Bloodhouse

‘[…]Not,’ she elaborated with ponderous wistfulness, ‘that I don’t enjoy an occasional slumming expedition to the bloodhouses. Graham won’t use a bar that isn’t full of men in grubby singlets;[…]’

From the bloodhouses of my youth, vagrant hotels, I see your face / Dead girl (dear Jan!) in smoke-filled rooms—glass-littered slimy floors.

There are still a few bloodhouses, as the rowdier institutions are called, patronized exclusively by men;

The old riverfront where steamers used to move passengers and cargo is graced by pubs with lacy verandas that look old, quiet and innocent to the passer-by but still bear a reputation as ‘bloodhouses’ where more than one drug haul has come in up the river from the east.

The conditions and service offered varied: some were ‘bloodhouses’; others, such as that at Parramatta owned by James Larra, provided fine food, good drink and warm hospitality to their customers.

[…]negative environmental factors that make some establishments bloodhouses year after year and many more establishments violent on a less predictable basis.

Compared to those bloodhouses, the El Rocco was a beacon of sophistication.

City hotels favoured by the homosexually inclined ranged in style from the swank Australia Hotel to ‘blood-houses’ like the Belfields.