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How Many Chucks Can a Woodchuck Chuck

One of the really nice things about getting away from the Big Smoke is knowing you can walk through a country town at night and feel pretty safe.

I mean there's no King's Cross or St Kilda scumbags set to jump on you and take all your money and you just feel so much more comfortable.

The other night, for example, I was bowling down the main street of Shepparton in Victoria with my old mate Herbert. He's an old newspaper hack from way back and, it must be said, likes to hit the old sauce.

Anyway, we were in a shopfront when old Herbert calls to me. "Yeah, what do you want Grump?"

"What? Didn't say a thing Herb."

Seconds later it was: "What do you want Grump?"

"Didn't say a thing Herb."

Then old Herbert got a bit peeved. "Look what the hell do you want Grump?"

Well I have to say I got a bit sharp with the old fellow and was about to give him a clip when I heard "Herrrbbbb."

We both stopped and looked around. In a shop doorway was a young bloke on his hands and knees giving his stomach muscles a really good workout. "Herrrbbbb. I'll never .... Herrrbbbb .... ever .... Herrrbbbb .... ever .... Herrrbbbb .... drink .... Herrrbbbb .... again!"

The poor guy was covered in what looked like canned diced fruit salad with a gentle touch of parmesan cheese added for extra aroma.

Now I know this sort of thing happens all over the place, but the local council in Shepparton, doesn't want it in their town. It is introducing a vomit tax on late-closing pubs and hotels in a bid to clean up the place.

Now, much as I may like to vomit on many in society, I have to say that paying for the privilege goes a bit beyond the pale. Some businesses reckon that a puke levy will cost them up to $20,000 a year and have suggested the council should keep public loos open later to give party animals somewhere more private to chuck in.

But, we all know that won't happen, don't we folks. For one thing is certain - you give councils the chance to grab money off you and you'll have to be faster off the mark than a formula-one car to avoid their grasping ways.

By the way, have you ever noticed how hard it is to get bits of diced carrot off your shoes?

If there is something that has really got up your nose, let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com