les miserables part deux

Mid afternoon.
Wandered into the Coulan Cafe in Kilcullen seeking pork chops.
In the corner sat a local Indonesian lady wearing a colourful head scarf and her little infant daughter, a most beautiful child.
There was no one else there.
"Set em up Barkeep," I called. "I want pork chops."
Patsy the proprietor materialised behind the counter like the Assistant in the old 1960's Brtish cartoon Mr Benn.
She is incidentally a good bit better looking than the Assistant in Mr Benn.
Patsy agreed to provide me with porkchops if I would guarantee to stop calling her Barkeep.
I gave her the usual false assurances and licked my chops anticipatingly.
"Hey Patsy," I called after a minute, "did you go to Les Miserables?"
Patsty reappeared.
"I did," she said.
"What did you think?"
"To be honest I didn't like it," she said. "I didn't like it at all. They were all so full of themselves. The men particularly. The men are just a bunch of racists. Posing there as if they own the world. The big men. Yeah, right. I wish they'd just wake up and get a life."
The mighty Heelers's jaw dropped.
It's been a while since I've heard anyone describe Mischa Fekete, John Coleman and my Uncle Scutch as a bunch of racists.
"Well Patsy," I mumured with some bemusement, "I admire your candour. To be honest I am not used to such frankness when talking about local drama productions. People are normally shy about speaking their minds."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Patsy.
"Les Miserables," I replied.
"I thought you asked me about Australia," exclaimed Patsy.
From the corner came the sound of a glass breaking.
The Indonesian woman had dropped her drink and was laughing delightedly.
All the music of the world was in her laughter.