The ABC reports: “Some of the country’s biggest shopping malls are hoping to be politician-free zones during the upcoming federal and state elections.”

I’m not sure what bothers me the most about that intro; the fact that part of our democratic process is to be curtailed by people who condone spruikers with PA systems, or the fact it refers to shopping centres as “shopping malls”.

I’ll put the Americanism aside and focus on the first point. Why ban politicians from shopping centres while on the hustings? That’s the best part of an election campaign. The practice has given us great moments in Australian political history like Bob Hawke’s “silly old bugger” remark, John Hewson’s cake-shop GST gaffe, and a baby throwing up on John Howard.

The beauty of shopping centre appearances is that they can only be stage managed to a point. Even when the party hacks reckon they’ve lined up suitable attractive white-Anglo working mums and dads to shake hands, offer babies to hug and ask the right Dorothy Dixers, there will always be some child, nuff-nuff, wog, pensioner, youth or building worker who will turn the script, and possibly an election campaign, on its head with a left-field question so stupid it’s brilliant – the reaction to which provides news outlets with the perfect soundbite, vision or pic that will forever haunt a candidate.

The Shopping Centre Association of Australia has canvassed the pollie ban to “create an environment conducive to shopping”.

Fair enough, but if they’re going to ban politicians they should also look at making our shopping experience better by banning the following:

+ Spruikers – you know, those has-been radio jocks who are either ageing men in bad suits and wigs, or platinum-haired ladies with puckered cats-arse mouths, who talk all day about the shit available within the store in front of which they and their little PA are situated.

+ Stalls that block shopping centre thoroughfares with people trying to sell you everything from Foxtel and mobile phones to Amex cards and swimming pools. Then there’s that stand with efficient shower roses that have a display that looks like a fish tank showing the comparison between a normal shower rose, that pushes unusually blue water out like a draught horse pissing in a bucket, and the efficient one that trickles water out like a guy with a severley fucked up prostate.

+ Charity collectors. I don’t give a shit if it’s a good cause, being hassled by some sassy English backpacker to guilt me into churning out my hard earned to help the Red Cross/Smith Family/Fred Hollows Foundation/ WWF/Guide Dogs Association/Diabetes Victoria/Greenpeace etc is not conducive to shopping.

+ Car raffles;  where you write your name, address and phone number to have a one-in -fuck all chance of winning a Mini convertible in return for handing over your private information to a database to be rewarded with heaps of junk mail and friendly calls from Mumbai offering you cheaper electricity.

+ Children. Yes, fuck children off. I was at Coles yesterday and there were six kids. Five of them were screaming for no reason other than  they were little bastards. The fifth one was asleep in his pram. That noise made me rush to get out of the store. Kids are not conducive to a pleasant shopping experience.

+ Prams. Oh I’m sorry madam, I had the eyes in the back of my head closed. Yes, your $1200 Emmalunga pram inspired by the German Panzer III tank has ripped my calf muscle from my fucking leg, but then I shouldn’t have been walking in front of you at a reasonable pace.

+ Loud music in clothing stores. OK, so maybe I’m getting old, but I’m trying to buy a shirt here, not a couple of tabs of ecstasy in the shadows behind the DJ booth for fuck’s sake.

+ Other shoppers. Need I say more?