Category Archives: The Australian Way

I Come From A Land Down Under…

Posted on by
2

With the Olympics going on here in London, I’ve read/seen a lot of stuff about Australia and sporting heroes.

Just last night, in the midst of profile after profile on Team GB (as is the perogative of the Host City), Cathy Freeman featured in a montage about ‘The Face of the Games’ for her star turn (both on and off the track) at the Olympics in Sydney in 2000 and legendary Aussie swimmer Ian Thorpe has been a key part of the commentary team at the Aquatics Centre for the swimming events.

Let’s face it, there’s nothing like a sporting great or two to bring out a bit of proud Aussie patriotism.

Today I was reading a post by Aussie-in-Doha, Kirsty Rice called The Fine Print In Your Passport. Just as the company you work for tells you that you are a representative of that company and are expected to conduct yourself as such, Kirsty reveals that same admonishment exists in the pages of your Australian passport. (For those of you that have one that is – the rest of you should check your own fine print.)

For many years, Australian airline QANTAS has run an overseas television campaign featuring Peter Allen’s I Still Call Australia Home, the unofficial anthem for any self-respecting Aussie expat. The line ‘no matter how far or how wide I roam, I still call Australia home’ has always moved me (and most other Australians I know) and reminds me of the enormous pride I feel in being an Aussie amid the eclectic cultural melting pot of London.

But today Kirsty’s post unearthed a new gem and for me, an absolute pearler that covers the two places I’m lucky enough to call home.

So just you remember, I come from a land down under…

…you’d better run, you’d better take cover.

Travelling The Australian Way…

Posted on by
4

A couple of weeks ago I forked out rather a lot of the old cash-ola to fly Down Under for Christmas. It’s quite a good deal for that time of year but still almost double what any self-respecting Aussie would pay to be wedged in cattle class for 24 hours.

So imagine my consternation when I opened my emails to find this…

…a brilliant April Fools antic from travel afficionados, STA.

All I can say is it’s just as well I read the fine print!

Great Southern Land…

Posted on by
5

So today is Australia Day. The day we down under celebrate the landing of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove in 1788, some 18 years after its discovery by Captain James Cook laying the claim of British Sovereignty at the threshold of a vast and unknown territory.

So what to blog about today, I thought? Could it be a potted history of our last 224 years? Or perhaps a little wander through the idiosyncracies and peccadillos of my fellow countrymen?
But then I knew – it just had to be the music. And more particularly, the music of my youth. So by clicking on all of the links below, you can take a little tour through the teenage years of a little Aussie sheila. Think BBQs, festivals, concerts, camping and much anthem-like, arms-raised, crowd-singing as you listen.

There was Australian Rock charting its course through hearts and minds with Cold Chisel, Icehouse, Little River Band, Australian Crawl, The Angels, Men At Work and personal fave, Noiseworks.

And let’s not forget those upper echelons of Aussie Pop with Kylie, Savage Garden, Kate Ceberano, Bachelor Girl and Jo Camilleri (and his Black Sorrows).

But the song that always sums up that great big land down under for me is a song by little known Gangajang – listen to the words and you’ll hear what I mean…

Have a bonza ‘Straya’ Day, peeps!

A Rusty Old Ute And 8 Mighty Roos…

Posted on by
1

Gidday peeps! Hope you’ve all had a fab Christmas (or however you celebrate). I’ve been lounging around, drinking champers and out and about swotting up on a bit of history (but not all at once you understand).

With Christmas done but still a week left on holiday, I’ve got quite a list of things ‘to do’ but decided to open up my emails this morning to see what the world at large had been up to.

Amongst the post Christmas/Boxing Day and End of Year sales (with even more discounts), there were a couple of missives from Mum. And in response to my last post, she had received an Aussie rendition of Twas the Night Before Christmas so before we say our final farewells to the little dude’s official birthday celebrations, here’s one more post Chrissy post script for you to enjoy Oz style.

It’s a bewdy!

‘Twas the night before Christmas; there wasn’t a sound.
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was around.
We’d left on the table some tucker and beer,
Hoping that Santa Claus soon would be here;

We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced ’round in our heads;
And Mum in her nightie, and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV sports.
 
When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging woke us from our doze.
We ran to the screen door, peeked cautiously out,
snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.

Guess what had woken us up from our snooze,
But a rusty old Utepulled by eight mighty ‘roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.

Now, I’m telling the truth it’s all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out the window to pull at the reins,
And encouraged the ‘roos, by calling their names.
‘Now, Kylie! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane!
On Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne!
Park up on that water tank. Grab a quick drink,
I’ll scoot down the gum tree. Be back in a wink!’

So up to the tank those eight kangaroos flew,
With the Ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he sprang with a bound.

He had bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore red stubby shorts and old thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.
 
His eyes – bright as opals – Oh! How they twinkled!
And, like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.

A fat stack of prezzies he flung from his back,
And he looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies beneath the yule tree.

Surfboard and footy-ball shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our Mum,
Then he turned and he winked and he held up his thumb;

He strolled out on deck and his ‘roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates-
MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and goodonya, MATES!’

Axis of Awesome…Funny Dudes

Posted on by
6

A couple of months ago, I was asked by some friends whether I wanted to see Axis of Awesome with them.

“Who?” I asked, handing over my ticket money in the belief that I could trust said friend’s taste.

(Failing that, it would just be a great opportunity to catch up with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while.)

Axis of Awesome are an Australian (yes, let’s get that out there right now – never let it be said I am unsupportive of my native countrymen) comedy band who, unbeknownst to me, are something of a Youtube sensation. They specialise in the ridiculous and this tour brings their silly songs (their words not mine) and Aussie banter to the stage across Europe. Well Germany, The Netherlands, Ireland and the UK anyway.

It’s a blend of cleverness and irreverence that had the audience, including moi, rolling in the aisles.  I wanted to capture the hilarity provoked by the show for you but it was hard to choose one thing – there was Bird Plane, How To Write A Love Song and Can You Hear The ****** Music Comin’ Out Of My Car – but the one that has made them stars the world over, thanks to the wonders of Youtube, is the 4 Chords Song.

Based on the premise that a large proportion of music is based on the same 4 chords, their original sketch has attracted over 20million hits on Youtube since 2009:

They have re-released this with new songs added which was featured in Thursday night’s show so you can click here if you want to see their latest video.

These are some funny, funny dudes so if you enjoy a good belly laugh, you should get along to see them while they’re touring Europe (OK Germany, Holland, Ireland and UK) or catch them when they get back to Oz. You can find show dates by going to their official website www.axisofawesome.net or by clicking here.

In the immortal words of Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum (the Australians reading this will get this reference), do yourself a favour!

Going Dutch…She’s Got The Look

Posted on by
6

I’ve been catching up on some of my favourite blogs today and a post by Linda from Adventures in Expatland has inspired me to put some thoughts on paper – or fingers to keyboard if that’s your fancy.  Linda is an expat like myself but she is an American living in Holland and just recently she posted on another expat site Expatria Baby, about cultural differences.

You may be wondering at this point why a post on cultural differences has inspired today’s theme on Gidday. After all, I am an expat and consider myself to be a well-travelled kind of gal. But you see, Linda wrote about integrating into the Dutch culture and me, being half-Dutch, was nodding away through the whole piece, muttering ‘oh yes’, ‘absolutely’ and ‘of course!’.  And it got me thinking: why do I identify so strongly with this part of my heritage having never lived there?

First, let me create a bit of context. Dad is the Dutch one. Born in Amsterdam, he emigrated to Australia with his parents and older sister when he was seven years old.  He married my Australian Mum (her lineage is English/Irish a couple of generations back but that’s a whole other story) in 1969, the same year I was born. We lived two suburbs away from Oma and Opa until I was nine years old. We never spoke Dutch at home.

While we never learnt to speak the language, Oma and Opa taught us nursery rhymes in Dutch, (Klaps Eens In Je Handjes was a particular fave) and we all toasted special occasions with ‘Prosit!’ so the cadence of the language surrounded our early childhood. There was even an ‘authentic’ Dutch costume that was passed down from me to Lil Chicky and we still have the clogs despite growing out of them ‘several’ years ago.

Fast Forward – I first visited Holland (Amsterdam in fact) in 2000 at the age of 31. I have been back twice since: once to wander around Amsterdam on my own for four days in October 2008 and again just a few months ago for work, I visited Den Bosch. It felt comfortable and sounded like my childhood – no huge surprise there.

But there’s a Dutch ‘thing’ my sister and I both feel (although not completely – after many a bruise-inducing attempt, I have concluded that riding a bicycle is not really my forte.)  An affiliation if you like with their mix of aloof-ness and pragmatic blunt-ness. I found myself nodding furiously at this observation in Linda’s post:

All part of a culture that believes strongly in a Calvinistic sense of personal responsibility. The door is there, of course one should be prepared to open it.

and then completely understanding (and seeing in myself if I’m honest) the blend of friendly yet aloof polite-ness (which creates space) and then, as fond feelings develop:

 …the standard Dutch greeting of three kisses. Not two as in many cultures, but a full three! Hands holding the other person’s upper arms to draw in for a partial hug and then left, right, left…

But there’s more: apparently I have a Dutch ‘look’ and a Dutch nose ‘to look down’ (although Mum, I don’t think it looks particularly Dutch, or any nationality really). 

And to top it all off, a guy I was absolutely smitten with when I was 19, remarked to Mum in the early stages of our relationship that I was very pragmatic. This may have been true (and in fact, quite insightful) but my tender and romantic teenage heart was crushed.

So in between my ‘get off your a***’-ness’, ‘give me space’-ness and ‘I am fond of you’ effusiveness, there’s a romantic soul who believes in life’s ‘journey’, an idealist who always looks for the best in others and a friendly Aussie lass who thinks a passing exchange of greetings in the street makes the world a nicer place. 

There are plenty of times when these two opposing forces vie for attention – my desire to believe it will all turn out for the best constantly confronted by the voice saying that if I don’t make it happen, it won’t.  

So how do I manage this dichotomy I hear you ask?  Well let me tell you, I am a whizz at delivering tough news – direct as you like – with a smile.  And if you happen to provide below par service to this particular customer, don’t object in the face of my refusal to pay the service charge. 

You’ll only make it worse. And then, you will see…

…the look.

Tall Poppies: The Art of Acknowledgement

Posted on by
4

We all want to be noticed a little. A nod here, a pat on the back there. Recognised for our talents. Acknowledged for our achievements. So why is it so hard to ‘be’ with it all when this actually happens?

I have had the kind of week that these dreams of notability are made of. Compliments have been forthcoming from all sorts of directions in every area of life – my work, my writing, how I look, how I act. And don’t get me wrong – it’s really amazing to be in the midst of all of this.  But at the same time, if I’m honest, I find sitting in front of someone waxing lyrical about me, however genuine, uncomfortable. And I don’t think I’m alone in this. Trying to give others compliments is almost as difficult – not to give them per se but rather to see the recipient actually feel the ackowledgement and take in what you are saying about them.

Mum always taught me to be gracious when receiving compliments, saying that it takes courage to acknowledge something about someone else in a way that makes them stop and accept it. I try to live by this. But letting it actually sink in, moving me, delighting me, let alone repeating it to others seems vain and narcissistic.  And not at all in keeping with my laconic, self-effacing Aussie style. After all I am born of the culture that cultivates none other than The Tall Poppy Syndrome.

94c21-poppies

As children we do nothing BUT seek approval and recognition. It’s what defines us. But it’s also what we live in to – how we behave and interact shapes others’ opinions of and interactions with ourselves. So our individual worlds are increasingly shaped by what we are willing to acknowledge about ourselves as it is mirrored in other people.

So when does this self-appreciation society stop?  Is it when we feel that we disappoint others and don’t live up to expectations?  Perhaps when others don’t live up to our expectations and fall off the proverbial pedestal?  Is it knocked out of us by well-meaning grown ups who tell us it’s not ‘nice’ to brag, or to show off? Or maybe in the playground at school in our first games of one-up-man-ship, child to child (and absolutely no adults required).

Psychology somewhere probably has a multitude of answers for this and I don’t envy parents who navigate the maelstrom of opinions and advice available on the subject in an effort to raise healthy, happy, resilient children.

But on the other hand, maybe there are no answers. Just the human condition, the society that surrounds us and our best guess at charting our own watery depths.

So in light of all of this, I have decided to do my best to bask, from my position atop the pedestal, in this unexpected deluge of appreciation. I may even resort to a little exuberant wallowing in it…some joyful splashing about perhaps.

But just a little mind.

Apparently, no-one likes a show-off.

 

12 Steps…Losing My Religion?

Posted on by
5

I’ve been dashing about London in the rain today – appointment to appointment, jumping around puddles and waging a battle with my brolly in the wind. (Incidentally, I lost that battle but managed to snaffle a cab so feel I won the war.)  It seemed that after posting my moment of inspiration on Facebook this morning – “Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass. It’s about dancing in the rain” – the fickle London weather seemed determine to dampen my mid-week mambo.

On the homeward-bound bus at last, I opened up my weekly Australian Times e-newsletter (I’ve had a whole new love of commuting since the advent of my Desire) to be greeted with the question Are You Losing Your Australian-ness?.  After the rubbishing I got while visiting loved ones in Melbourne over Christmas (about my Ocker-Oh’s referring to my tendancy to intersperse flat ‘Australian-speak’ with a few English-sounding Oh’s and Ah’s), I thought I should read on.

Lee Crossley actually identifies twelve signs of disappearing Australian-ness but I am pleased to report that I have only identify five signs after seven years of living here:

THE phrases ‘Mind the Gap’ and ‘alight here’ no longer seem a tad odd.  In fact, I find them quite sweet and quaint.  I mean who ‘alights’ anything any more?

YOU no longer grumble on a crowded tube.  Simply hours of fun to be had ‘minding the gap’ and ‘alighting’.  Plus no-one likes a whinger.

YOU expect miserable weather.  And am conversely delighted to a slightly hysterical degree at any 2 plus run of warm-weather-days. I must point out here that we are classifying mid-20(c)s as blissfully warm. I just do not have the wardrobe/patience to deal with anything hotter any more, unless lying prone next to the pool/beach in holiday repose.

YOU start to wonder where all the English people have gone in London.  Yep. Pretty much. I think they all live ‘elsewhere’.  Like Oxford.  Or Spain.

YOU accentuate the ‘ie’ in unbelievable.  Actually pronounced un-be-leeeeeeev-able and can be applied to any moment of wonder/dismay/disbelief.

Yes, 5 out of 12.  That’s 41.66%, an average of about 5.9% a year.  By my reckoning, that means this insidious creep will have completely subsumed my Ocker-ness in just under a decade.

Bugger!* Best bring out the big guns…

*Please don’t take offence.  Click on the link if you really think I am being rude.  I am not.  Truly.  I’m just a laconic, dinky-di colonial.

ps…if you want to keep a watchful eye over my continued slide progress, find out what the other seven are by going to Lee Crossley’s article here and keep checking in at Gidday from the UK for updates. 

Cupcakes and champers…it’s lush!

Posted on by
7

It’s the last day of my little staycation before I go back to work tomorrow.  It’s been grey and drizzly, a perfect recovery day after a Saturday of champagne (and a few other alcoholic beverages), chocolate making and cupcake decorating with friend, A-down-the-hill (she of the emergency handbag adventure).

Yes peeps, champers, chocolates and cupcakes. On a Saturday afternoon. I think the word that the youngsters use nowadays is ‘lush’ (or is that to describe my drinking habit??)

Anyway, we met at the train station in the gorgeous sunshine and before we knew it we had arrived at The Peacock Bar – 30 minutes early (not excited – much!). Being the resourceful Aussie girls we are and having always been taught to entertain ourselves, we perused the cocktail list, read up on the Burlesque portion of the club’s entertainment offering and did a little reconnaissance on our preferred position at the chocolate-pots.

(I’d like to point out here that this was purely for the chocolate-making, not the burlesque, although there was a boobs chocolate mold and another that looked alarmingly like a woman’s…well…bits.  But this is a family blog – hi Mum – so let’s move on to less fruity tales!)

Serious dipping, dribbling and chocolate mold-filling was the first order of the day (oh sorry wait – it was the second: champers was the first!) and before long, our creative efforts were whisked away to ‘chill’ before our departure. Come to think of it, I am now wondering how on earth those little bundles of cocoa joy knew that they needed to prepare for a stressful trip home.

Then it was on with the cakes – and some rather nuclear coloured icing that kept melting a little in the heat.  But with perseverence (and a few nips outside for a hormonal flushed yours truly to un-flush cool down), I managed these little beauties:

A’s were pretty good too but she was quite speedy about it all and hers were boxed up for taking home before I got around to whipping out the ol’ HTC for happy-snapping.

So there was nothing left to do but have a(nother) drink and sample some more of the expert/organisers’ wares while our chocolates continued to get suitably chilled (remember, we did the chocolates bit before the cupcakes bit.)

 

 

After three hours or so, we were issued with our little bundles of chilled cocoa joy and, placing our boxes of iced splendor carefully into carrier bags, we set off in search of the local gbk (all hail gbk!) and a savoury snackette (a chicken and avocado burger, chunky fries and smoked chilli mayo between us) to take the edge off our sugar rush before heading home, comfortably ensconsed behind our fashionable sunglasses at 5.30pm.

(Imagine, if you will, two grown-up and determined-not-to-stop-yet children after substantial quantities of red cordial, followed by the inevitable post-cordial slump, the slavish search for carbohydrates and a doze-y train ride home.  The walk (me) / cycle (A) home from the station was never going to go well.)

Just for the record, the cakes did not really survive the trip home…

These are A’s – mine weren’t much better!

…but the chocolates were delicious.

Two For The Price Of One…

Posted on by
4

Today is Mother’s Day…again!  With the UK already celebrating Mothering Sunday in March, it always leaves me wondering whether I should be wishing Mum a Happy Mother’s Day then (as I am in the UK) or today – but I guess that two for the price of one is a pretty good deal and anyway, who am I to begrudge sending a little more Mother’s Day love out into the ether?

In any case, those of you who read Gidday From The UK on a regular basis may remember that I have already posted in honour of Mother’s Day Part One so I figured it was time to roast honour Mum in a different way – this time by regaling you all with the trials and tribulations of my childhood dressed as ‘Two For The Price Of One’.  The story goes like this:

My Mum sewed.  A lot.  Before I came along, she made big stuffed toys like this gi-normous panda. 

Yes that’s me with the panda!

She also made amazing ‘pyjama dogs’ that had a zip on the underside that you could pop your ‘jarmies’ in ’til next time.  Mine was orange. No, I do not have a picture.

Deciding that toys were not enough, she then moved on to outfits. It started innocently enough with individual ensembles…

(Lil Chicky was eye-ing off the Christening Cake)

And then she got thrifty…

Look at those ringlets – Mum’s a talented woman!
We do love a birthday in the Hamer clan!
Actually I think our Oma might have knitted these vests – Mum got everyone in on the act!
And still matching hairdos!

…as not only could Mum get a better deal on the material, it meant that Lil Chicky could continue to wear my hand-me-downs for years to come.  (Boy, she REALLY loved that!)

Anyway, this continued on until we rebelled (it was a little uncool once we got to school and had friends who came over to play!), only to slide right back into it in our teens…

I’m (17) on your left, Lil Chicky (13) is on your right

…although we were being Mum’s bridesmaids and she didn’t make the dresses herself and they are different colours – but enough said.  A picture paints a thousand words.

So a it’s couple of decades (and a bit) later and I figure Lil Chicky and I have managed to weather the storm and emerge relatively unscathed. (‘Oh thank goodness’, I hear you whisper.  No it’s ok – don’t apologise. I understand.)  But little did I realise that my departure from Oz had left such a gap…

Mum (L) and Lil Chicky (R)

Ladies, it’s time to let go! 

Happy Mother’s Day!