Afterwards, I stopped to grab a restorative coffee in a little cafe in town. Mum had Georgette, so I was totally sans children, an unusual state for me. Freeeeeeee!
We live down the coast from Sydney, in a land where the bogans roam free, and so the groovy are drawn to particular parts of town where they can mingle with their own. It makes for some fascinating hipster-watching.
My usual only encounters with the worlds of fashion and beyooty are at the school drop-off these days. The mums are always effusive and complimentary when someone has made an espeical effort, knowing how hard it is to make it out of the house with two shoes on, let alone a face of slap. 'Your hair!' we cry, en masse. 'What have you done?' 'Washed it,' is the usual answer. 'Well, you did it very nicely,' we affirm. 'Conditioner and all, is it? Get you and your fancy ways!'
I felt like Attenborough, observing the hipsters in their natural habitat. All the men were bearded. They wore check shirts and skinny jeans. They had gentle manners. It was all sort of reminiscent of the 70's back-to-the-land movement. Except the women weren't allowed to be hairy and overalled; no, the waitresses (hipsters too) had very complicated hair and make-up going on. Unfair.
An office worker rushed in at one point, grey suit sagging slightly in the bum, and ordered a large cappucino with two sugars. The bearded dandy behind the machine raised one eyebrow just slightly. Poor office dude had no idea his coffee order was totally daggy.
And that is my report from the world outside the school gates.
Jack Passion, beard champion.