Dear readers, an era has come to an end. The sledgehammers and dozers are about to go to town on the old Greyhound showroom.

If those walls could talk they would no doubt scream. The iconic old dump is about to be transformed and renovated — like a few of its performers — into the new glitzy glam GH.

Last Saturday all those who have fond memories of the tobacco-stained walls, sticky carpet and pungent stench, came to pay their respects.

I will miss it dearly, like an old friend.

I look forward to seeing the new facelifted GH, however, for my money, it will never have the charm of the original.

I hear two girls were involved in quite a spat outside a northside establishment.

I’m yet to get details but I am told there was some pushin’ and some shovin’, wig-rippin’ and a couple of punches.

Ladies please, I know the unwashed public can sometimes get your goat, but violence solves nothing.

Which well known ladies hitched a ride in a hens night hummer last Friday? They disembarked on Commercial Rd thinking they were Princess Diana and Lady Gaga, plastic champagne flutes and all.

Their glittering limo didn’t impress the owner of a certain gin pit though. It seems one of the two is still persona non grata.

Perhaps she should have arrived in her usual manner — on a broom.Girls, I am as relieved as I can possibly be without the aid of porn.

Celica Camp has returned! Like the prodigal daughter Ms Camp reappeared magically at the recent Pride March, like some sort of Houdini rematerialising trick.

I am glad to see the dancing dynamo back and I’m looking forward to a stage dive or two.

A lad about town who has suddenly shed kilos denies emphatically that it was surgically achieved with lap banding. He states instead that “the love of my life broke my heart and I couldn’t eat”.

Wait till Weight Watchers catches onto this latest diet craze — the ‘I’ve just been dumped’ diet.Two of Melbourne’s painted ladies braved the hetero horde at St Kilda festival and made a day of it. The terrible two did a pub crawl and one took a spin on Luna Park’s big dipper.

The other hapless tranny finished her night on a discarded mattress in a laneway after taking a topple in the middle of Fitzroy St. Black sambuca, you are an evil drink.

Rumours reached my ears this week about a certain scene do-gooder who allegedly was caught up in a shipboard romance with some, shall we say, younger men.

The Love Boat indeed — apparently it was quite a scandal and required instant relocation. No life jacket required.

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