See 'im? You can eat 'im.
I'm sniffing around for a cheap new tent.
In the early 1980s when my mum did the books for the scout shop in Brisbane's Fortitude Valley, it had all kindsa useful stuff dangling from the ceiling, popping outta draws, and clogging up the fire exits.
With that in mind, I hatched a cunning plan to gauge prices at the expensive places like Mountain Designs and Kathmandu, then wander down to the good ol' scout shop for a homegrown khaki bargain.
Why buy a Lexus when a Landrover will do the trick? Get the picture?
The first part of the plan went without, well, a hitch. (Three yuppy shops down, and three prices of flourescent, arctic-rated tents scribbled furtively in my note pad.)
Then came the 2 kilometre hike up Murray Street in the midday sun to Perth's Scout Shop.
It was closed for the Christmas break.
"Never mind", thought I, "I'll just have a squiz through the window at all their ripper gear".
There were tumbleweeds on the floor.
And the advice of Leigh Kernaghan never seemed so relevant:
If there's a sh!t in the store,
and not much more.
You're living in old crap town.