While driving back from Sydney and just past Campbelltown (The ghost of Fisher) turn off, we kept noticing colourful signs with “Happy Mango Hour”. After another five kilometres or so the signs kept on appearing, stating, “3km happy Mango Hour”, “2km happy Mango Hour” till we arrived at a large parking spot with many semi trailers parked, as well as cars near another large truck. “Happy Mango Hour Here now,” heralded yet another sign on the truck.
We had arrived at the “happy Mango Hour.” The area is a popular truck stop over, also has drinking water and public toilet. The toilet was unisex but ‘naturellement sans pissoir,’ and as we all know, male toilet habits are less precise as that of females so Helvi quickly darted out, decided she could hang in till we arrived back in Bowral.
The truck with mangos was at the tail-end of trade, packing up with just a few cases of mangos left. We hit the Jackpot and were sold 22 glorious mangoes at twenty dollars. Two golden syrups, tall skinny boys were running the show, black and eagle eyed with large sharp noses. “Sri-Lankans we are;” after I asked where they came from. Turned out they drive each week-end from somewhere up north and then get this spot on the Hume, rightly guessing that way south, there would be keener mango lovers, perhaps with people as yet to come out of hibernation? An early touch of the tropics down south, as it were.
Clever blokes, savvy like anything, cheerful like buggery, cottoning on ‘happy hour,’ quick flash and making a bit of dough. Good on them