The thing about High Street is the vibe, it has one like all outdoor shopping strips. Some strips have a definite “stuck up” feeling about them. Not this one. The friendliness of strangers, warm Summer days strolling in sunshine (more about that later with a heading LIVING IN THE SAHARA DESERT)), the book shop recently opened in the old Water Tower, competing against the OP Shops with their trays overflowing full of second hand books. Cussler, Baldacci, Mathew Reilly all of which I have. Racks and racks of other peoples donated clothing, some of which I admit to purchasing.

The aromas of a perfume kind emanating from Chemist Warehouse of course, the regular homeless woman lying in front of the Bank, trolley loaded with God only knows what. She looks very tanned and well nourished for a homeless person? Maybe she just appears homeless and goes home at night to rather nice social accommodation. There’s a guy screaming his head off abusing someone or something, marching up and down gesticulating menacingly. I duck into a ladies wear shop where the owner LOCKS us in! Until he passes. I have seen a drug deal go down outside a shop that Greg frequents on the odd occasion. A police car screamed to a stop, two burly officers emerging to grab the alleged offender. His accomplice, a female, long gone. ” She went that way Officer.” All while I was sitting there on public seating sharing space with the local wildlife, innocently unaware.

I don’t sit there any more. I have noticed the prospective customers ( not to mention Greg naturally so I won’t!)) drawn like flies to that location. On their phones. Outside. There is a medical facility next door to a Travel Agent . The customers of both so far apart in any mutual interests, cruise posters to The Caribbean compared to “how to give up smoking ” and “indigenous patients welcome here.” Long delays for a dentist! The welcoming cafe, White Mocha, our introduction to the destruction wrought by the Andrews Govt. when we were refused entry to multiple establishments for not having a “tick” on our phones. Not showing our papers. How the country went down after that fiasco.

On no less than TWO occasions have I been almost flattened like a pancake, strewn along the footpath, limbs askew like a discarded rag doll, by rogue riders of these death traps disguised as a rideable vehicle. Greg has also stepped in front of an unheard idiot coming up silently behind him. Escaped with his life. Greg, not the rider. I have saved an elderly man exiting the chemist, looking down at his phone from a similar almost disaster. ” I was looking down at my phone” he said, whilst looking down at his phone. He then proceeded to chat about this subject for the next ten minutes, whilst admiring the Audi parked there in front of him. ” I wish I had one of those. ” www.planetpauline.au