I defy any male humanoid not to like Bunnings just a teensy bit. It's like a supermarket - nay, a department store - for dudes, a huge, oversized candy shop filled with stuff that builds and chops. Or, as Stewy would say: "Good lord, it's like the spice rack in my fantasy kitchen." Except that's not something a bloke would say really, not unless they wanted to get beaten up with tyre irons.
I've been to the Chatty store three times in the last three days for plywood, cable ties, spotlights, power boards, clamps, extension cords, you name it. They recognise me now. We share knowing nods. It's nice.
I really dig the whole ease of it all. No big fuss, no knocking out half your day to get supplies. Pull in to the oversized carpark (it's like Texas all up in this place), trot upstairs, grab one of the billion people on hand to help you, and get out. No muss, no fuss.
I also like how all the staff are all pretty much slightly different versions of your dad or your uncle (the good uncle, not the one that touches up cousins at Christmas lunches).
Oh, and one Saturday morning the North Sydney Men's Choir was doing a sausage sizzle in the car park and tried to recruit me because they needed more altos or sopranos or whoever the high-pitched, non-baritone guys are. I politely declined. read more