Monday, April 04, 2016


I had breakfast this morning at Three Bags Full, an establishment refreshingly devoted to the culinary power of fat. There was spinach sautéed in butter, mushrooms roasted in herbed oil, and bacon so crispy it could be used by one of those old time radio sound effect guys to mimic walking on autumn leaves.

They had slightly disappointing coffee, but the strange thing about Melbourne is that good coffee is common but good crispy bacon is rare. So it still gets a big thumbs up from me.

Speaking of disappointment, I walked past the local Country Road outlet store yesterday and discovered that they were having an extra 40% off sale, on top of the existing sale prices. Thus a jacket I’d seen for $500 in the city store earlier was only $150 here. Once I got my hyperventilating under control, I made my way inside.

The store was full of the sorts of surly, gimlet-eyed lowlifes who flock to a big sale regardless of whether they actually want heavily discounted business suits or high-end polo shirts. To them, a bargain is a bargain: questions of “need” or “want” don’t enter into it.

I, on the other hand, was looking for specific things, such as a new smart casual jacket. They had them in abundance – beautifully cut and detailed, in fine wools and linens. And naturally, when I slipped them on, they either enveloped me like a collapsed marquee or perched tightly on my shoulders as if I was a midget who’d suddenly Hulked out into a person of normal size. There were John Cena sizes and Peter Dinklage sizes, and absolutely nothing in between.

The only way I could have been more heartbroken is if they’d required me to vote for the Greens before entering.


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