We’re scouring for shells on St Leonards beach, when this road rat screeches to a halt. “Can you tie my sticks up, I don’t want to poke anybody”, she says. Various sticks are hanging from the hot road at dangerous angles. There is a sense of urgency in her voice. She’s clearly robbed those tangerines and that bag of potatoes at her feet.
“Tie them with the bungy!”, she barks, and my friend hurries to secure the assortment of weapons hanging askew from the getaway cart.
Once securely in place, she takes off, leaving us bemused in a faint smell of burnt rubber and lavender.