"So did you get to the Big Day Out last week?" Brent asked Rona, as their waitress brought a green salad to the table.

"Oh my god." Rona rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started on the Big Day Out."

"Why?" asked Catherine, "what happened?" She and Brent had earlier tip-toed along the edges of an argument about how he wished she'd at least try to be friendly towards Rona.

"Well" Rona started, focussing her attention momentarily on Catherine in order to answer her question, before switching her gaze to Brent (Matt had heard the story before). "Si was meant to organise a ticket for me, right? 'Cause I was meant to review it for the Word. I mean every street magazine is at the Big Day Out. So he promised me and promised me that they'd have one at the gate, there'd be a ticket waiting for me there. A V.I.P. ticket, in fact."

"And?"

"And what d'you think? I got to the gate - not a fucking thing! No ticket, V.I.P. or otherwise. Not so much as a scrap of paper with my name on it. And of course I didn't have $115 to fork to buy a ticket - even for Iggy and the Stooges." She ground her teeth at the memory of it.

"So what was the story?" asked Brent. "Did he just forget?"

"You know what?" said Rona, rapping her knuckles on the table-top to emphasise each word, "if he'd just forgotten, I think I'd be able to deal with that. I mean, I'd still be pissed off, but . . . But here's the thing: I get into the office on Monday and ask him about it, and the stupid idiot just laughs and says: 'I decided we needed less emphasis on music, so I cancelled the ticket.' Just like that. No consultation, not even any fucking warning, just 'New direction - bad luck!'"

Brent shook his head. "Mate, that sucks."

"I really don't know how you put up with that guy" said Matt. "From everything you've told me about him. You know we carry all the street mags in the store, right? Well next time you see him, tell him that every week we have left-over copies of the Word. More than any other mag, and more of them each time."

"See" said Rona, "that wouldn't do any good. He'd just see that as one more reason why we need to change things, instead of just improving how we do things already. He fucking impossible to reason with, I'm telling you."

"You know what" said Brent, as Catherine looked on. "If you had your own magazine you'd slaughter him. And every other mag out there."

"Nice pipe-dream" Rona replied wryly, "but there's no way I could get the money to set up a mag. Si's got all the capital. It's his baby. At least at the Word I'm right up at the top of the ladder. Who knows -" she shrugged - "Maybe he'll get bored of it one day."