Gomi, Gomi, Gone

Pourquoi tout le mauvais art est-il si grand ?

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!

Les pensez-vous avoir été employé ?

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.

Une combinaison intéressante du tissage et de la céramique…

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.


5 Responses to Gomi, Gomi, Gone

  1. sharin iscarin says:

    I think the (rural) gomi hunting which we did this past weekend (aka give a damn, give a can) is a much more successful way of doing it. Secret of success, therefore, is this: put well-sponsored bags in the local rag a few days before your gomi hunt, itemising exactly what it is you are after. Any hey presto, in the space of 2 hours, 20,000 cans of (mainly within use-by-date) food which will keep you going throughout the long winter months.

  2. effjayh says:

    what did you do with all that (crappy) art. I love it. There is definately a place for ‘gomi art’, judging by all the other stuff we have to look at and I am sure we could get someone to sponsor an exhibition – more for serious art wanks to get hot and steamy over.

  3. N.I.C.K says:

    …are stolen garden ornaments gnomey, gomi gones?

  4. […] caught the French disease. No, not THAT French disease. This French disease compels you to always scavenge pieces of luggage. And I got not only the suitcases, but a quality Samsonite laptop bag stashed inside one the […]

  5. jim muir says:

    Is your dad rich or poor ie, rich bastard poor bastard
    or just dead father. I hope you gomi glands have burst,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, lets see you riffle through the gomi gland bin

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: