Shops

The supermarket in Maningrida is like a big milkbar stocked by Campbell's Cash'n'Carry. You can't get rice, sugar or flour in anything less than a 4 kilo bucket - which is lucky, because I'm eating a lot more flour than I usually would. It's good for you. Angries up the blood. Keeps you constipated, so you spend less on grocery bills. It's hard to get your peck on when you've got a colon full of slowly self-raising wheatmeal. And when you finish, you can use the bucket to keep your lovelorn tears, broken dreams and hospital bills. Pop it on the fire and you've got yourself a billy of misery tea.

I love the shop. It's almost entirely stocked with tinned meat, 2-minute noodles and cheap plastic children's toys. Then a few odds and ends - a washing machine, a bike, some seaweed rice crackers and a can of squirty cream. I smell a Dutch film in the making. Everything you could possibly need is probably not in the shop. But there's heaps of other shit you don't need to take your mind off it.

The shop's not that bad. They just cater to the tastes of the Aboriginals. Apparently there are some pubs near communities that serve Weet-bix and Spam (separately, unless otherwise indicated) to punters. I remember when I first got here I used to grab an apple on the way out the door for the walk to work, then feel all bad because I was eating in public. Then I thought, 'Hold up, I'm in Maningrida, not Ethiopia. These kids aren't starving, they're malnourished!' There's a difference. Anyway, there's a lot to be said for a diet of meat pies and Coke - it keeps your legs really skinny and protects against skin cancer. It's almost un-heard-of up here.

The MPA store (Maningrida Progress Association - whatever that means) it the smaller of two supermarkety shops. The other one's a shed on the other side of town. I haven't been there. I like to support local businesses. There's also hole-in-the-wall stores at the council and the airport, bit(e)s and pieces at the BAC fuel shop, the school tuck-shop, the Hasty-Tasty for greasy takeaway, and the Good Food Kitchen for sandwiches and other gay stuff. You're unlikely to go hungry here, unless you're anorexic, agoraphobic or both. Stupid skinny shut-in.

MPA have a very limited selection of lollies - they try not to encourage eating crap (try). Still, one packet stood out from the rest. I gathered what other crap I needed and headed home. Tonight is a night of sitting around on the couch, watching a shit DVD from Bali and eating Chicos (chocolate jelly babies, for anyone who hasn't had the blissful pleasure). I don't know what it is with these Aboriginals. Black condoms, black confectionary, black on their flag - you'd think they were having some kind of identity crisis... ah, yes... silly me...

Tonight is not an ordinary night. I have guests. Finally, some intelligent conversation. I've made friends with the new doctor, his lovely wife and their 10-month-old Betsy. Sadly, they're in Darwin. But I'm looking after their dog while they're away. So it's me, Lois and Wilson the Whippet Puppy (named after the ball - that's like calling a child Nintendo... hmmm... *scrawls note to future self*). I suggested they call him Steve. And people say I'm unimaginative.

I've made the promise not to kill Wilson over the weekend - accidentally or intentionally. The insurance just wont cover it. He's good company. He seems to like flour too, which is good. There's no way I'm having that thing shit in my house. I don't care how good a guest he is.