Curbside Scavenging Report: Nedlands
The astonishingly successful gomi hunting jaunt we undertook in Floreat a month back had us well primed for a curbside scavenging expedition to Nedlands this week. Just thinking about the unpricelessful junk that awaited us in the rich-bastard suburb made our gomi glands fully engorged.
Now, gomi hunting in pairs is a tricky business. It can get nasty if you’re competing for stuff. I choose to go with Madam Fatale because she’s only interested in luggage – nothing else. Doulton jugs? Non! Rice steamer? Mon dieu, non! Chamber pots? Merde, non!
I don’t know why the French have an obsession with cases and travel bags. Maybe after centuries of retreating from invading armies the desire for a quick getaway has imprinted itself permanently on their genome. Anyway, I’m staying put, so her frenzy for travel bags works for me, the only downside being her overexcitement when a raggedy suitcase appears on a verge.
I was browsing the computer crap as usual looking for keyboards. They have a short life expectancy at my place and usually end up ruined from beer/wine/kedgeree/curry/ash/coffee spillages. Having a few spares is handy so you can understand my frustration after I came upon the umpteenth keyboard that appeared perfect but had its cable cut off.
Why would these rich bastard householders cut off the cable before throwing the keyboard out? Why were they all like that? Did a rumour circulate Nedlands that information somehow remains in the keyboard, to be extracted later by a cunning gomi-hacker? “Better cut the cable off before you chuck it Bob, your banking login might still be in there.”
Still, I’d rather think that than the alternative; that they cut the cables off so no one else could use them. Sigh.
Anyway, as it turned out, our haul was pitiful, although my partner was happy with her usual haul of decrepit luggage. I ended up with bugger all. The verdict: poorer suburbs may have richer pickings.