The Great Charity Swindle

I was strolling along Exhibition St with a friend, Tex, heading towards Chinatown. We were meeting my brother, Fanta, for a meal of steamed pork dumplings and cheap beer in a dark, dirty eating house located in a seedy alley where we planned to discuss obscure films viewed by perhaps just 8 people huddled in a dank theatre in the back streets of Brunswick.

"Great day, hey!" shouted Bubbly Young Irish Guy (BYIG) wearing a bright orange t-shirt and skipping over to us. "Hey! You dudes got a couple of minutes to chat about world hunger and the west's reluctance to make a difference?"

"No," I said, preparing to move on.

"Well, I have a couple of minutes," said Tex, always eager to please, and much to my chagrin.

"Great," said BYIG. "Basically what I need is for you to commit to many months of periodic payments to my organisation, Amnestfam Green-Vision, which will assist families to buy goats and shit."

"I already give to your organisation," I said, grasping Tex's shirt and encouraging him to keep walking.

"Really?" asked a sceptical BYIG.

"Yes, really," I said, sensing an argument and deciding to stay put. "I really do. I put coins in tins, I donate larger amounts when I can and I encourage others to do so."

"But signing up is really important. It means a constant flow of money, a good supply of goats..."

"I can't commit to regular payments. I don't earn much money. Like I said, I give when I feel I'm able to."

"I'll sign up," said Tex, trying to allay the tension and feeling somewhat positive after several cups of coffee at a dingy Flinders Lane cafe called The Bosch.

"But you don't earn much money either," I protested, annoyed Tex was getting between me and lunch.

"It's not much," said BYIG. "Ok. I'll need your bank account details."

"What?" said Tex.

"Your bank account details so we can make direct debits."

"You're shitting me," I said.

"I shit you not."

"I'm not giving you my bank account details," said Tex, beginning to realise he was in too deep.

"It's the only way we can sign you up."

"But I don't know them off the top of my head."

"I'll be happy to ring your bank and confirm your details. Give me your phone and you'll need to have your credit or debit card and driver's license handy."

"You're shitting me?" I repeated, so flabbergasted I was having trouble articulating.

"I already told you I'm not."

"Well fuck that. I'm not giving you my bank account details!" declared Tex, suddenly defiant.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I represent Amnestfam Green-Vision..."

"Yeah, but who the fuck are you?" I asked. "Come on Tex, let's go have dumplings."

"Think of the poor Africans while you eat your lunch," shouted BYIG, turning to a hapless business man eating a sushi roll. "Hey! Great day huh?"

*

This is largely a true story, and my attitude has finally been justified by the recent reports that many of these collectors are employed by a marketing company. This is, of course, not particularly surprising. However it means that a portion of your donation goes to a corporation and not to the kids or the goats. I'd want to know what portion makes it to the poor African fellow ploughing the field, and what portion to the managing director of Cornucopia, and I'd want this stated up front. If it's not stated, or the guy in the t-shirt doesn't know, then the whole affair can be considered a dodgy sham (as opposed to a fair sham).

For the record, I think people should give to charities if they are lucky enough to be able to afford to. But it should be the individual's choice which charity he or she gives to and when and how much.

*

Incidentally, it also pisses me off when someone does the hard sell on me in general. Whether it's a charity, a Lygon St restaurant or a professional tout on the streets of Bangkok, I will not buy a goddamn thing if somebody tells me to. I want the decision to be mine. I want to employ my free will, resist hard selling, resist advertising and resist all forms of marketing. Of course it's hard to say whether I've managed to avoid these influences, given the insidiousness of advertising. I mean, beer ads do make a great point.

London Turns it Around

Bob contesting the origins of Bangers and Mash with the Barman at Charles Dickens' local 'The Lamb and Flag'.


I've just returned from a two week trip to London. Last time I was there was 2002 and at that time I found the place staggeringly expensive. The exchange rate was around 30c to the pound and I distinctly remember the Missus and I buying 2 tuna sandwiches and 2 coffees for around forty fucking dollars and walking out in, respectively, a fury and an apologetic smile. Despite staying with friends in Maida Vale for the duration of our stay for the low price of nothing, we got out of London as quickly as we could: every time we moved it cost us.

This recent trip was for work, although I did manage to fit in enough beer drinking to satisfy even the hardiest among us. And I discovered this: in 2009, London is cheaper than Melbourne.

There, I said it.

Sure the exchange rate is much more in our favour (around 50c to the pound), but even so, things have changed somewhere. Either Melbourne has become very expensive, or London and the UK - as a result of the GFC perhaps - has become much, much cheaper. Beer was marginally cheaper than Melbourne (around 3 quid 30p for a pint), food was cheaper (perhaps 3 quid for a large, filled baguette), travel was cheaper, books were cheaper, petrol was cheaper.

I was most pleasantly surprised. Also, the sun shone, unlike during my previous 2 visits which had me believing London was a grey, morbid shithole.

On the flip side, London public transport commuters are the most depressed, rude and stupid group of people on the face of the Earth.

The global economic crisis - explained!

Many of you, I know, are furrowing your brow and shaking your head in a fruitless attempt to understand the global economic crisis*.

I’ve been following events closely and reading all the experts and I don’t have the foggiest about what’s happening either (and neither, I suspect, has anybody else).

I have noticed, however, certain turns of phrase keep cropping up so as a bonus to YOU, the loyal readers of TSFKA, I present the “Ramon Insertnamehere Handy-Dandy, cut out and keep, bluffers guide to the recent global economic unpleasantness”.

The important thing is to stress is “this is a liquidity crisis, rather than a credit crisis”. Now, for you and me (and more particularly, me) a “liquidity crisis” is where the pub hasn’t opened yet but it seems that money is like water – which means it can be boiled to make a refreshing cup of tea.

So there’s not enough money sloshing around the system, which means the major financial institutions are being forced to go to the financial regulators to ask for another bucket of water until the global plumber gets back from his tea break and reconnects the pipes.

The second point to stress that the Australian banks are still fundamentally sound. Why we should have more liquidity in the middle of a severe drought is something that has not, to my knowledge, been addressed but it probably boils down to Kruddy being very, very clever and keeping an extra bucket out by the back shed at The Lodge.

Or something.

The third point is that this is an international crisis. Extra points for knowing five countries in the G-7 group and throwing in references to the Bretton Woods Conference, the IBRD, GATT and IMF.

There you have it. You may want to print this out and put it on your fridge, so you don’t look like a complete goose at dinner parties** when the subject comes up.

*Except for EMS who has been googling Rebecca Smart, so she can track her down and give her a richly deserved smacking.

**I am no longer invited to dinner parties, after that unfortunate “Catherine Deveny incident”.