The Coalition corner-shop hasn’t been travelling too well over the last number of years.
In fact, it has been on a downhill slide since Grandpa Johnnie got evicted and the lease was briefly taken over by Cousin Brendan.
Brendan’s proprietorship, however, didn’t last that long before his adolescent cousin, “Granville” Turnbull, took over, only for him in turn to be ousted by his Uncle Tony “Arkwright” Abbott. Arkwright, however, wants to keep WorkChoices alive and well, so he keeps Granville on as a very badly-paid and over-worked errand-boy.
So, to stay in business, the Coalition corner-shop has to stay “Open All Hours”.
Also, the rivalry between “Arkwright” Abbott’s corner-shop and the one managed by Julia “Grocer” Gillard, is as fierce as ever. Both, however, in their attempts at market penetration, have adopted different strategies.
For her part, Julia and her staff have invested in acquiring lots of inexpensive, environmentally-friendly stock, supplemented with making available to customers plenty of pre-loved, recycled items, many of which are sold below cost. Furthermore, to cover the losses incurred on these goods, Julia has imposed a surcharge on other items, that is those which are produced from materials that are not as conducive to the health of the environment.
Arkwright’s shop, however, is a different kettle if fish. In fact, his stock is mainly comprised of coal. As well as being a great believer in the stuff, he got a load off the back of a lorry and is keen to make some money on it, to help pay off his enormous mortgage.
So, the number of customers making their way to Arkwright’s door has dwindled to a rusted-on trickle. To drum up support, however, Arkwright has held a few press conferences but even they were a bit of a fizzer, as the journalists walked out, due to their impatience with him taking too long to get his answers out.
Then, one day in particular, Arkwright and Granville are trying to kill time in the shop. The brief highlight of Arkwright’s day is soon to be quickly over, however, as he ogles Bronny “Nurse Gladys Emmanuel” Bishop getting into her little car. Meanwhile, Granville is trying to negotiate around the many bags of coal cluttering up the floor he is trying to sweep.
Granville: Jeeze, Uncle...what’s the story with all these bags of coal? Bloody Newcastle, like Whyalla, must be a ghost-town at the rate you’re taking it off them...
Arkwright: Wuh-well, Greh-Granville...its my c-civic duty to promote the cuh-cause of cuh-coal...If Gih-Gillard gih-gets her wuh-way, we’ll all be sha-shafted like t-that bruh-brush you hah-have in your huh-hands...
[Suddenly, the door opens and a customer enters the shop. Granville and Arkwright are so shocked to hear the bell ring, they stand there transfixed. The customer is none other than Lord Monckton, who is coughing and spluttering with the dreaded lurgy. However, just as Arkwright is beginning to bow and scrape to his high n’ mightiness, in such an obsequious fashion that would make Basil Fawlty’s fawning look like Ned Kelly delivering his Jerilderie Address, Lord Monckton holds court.]
Monkey: I say there, old chaps...is there anyone home or are you two blighters going to stand there all day with your mouths open like two damn stunned mullets...And, by the way, there’s a dreadful smell in here...
Granville: Oh, and talking of stunned mullets, that’s just the smell of the rotten fish we can’t sell...Ever since Uncle Arkwright got the local rag to take a picture of him kissing them, nobody wants to buy them...hee...hee...
Arkwright: Oh, very droh-droll, Grah-Granville...Buh-but he who lah-laughs last lah-laughs best, cos I’ve suh-sold them to Duh-David Buh-Bushby for his t-t-tea and he’s cuh-coming in later to cuh-collect them...heh...heh...
Monkey: Well, be that as it may, my man, I’m suffering from a dreadful cold, so do you have any lemsips?
[Arkwright, having just failed miserably at getting Granville to go out to the back yard and plant his broom so that it will capture some carbon coal-dust, direct-action-style, reaches round to grab a packet of the aforesaid medication off the shelf. However, the bolshie Granville pipes up.]
Granville: Hey, wait a minute...I thought you had it on your CV that you had discovered the cure for the common cold! So why are you in here buying lemsips?
Monkey: Oh, that’s the common cold I discovered the cure for, my boy...aristocrats like moi suffer from a far better breed of germ...
[Granville and Arkwright look at each other, mutually wondering which planet this one comes from. However, never one to miss a sale, Arkwright tells Lord Monckton the packet of lemsips will cost him five quid.]
Monkey: Oh, and I think I’ll have a bag of coal as well, old boy...we have to fight the good fight against those Greenie renewables-mongers, now don’t we...heh...heh...
[So, Lord Monckton places a five-pound note on the counter, puts the lemsips in his pocket, grabs a bag of coal, and turns to exit the shop. Arkwright, for his part, is totally exasperated.]
Arkwright: Buh-buh-but...wha-what ah-ah-about peh-peh-paying for the cuh-cuh-coal as well...
[Unfortunately for Arkwright, however, and due to his stammer, Lord Monckton hasn’t time to listen any further and leaves the shop, with the unpaid-for bag of coal under his arm. Meanwhile, Granville is cracking up at his uncle’s predicament.
Then, almost immediately, the door opens again and in walks Declan Stephenson, who looks like he means business. Decko strides angrily up to Arkwright, who is still standing, open-mouthed, behind the counter.]
Decko: Right, you...I’m in a hurry here...I’ve got a bit stalking and intimidating to do...so I want three trays of your stalest rock-cakes...
Granville: Erm...what exactly do you want so many stale rock-cakes for, Decko?
Decko: Why, I want to stone that witch, Gillard...it’s about time she got her comeuppance...
Granville (patronisingly): Erm...Decko...we learned in History the other day that witches were actually burned, not stoned...
[At such a slight on his intellectual capacities, Decko grabs Granville by the front of his pullover, bringing his petrified face right up to his own.]
Decko (very menacingly): Look, sunny Jim...why don’t you just go back to your homework and, by the way, just skip the science part – it’s all a load of bollocks anyway...haw...haw...
[By this stage, Arkwright, at the prospect of selling his three-week-old trays of rock-cakes, and encouraged by Decko’s affirmation of the worthlessness of scientific endeavours, perks up and informs Decko that he can have the cakes for five quid.]
Decko: Righto...and I’ll have a packet of TAMs as well, Arkwright...
[Arkwright reaches round and grabs a packet of Tim Tams off the shelf and places them on the counter, stammering that it will be ten quid in total.]
Decko (peeved): No, not Tim Tams, you idiot! I asked for a packet of TAMs!
[Arkwright hasn’t got a clue what Decko is on about, and merely stares back blankly, nodding his head like he does when Mark Riley comes in to buy some chook manure. Eventually, Granville breaks the ice.]
Granville (sheepishly): Erm...Uncle...I think Decko wants a packet of macadamias...Y’see, ever since you went for a mid-winter dip in Port Phillip Bay, I’ve been telling the customers that they’re called TAMs – Tiny Arkwright Macadamias...hee..hee...
[Granville and Decko have a great laugh at Arkwright’s expense, but the latter takes it all in his stride, as he is only too glad to make another couple of sales. However, he gets his own back on Decko by charging him five quid for the mangy packet of nuts. Decko places ten quid, five for the nuts and five for the rock cakes, on the counter. But, just like before with Lord Monckton, Decko grabs a bag of coal as well, and exits the shop.]
Arkwright: Buh-buh-but...wha-what ah-ah-about peh-peh-paying for the cuh-cuh-coal as well...
[Granville is wetting himself at Arkwright’s discomfiture. Then, the door opens and in walks Alan Jones.]
Jonesie: Right, Arkwright...those chaff bags you sold me yesterday are too small – have you got any bigger ones?
Granville: Erm...what did you want the chaff bags for anyway, Jonesie?
Jonesie: Why, to put Gillard in, of course...But, the ones Arkwright here sold me are, as I said, too small...I know her honk’s big, but these teensie-weensie ones wouldn’t even start to suffice as a nose-bag for her...heh...heh...
[Arkwright, with his broad background in People Skills, sees immediately an opportunity to use some psychology on Jonesie, and make a sale.]
Arkwright: Wuh-wuh-why, J-Jonesie...wuh-wuh-why don’t you juh-juh-just puh-puh-purchase a b-b-bag of cuh-cuh-coal? Yu-yu-you can do suh-suh-something about gluh-global cooling, and, at the seh-same time, ple-ple-plonk Gih-Gih-Gillard in the eh-eh-empty che-che-chaff bag when you’re duh-duh-done!
[Jonesie looks at Arkwright, then at the bags of coal and, immediately, stuffs one under each arm and walks out, just like the others, without paying.]
Arkwright: Buh-buh-but...wha-what a-a-about peh-peh-paying for the cuh-cuh-coal...
[Anyway, all day this goes on. Each rusted-on customer who walks in, leaves with a bag or two of coal. And no-body attempts to pass on any of the folding stuff to Arkwright in recompense. He is totally distraught and facing the prospect of not being able to meet the next payment on his onerous mortgage. For his part, Granville is sick to the back teeth of Arkwright’s endless whinging. So, he steps outside for some respite. However, whilst outside on the pavement, sucking in the smog caused by the plethora of coal-fires burning in the grates of the terraced houses in the surrounding mean streets, he spots one of his Uncle’s denialist propaganda posters blu-tacked to the shop window.]
Poster: “Kill Gillard’s Tax! Burn lots of coal! After all, carbon is weightless! Come inside and buy some for ten quid a kilo!
[Granville can hardly believe his eyes. How could his Uncle have been so stupid? He rushes inside, eager to poke fun at Arkwright’s own-goal.]
Granville: Heh...heh...I see now why the punters grabbed the bags of coal without paying! You told them carbon was weightless, and, by their reckoning, something that is weightless – and at ten quid a kilo – should cost them zilch...Nice one, Uncle...ho...ho...
Arkwright (resignedly): Yeh-yeh-yes...Gre-Gre-Granville...I guess this sh-sh-shows I’m not really cu-cu-cut out for this sh-sh-shop-keeping lark...This cuh-chu-coal beh-beh-business has been a peh-peh-package of eh-eh-economic peh-peh-pain for no en-en-environmental geh-geh-gain, I’m af-af-afraid...
Granville: Yeah, Uncle...I think it’s about time you retired and handed the business back to me...
Arkwright: Nuh-nuh-not so fast, yuh-yuh-young fella...If I re-re-retire, I’ll be huh-huh-handing it over to Nuh-Nuh-Nurse Gladys Eh-Eh-Emmanuel...
Granville (to himself): Crap! Well, I suppose it could be worse...at least she’ll get rid of all this bloody coal...but, on the down side, I know what she’ll bath me in every Saturday night...sheesh...
