An enormous Bowie knife whirls through the air and thuds into a wooden bar, sending a shudder of excitement through the cluster of men wearing leather hats, blue jeans, flannelette vests and dirty tees carousing in an outback pub.
Bursting through the front door, a man follows the knife, engaged, it seems, in mortal combat with a saltwater crocodile. But the drinkers erupt with laughter as the “mad bugger” – adorned in crocodile teeth and skin – wrangles the stuffed beast to the bar and orders two drinks: “One for me, one for me mate”.
