HUFFIN’ AND PUFFIN’

INFORMER IS NO PRUDE, BUT SOMETIMES SCENARIOS PLAY OUT THAT SHOCK EVEN HE – THIS ONE INVOLVES A BUTT, A BOAT AND A BADLY BEHAVED BRUTE

INFORMER isn’t one to make a fuss. As long as you’re keeping your nose clean, not doing anyone any harm or anything too silly, then my philosophy is pretty much each to his or her own.

Yes, there are things I’ll never understand about others and I’m sure the feeling is mutual. Best not to make too much of it. Best to just get along and, as I say, not make a fuss.

But there was this bloke. This hideous bloke. To explain, Mrs Informer and I were enjoying breakfast al fresco at our favourite cafe. Being waterside, it has a small marina and the tables are close by. Boaties tie up, come ashore to do their shopping, have a coffee, whatever. It’s all very pleasant.

Still, there was this bloke. He drew up alongside, stepped on to the marina and, after ignoring his small son who was struggling to exit the boat, told his wife: “Don’t forget my (expletive) smokes.”

I don’t care if people smoke, although I wonder if you’re aware how much you pong. That breath mint and spray of perfume isn’t working. You smoke; you reek. Not that I’m making a fuss.

Anyway, this bloke was smoking and stinking and it was then he shoved the mooring rope at his son — all three-feet nothing and three stone wringing wet of him — and said: “Tie that good and tight, and don’t (expletive) it up. If the boat floats away, you’ll be (expletive) swimming for it.”

The boy tried, but he was just too small. His father snatched back the rope and growled: “Give it here, (expletive) useless.”

He continued to puff away vigorously, which was when Mrs Informer said: “You watch. He’s going to toss the butt into the water.”

The bloke took one final hard pull on his cigarette and, as predicted, into the water the smouldering butt indeed went. It seemed such a crude act of dismissal; of contempt for the river, for the morning, for everything really.

And if only that was all there was. It was not. Because the bloke then snorted, gathered something foul in the back of his throat and hoiked it into the water.

It wasn’t spittle. Spittle floats. This thing sank like a stone, and the next sound was of diners, in unison, putting cutlery down and pushing plates away.

When the bloke’s wife reappeared, she’d already peeled the plastic off his new smokes. He yanked one out and told her: “Get in.” Which the poor woman did.

It was a horrible display and Informer could only ponder how people such as this bloke evolve, how they think, how they decide what behaviour is acceptable and then don’t care if it’s not.

I suppose I could have said something or, if not me, at least one among us whose breakfast had been ruined beside the water that morning.

Driving home, on the side of a road an electronic sign warned: “Be careful. Look for wildlife.” A few hundred metres later the message was explained via an expanse of freshly cleared land.

For a new factory, I expect. Felled eucalypts lay everywhere, also crudely dismissed, trees reduced to nothing but the cigarette butts of industry.

Still, we didn’t make a fuss.

“THAT BREATH MINT AND SPRAY OF PERFUME ISN’T WORKING. YOU SMOKE; YOU REEK.”