Mooching in Melbourne we experienced the full spectrum of life.
$70.00 for Clare's haircut in a swanky up town salon.
$7.00 for mine. And that included a free beer while he shaved my head and The Doors played at ear bleeding volume; the walls adorned with what can only be described as erotic gypsy pin ups in varying states of undress. I could have got a tattoo if I had wanted it. After a beer it didn't seem such a bad idea.
Instead I scared myself repeatedly on the walk home, catching a glance of my newly shorn appearance in every window I passed. The whiff of dope at every door way marked the territory and possibly explained the shambling Aboriginies congregating around the park benches as I passed. I might have been a bit scared but a beer before lunch bouyed me up and my new haircut seemed to intimidate them more than it did me.
Haircut raising an occassional eyebrow that evening, Dirk and Victoria's Bon Homie stretched to its elastic limits as they entertained us at Melbourne's Taxi. Not a kebab and a Strongbow in the back seat of a cab as the name might suggest; rather a twelve course Degustation Menu at the eponymous retaurant, peopled by the beautiful and patrician accolytes of the fine city. And that was just the waiting staff.
Sashimi, pork belly, coconut soup, elaborate chocolate and caramelised sugar nests; each course was a triumph of.....of......
Well, it was delicious anyway.
And I think they were extra nice to us.
May be because I looked like I might have caused trouble give the slightest provocation.
Or perhaps because I spent the afternoon perched on the Pope's Kneeler.
Really, I did!
$70.00 for Clare's haircut in a swanky up town salon.
$7.00 for mine. And that included a free beer while he shaved my head and The Doors played at ear bleeding volume; the walls adorned with what can only be described as erotic gypsy pin ups in varying states of undress. I could have got a tattoo if I had wanted it. After a beer it didn't seem such a bad idea.
Instead I scared myself repeatedly on the walk home, catching a glance of my newly shorn appearance in every window I passed. The whiff of dope at every door way marked the territory and possibly explained the shambling Aboriginies congregating around the park benches as I passed. I might have been a bit scared but a beer before lunch bouyed me up and my new haircut seemed to intimidate them more than it did me.
Haircut raising an occassional eyebrow that evening, Dirk and Victoria's Bon Homie stretched to its elastic limits as they entertained us at Melbourne's Taxi. Not a kebab and a Strongbow in the back seat of a cab as the name might suggest; rather a twelve course Degustation Menu at the eponymous retaurant, peopled by the beautiful and patrician accolytes of the fine city. And that was just the waiting staff.
Sashimi, pork belly, coconut soup, elaborate chocolate and caramelised sugar nests; each course was a triumph of.....of......
Well, it was delicious anyway.
And I think they were extra nice to us.
May be because I looked like I might have caused trouble give the slightest provocation.
Or perhaps because I spent the afternoon perched on the Pope's Kneeler.
Really, I did!
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