The pcbycp polyvinyl poof.
Dear reader, it’s difficult keeping step with the spirit of our time. Not since good ol ’38’ have we seen such a seismic shift in international power relations with another little tin-pot dictatorship sabre rattling to the world at large. Just the other day a dirty great blockbuster bomb, unexploded was uncovered in Frankfurt, There after all these years, just to remind us of how bombing made some cities really dull and uninteresting. And right across this pulsating globe there’s change and dire predictions. It seems as famously described by the cartoonist David Low, the world is about to either explode, implode or just vanish in a poof of smoke. And speaking of poof of smoke, whilst the whole globe gyrates to this crazy era of uncertainty, back here in Australia we shall devote trillions of dollars and hot air to the vexed question of poofs in general. Incidentally the polyvinyl poof at pcbycp headquarters was interviewed, and was only capable, (when pressed) of letting out a barely audible sigh. Such indifference.
So from a scribe from the near north a message that makes some sense of the crisis, and invests us with the dignity of good manners, sound advice, and civic virtue. He writes:
To whom It may concern,
Our Glorious RAAF. Making jobs for urban designers and civic planners for the next 70 + years.
Wholly involuntarily, reaching down for the Black and Gold rolled oats, without effort, without encouragement and without preliminary or indeed warning of any kind, with a strangely strangled note vaguely reminiscent of a child’s first violin lesson ,my body, utterly indifferent to one’s hitherto unsullied public reputation, broke hopelessly irretrievable, screeching wind in the cereal aisle at IGA.
The initial and singular advantage to winter clothing is its capacity to contain the resulting parfum for long enough for one to escape the site of one’s red-faced faux pas. But this is a double-edged sword. The disadvantage is that your faux pas, temporarily contained within one’s winter garments is, at least ’til the air clears, always with you.
And there is no escape! You can’t immediately approach the checkout lest you asphyxiate a member of staff. Neither can you, in all good economic conscience, abandon your hard-won discounted purchases in the middle of the aisle and bolt out into the night. One might be judged demented (not to say incontinent) and barred from entering the premises ever again.They might even insist, (horror of horrors!) should they allow you back in, on a public check of your incontinence trousers!.
The only way, in this circumstance, to avoid losing face in the face of the general public is to do as others do. 
The Crime Scene.
Allow me to explain.
Have you ever noticed there is always, in the supermarket, somewhere amongst the aisles, and in the midst of the most horrendous trolley jam, an ill-mannered and frightfully pushy person who insists on pushing through? Who barges past, arms akimbo, trolleys and baskets knocked to right and left without thought or feeling? Is there any reason NOT to consider that this behemoth, this human battering-ram is about some business other than a hurried shopping spree? That he (or she) before the winter coat fails in its duties, this person must at all costs, keep up a lively clip about the aisles lest the Harris Tweed betray one’s condition BEFORE it finally releases the last vestige of intestinal inadvertency to the air conditioning system?
On the other hand, I may be wrong about all this, but do,I implore you, keep careful watch for the hurried shopper lest the miasma following in the shopper’s wake cause you to faint entirely away.
You have been warned.
M.R.L. Doyle
We wish M.R all the best.