Aussie rules
Hello Possums!
Here I sit befuddled with jetlag, beer in hand to the right, bickies and dip to the left, and the AFL Grand Final on a large screen in front of me. Yep, that’s right, I am back in the land of Oz. I am home.
Well not strictly home, I suppose (as I am currently of no fixed address); but back in the country of my birth with my backpack exploded all over the spare-bedroom floor of my oldest and most hospitable friend. I am in Mandura, just south of
It is so very strange to be back. It has been two years since standing on Aussie soil and, in the rare daylight moments I have been awake, I have been absolutely enthralled by localisms that used to be so familiar they completely escaped my notice. Bottlebrush, people! Rainbow lorikeets! Daggy old flannelette shirts! WOW!
As a matter of fact, I feel the calling for a list:
Jetlagged observations on returning to
-
The accents. Oh my GOD! - the exquisitly hideous harshness! Heehee. And the funny inflexion that makes everything seem like a question yet is held forth in such a manner that you know you are not expected to answer. Maaaaate!?! :D
-
Separate hot and cold taps in the shower (instead of those weird European dial-type contraptions).
-
Top-loading washing machines! Extra-Hooray! No more leftover socks that I can’t pop in at the last minute after having already starting the cycle (because the infernal English front-loading door has self-locked). Happy days!
-
Colourful plastic money. Soooo prrrrreeettty... *pats vibrant and conveniently-washable dollar notes*… now I just have to remember that they are real… :D
-
Aussie beer ads. And Aussie beer! Half-melted ice in the esky and frosty-cold at last. :D
Got the bottlebrush – now for the bottles!...
But blah to jetlag. So sleepy. Must nap now... *Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*........
