Harry’s Philosophy of Fashion

“Yeah. Me name’s, Harry, I’m one of them grass trees at Coolah Tops. Me fashion should be stately like……tall an’ spiky…..but I’ve come by a bit of an accident so you’se ‘ll just have to take me as I am…...old and a bit dilapidated and cranky. After me accident, me fashion changed and I took to drink……but I can’t drink anymore…….I’ve run out of me tinnies…...me empties lie here on the ground…...and I’m stuck here near this young’un, this fashion plate, Jason. And we ain’t got much in common…...he don’t talks to me and I don’t talks to him. He’s all spruced up to the nines…...a bright shiny face……leaves that sparkle in the sun…...and bark that ain’t been touched by fire. A bit stuck up……a right posh little bugger.”

“Me, I’ve got many a tale to tell. The years I’ve lived shows on me face…... all brown and wrinkled and hairy. I’m a bit of a recluse now and I don’t care what you thinks of me looks. I’m no trend setter like Jason, any more. I guess you could say me fashion’s all me own…...yeah, Harry’s fashion.”

“Me eyes are big and wide and open all the time and I see what goes on around me…...you see that wombat hole there…...well, that squat little nuisance of a wombat comes snooping around me at night…...thinks I don’t see in the dark but have I got a surprise for him, I can……and he aint no fashion plate…...wears a thick grey fur coat.

What a boring colour.....and he wears it summer and winter. OK in winter but not summer. He’s so aloof that lump of a fella with his short legs and short tail. And with front teeths like a rodent…..yeah,……rat teeths! I know I ain’t got no teeths now…..I lost me teeths years ago but I ain’t had no rat’s teeths. A crazy sort of bloke that wombat is……with thems powerful claws, don’t ya think? Look at ‘em…...a bit scary ain’t they? Uses them for digging…...always digging…...either digging burrows or digging for food. And then do ya know what he does?.....he leaves his scats on the tracks. How gross is that?”

“I sees and hears other critters during the day which bothers me no end…...like birds……think they’re the only ones with any fashion sense. Birds like thems screeching white cockatoos calling “Look at me! Look at me!” Ok, they may be beautiful and well dressed but I certainly don’t wanna look at them…… have you heard ‘em? That noise…...it’s so raucous and deafening. It turns me mad. I don’t wanna see their white feathered outfits, with yellow tinges under their wings and tail…...I don’ wanna see that yellow crested hat sittin’ jauntily on thems heads…...they should all be at the Melbourne Cup…...noise and all. All I can say……good riddance……. they leaves me dead…...and what about those little busy body crimson rosellas. Flitting around me head all day and chattering to one

another……never shut up for one minute. They makes me extremely cranky……it’s no wonder I turned to drink! Have ya seen what they thinks is fashion……can you imagine a crimson dress with a black scalloped blue cape? How fancy is that? Not my idea of proper clobber. Their taste in fashion is in their boots.”

“I seen a red bellied black snake the other day…...now there’s a codger who knows fashion. All coiled up like a rope, he were. I like the looks of them blokes…...a look that says ‘Don’t mess with me.’ A bit like me…...bad and evil…...solitary and scary. An ugly customer, most would say, but to me he’s stunning!

Yep, a sleek creature with black glossy scales on his back and what a brilliant red belly…...a red belly to glide sneakily around the place…...poking his tongue out as he goes. Yeah, I really like his attitude.”

“I’m old and suffered many of life’s hard knocks…...me fashion reflects me age and attitude to life. I just don’t care any more. Yeah, so here I stand amongst me empty tinnies…...and does that worry me? No…… I have me memories. I used to carry me six pack tucked under me arm in me younger days…...great on a hot day…...yeah I can just feel the beer sieving through me overgrown moustache and dribbling down me long goatee beard. Them beery days are long gone.”

“These days, me hair is long and straggly…...haven’t had it cut in years. I like it like that. I’m not like Claudia, that old hag who lives further down the track. She gets her hair cut in the latest fashion…...talk about mutton dressed up as lamb. Yeah, a square fringe across her old forehead and then, would ya believe, one side of her hair is longer than the other…...how queer is that! All I can say is ‘WOMEN’ and what they do for fashion…….she looks ridiculous…...us men are independent sort of fellas…...just look at me. Me fashion’s individual.”

“Me hair gets a bit itchy at times when spiders, insects and small marsupials make thems home up there…...but who cares? Not me…...maybe a vine will decide to climb up me charred leg and decorate me hair one day. I wouldn’t mind. In fact, see that old girl who lives down the path a bit……her name’s Penelope……with a Miss Havisham kind of look……you know, a bit old and weird like me. Well, she sports a green vine amongst her spiky hair do.

“Well, I aint no fashion plate as youse can plainly see……fashions come and fashions go but only the weather and time will change me. I’m comfortable with me fashion at the moment…...it tells a story about me life now, don’t you agree? But I do thinks about me fashion of tomorrow. Will I still have me looks……and will I have a story to tell?”