I live in an inner-city suburb. It was first developed in the late 19th century. This suburb, and ones surrounding it, are said to have had a pub on every corner. It’s a slight exaggeration. But only slight.

Most of the original houses in the area are single-storey workingmen’s cottages. Did women not work? Or did not women not live in cottages? Why do we call them workingmen’s cottages? But I digress.

As I was saying, most of the original houses in the area are single-storey workingmen’s cottages. Most have been extended in the last 100-odd years to provide modern, if snug, inner-city accommodation.

The original houses were quite small: only 2 or 3 rooms, with apparently no bathroom and no kitchen.

I’ve always assumed that all those pubs not only filled needs for socialization, but also for cooking and maybe bathing.

Over the years, many of the pubs have disappeared. Replaced by 1970s blonde brick monstrosities of flats. Or some rather better, newer, houses. Some have become homes or offices. But there are still many of the 19th century pubs left and operating.

What I’m now seeing is a resurgence of the pub on every corner. But not a pub. A cafe.

Yesterday I wandered by one such cafe housed, not surprisingly, in an old pub.

The lunch special was scrambled tofu.

What would those 19th century workingmen have made of scrambled tofu for lunch?

Photo: Kevin Whelan. Photo of Curry Family Hotel, Collingwood, which is typical of the pubs in the general area.

Why do we put registration stickers on windscreens?

Once upon a time, the registration sticker represented a receipt: it was sent to me after I’d paid the licence fee. Now, the registration sticker arrives with the bill.

Once upon a time, someone with authority (a police officer, perhaps) could use the registration sticker to tell if I’d paid the fee. Now, it no longer indicates payment.

So why do car registration stickers still exist?

Opinions have a value.

I seek out, and value, opinions when I ask the shoe repairer whether my favourite high heels can be repaired; when I ask the waiter about an item on the menu; when I ask a travel agent about the best airfare; when I consult a doctor or lawyer.

Most of us provide advice of one kind or another as part of our jobs. That’s to say, we’re paid for our opinions.

Why, then, do we give up valuable opinions for free whenever someone rings saying

Hi, this is Carla / David / Susie / Hieronymus.
I’m from [Insert name of consumer research company here].
We’re conducting a survey about supermarkets / politics / health services / whatever.

I have a new system for dealing with these nuisance calls: I ask what fee is being offered.

When Carla / David / whoever sounds rather surprised and tells me there is no fee, I explain that I think my opinions are valuable, and I don’t give them away for nothing.

If we all did that then

• we would eliminate these nuisance phone calls
• we’d all make a buck out of our opinions.