Shouting outside goes on and on; it’s a conversation about floorboards between three men with coffees who are leaning companionably against the bakery veranda posts.
An old couple across the road are arguing over their dog who has just completed a large poo on the footpath. The man has a dustpan, but the couple can’t agree on the cleaning up. They both keep pointing at it. The dog sits and watches the traffic.
The floorboard men have moved up to my veranda posts and are discussing someone called Craig.
‘He’s in a difficult situation. Very hard to deal with. I’m going to try and smooth things over for him. Yeah. I’m going to give him some ammo, something useful to help his argument.’
‘Yeah.’ Everyone is nodding.
Another group pass; broad and heavy shouldered and dressed for motorcycling. They are all drinking from water bottles.
‘It’s 34 minutes, man.’
‘Yeah, that’s by Tailem Bend. We’re not going there. Enjoy your ride guys.’
‘No worries.’ They all part in various directions. One looks into my shop as he passes and says, ‘Spike Milligan. What a legend.’
The floorboard men, who have leaned back to let the cyclists pass, gather in again.
‘Well, if this is what I have to do.’
‘Yeah mate.’ Everyone is nodding again.
I notice that the couple with the dog have left. There is a car and caravan there now, and the couple inside it have a map spread out over the dashboard.
Suddenly the door opens and Sarah comes crashing in with four shopping bags and a newspaper and settles in to tell me about that moron Scott Morrison.