It would appear that I am something of a derro magnet.
The other day, I was walking down Lygon St after work. Casually minding my own business, listening to some music en route to my hairdresser, I was stopped by a bloke my BFF describes as the Semi-Homeless. You know the type — he probably did have a home, and a local pub to drink in, but a pretty shitty home and only the shittiest pubs. He was wearing a sheepskin jacket and a flanno, and had he been 20 years younger, without the packet of Holiday 50s, I probably would have fancied him. Anyway, he gave me a lascivious wink, a big smile and an enthusiastic “G’DAY RANGA!” I have to say, old derros just don’t wink like they used to. And I’ll be honest: I didn’t mind it. Continue reading