Fremantle should be wiped off the map

So last Friday night Linds and I put on our glad-rags and trotted-off to Fremantle.
You may recall, I am now one of the reporters covering that basic area, which means I should be evolving a brilliant fully-integrated inner-cranial GPS and UBD.
Unfortunately, it has eluded me to-date and let me down when it was most needed.
We were heading to the MC Lars concert and we were running a little behind our 8pm ETA. As it turns out, we could have caught a lift on Space Shuttle Discovery and got there earlier. (Or Challenger II, for that matter).
Driving down the highway we sailed over the Queen Victoria Bridge (most people sail under it) and I calmly said “Now I have no idea where Metropolis Fremantle is, do you?”.
“Computer says no.”
I understood it to be on South Terrace. She opened the map book. At that point we had maybe five minutes up our sleeves.
Lindsay directed me onto Parry Street. After some several hundred metres we decided we were heading down the wrong end of Parry Street. About-face. Re-trace steps.
“We’re still not coming to Adelaide Street,” Lindsay said.
“I think it’s over there.”
“We can’t get over there.”
“Well let’s just go down here.”
So we went down there… and found a harbourside car park. We pulled into it, stopped the car, switched on a light (Linds had up until this point been using the glow of her mobile phone) and stared at the map.
“Turn it up this way.”
“No we’re facing this way.”
“Well this is Elder Street, and that’s Elder Street there.”
“So how do we get to South Terrace?”
“We need Parry Street.”
“We were just on Parry Street… that’s it there.”
“Actually, if we drive along this road and turn left there, it becomes South Terrace.”
Can I just stress for you all, South Terrace is the MAIN street of Fremantle - it is the extension of Market Street – and we couldn’t bloody find it!
When we eventually did find the street, we sailed past it (what a silly phrase, I may as well have said I “hovered” past it or “aquaplaned” past it for all the accuracy it relates) for several kilometres and had to do a U-turn and stop and ask a stranger for directions.
We paid for parking, Lindsay got verbally mauled by some kind of rat-haired primitive with an erection but no breeding and we joined the longest queue imaginable outside a Zimbabwean food aid van stop.
So we got in late, but managed to see the whole gig.
MC Lars gave fantastic concert of his best work and then casually chatted-up Lindsay when I went up to introduce myself to him.
I don’t mind her pulling my friends but pulling my heroes is a new twist on an old favourite.
Well he might have enjoyed discussing TS Eliot’s The Waste Land with her but I’d love to see him navigate Fremantle with her.
That’s not Lindsay’s fault, can I just stress (lest she murder me for my pelt). What I’ve discovered is, while the map makes it look like Fremantle is designed on a grid pattern, in reality all the streets run at triangles.
I am also not entirely convinced that they don’t shift like the staircases in Harry Potter while no-one is looking.