I'm in love again

with the David Jones Food Hall, hah!. You see since that fabulous emporium was renovated, what three years ago, probably more, things between me and Mr Jones haven’t been quite the same, kinda strange, a little tense, my dear, practically glaciale. Still I guess any kind of frisson is better than none at all.

Yeah well the renos, man, all the counters were made so high, made me feel like Keith the midget in Dead Babies, and the service had become very haphazard, bedlam, pet, completely contrary to the whole reason why one would visit Mr Jones. In essence, they had ditched the whole goddamn ticketing system and consequently the soothing Jeeves like quality to the service had evaporated. Well in truth the ticketing system hadn’t been entirely ditched but it was very laissez faire, you could use it if you wanted to, grandma, or just push your way to the counter and bark. DJ’s had gone both ways. And both ways is not a good thing for service, fine if you’re in need of a servicing but leave that to the Supernaut and the beesexualistes, god bless ‘em. Oh my, see how Mr Jones had let himself go, imagine puerile smutty language in the same para as mention of that purveyor of luggzurious goods.

Anyway back to the ticketing system, are you bored, I think I am, but a blogging I must go. Well I’d had so many instances of the ticketing system not being used and being trumped to the counter by ghastly Sydney super slick blondes with tans, sunnies on their heads and no goddamn manners, that come January when I was almost trounced by some rude pushy minx trying to get served before me, I madly waved my ticket before her pert brrrrrrrrrreasts and botoxed visage and I said in rather clipped tones, “I think I was before you, do you have a ticket ?” (I know totally barmy but it was before my annual leave, holidays that is, the senses had evidently left a long time ago. Aren't you glad that i am not your mother?) Naturally said arriviste didn’t have a ticket, had only just arrived, and conceded defeat, who wouldn’t when you’ve got Hattie Jacques on the frontline.

I was glad that Hattie Jacques triumphed over Sydney celeb wannabe. However, not sufficiently satisfied, I went and spoke to the customer service man and enquired about the ticketing system and why it wasn’t universally used in the Food Hall. Said customer service man was Jeeves incarnate and placated the savage Mistress, and said he understood, probably meaning, I’ve got your number, lady, come over here full tilt spinner and be gone.

So my dears, today I returned to David Jones to buy some fruit salad, very extravagant, but it’s delicious. Blonde Mischief herself, Joanna Q, had introduced me to it when she was with Munchkin. Anyway it was a beautiful moment when I saw big signs on every goddamn counter at David Jones stating “Please use the ticketing system”.
Ring BobnBono NOW!! Because it was all down to me, mich, moi, mi, meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Into every life a lunatic must fall and I guess it was the turn of David Jones. Poor pets. As Norman Gunston would have sung, I might be a nut but I love you, baby, honest I do, truly, rooley, I do.


Yesterday was the Ides of March, which is curiously also the date of birth for G.H.A. Happy birthday, Chuckles, and many hale, hearty and happy returns.