you'll get one free."

Julie cuts a deal with some unnamed hack journo.

The empire strikes back.......

NEVER did it myself, mind, but in the heady old days of the Sunday Sun and Daily Sun in the Valley some journo workmates reckoned they knew how to crash the editorial system at will.
So expert were they that with a flurry of well-directed keyboard strokes, they could cause crashes of exactly the duration required to down four pots or eight pots at the Empire Hotel right next door.
While the systems people tried to work out what had gone wrong, we journos would be out the front door, have turned immediately left and into the hotel's club bar for those four, eight or sometimes 12 pots. Enough, at least, to whet the appetite before we returned after knockoff about noon for some serious drinking after we'd put to bed another award winning, money-losing afternoon tabloid.
There's no way I could have been party to such corporate vandalism. Crashing the system, I mean. Then, as now, I had placed Sunday Sun owner Frank Moore on the highest pedestal for the way he was doing his utmost to prove that a little independent guy, totally free from the rigours of multinationaldom, could take on the Murdochs and Packers and win. Gosh, I admired him a lot for his tenacity and bravery. Still do. When you think of how much money he probably lost trying to look after the industry's humble workers, who wouldn't be proud to call him a hero.? Blast, I hate being a sentimental sort of fellow! Now where the hell's those tissues.
Phtttttttt! That's better. Why the annual journo awards are called Walkleys and not Moores is beyond this columnist.
That sparsely decorated little bar, like the two Sunday mastheads of that brave, brave pioneer, has long since gone. In its place is a recently renovated venue called the Press Club.
Sadly, I have to report that, despite the thousands of dollars and several liver layers I expended in that watering hole over the years when someone was stupid enough to give me a job in mainstream journalism, the new Press Club is now off limits to your humble columnist.
The management is striving for a certain look and age group in the club – a look and age group that sadly does not cover my advancing years or penchant for wearing tatty not so-New Balance sports shoes.
The Bug staff were allowed in to take a pix just prior to the club's opening. Long after the glare of much-needed free publicity has faded, my recent attempts to reenter the establishment have been thwarted by polite but firm bouncers.
That's me below, being advised recently that I can't enter because it's a ticket-only fashion night. I had stupidly tried to enter after seeing a few journo mates of mine leave the club only minutes before. Having imbibed with them earlier at another journo watering hole, I knew they didn't have tickets either. They must have been let in because they looked lonely or something.
It couldn't have been for their attire, because they were quite well dressed. And I know that the other end of the sartorial scale from where I sit, some colleagues have been rejected for being too dressed up.
So the Press Club remains just an exotic looking place to furtively glance into as I pass in the night on the way to less salubrious surroundings.
I've come to the conclusion that entry to the Press Club is best assured if you dress like Daryl Somers but look half his age.
I'd love to be in there rubbing shoulders with Brisbane's trendiatti, but I accept the management's decision. You've got to draw the line somewhere.