Frost/Nixon

I am going to gush. I went to see Frost/Nixon at the cinema yesterday and it's a fantastically good film.  Who would have thought that a movie about a chat show host interviewing a crooked President could be so nail biting.  Frank Langella is great: even though he looks nothing like Nixon you forget that after a few minutes and get totally sucked in. Michael Sheen is also really good and seems to be making a name for himself playing real people (he was Tony Blair in The Queen and Kennenth Williams in Fantabulosa!), his David Frost in this isn't quite an impression but it does have the essence of Frost in it. Another surprise was that Kevin Bacon's in it. Don't laugh, but I think he is probably the most underrated actor in Hollywood. Even when he's in crappy things he's still good. In this he's excellent. Overall I'd recommend going to see it: even if the premise sounds a bit dull the film is anything but.

I wasn't all roses though. I have finally decided I hate going to see films at the cinema. It's just really frustrating with all the other people there. I mean I went to see this at the Cinema Paradiso in Northbridge. Now this is meant to be an 'art house cinema' and there were STILL people rustling lolly wrappers and talking. And there's the fact that I pay to go in and then have to sit through adverts, I don't do that at home (unless I was daft enough to pay for cable TV which costs a fortune and still comes with commercial breaks every two minutes). The ads at the Paradiso are also totally incongruous: the cinema was full of people who remember Nixon and who have some interest in history or american politics. A more mature audience you might say. So they show the "1 in 4 15 to 24 year olds end up in hospital after drinking booze" ad. Not really reaching the target audience I would think. Mind you they did follow the "if you drink alcohol you are bound to die" ad with one for Crown lager. Irony or stupidity? Probably the latter.

Oh and to add insult to injury the woman on the ticket desk didn't even say please or thank you. Bitch.

*If you're wondering why this is my first post that has a title that represents it's content, it's because I'm going to see how many hits I get by posting something that people might actually be searching for.

Really?

These guys really need to get separate signs:

Get in Early

Well Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa/Winterval is over for another year. And they are already advertising next years Christmas hampers on the TV. I mean everyone gets all bent out of shape when the Cadbury's Creme eggs appear in the shops in February, but when you are advertising next years hampers two days after you've just gorged yourself on the contents of this years then you know the world has gone mad.

Actually I don't really understand the whole Chrissy hamper thing anyway. Surely it's easier and cheaper to just got to Woolies and buy all the stuff you need the week before the big day? After all, you always end up with a jar of Dundee Marmalade and some unidentifiable pickles from any hamper that never get eaten.

My Christmas was good, thanks for asking. I went to my mate's mum's for the big day, which was really nice but it's always odd to be at someone else's house for Christmas. They have different rituals and that's a bit strange. There seem to be two ways to do the Christmas day thing. One is get up early and open all the presents there and then in a blizzard of torn wrapping paper. The other is get up at a civilised time, have lunch and then open the presents in the afternoon. I've always done the former method (I mean as a kid I was sometimes up at 4 am) and that is what is normal to me. This year I did it the other way and it was a bit odd. I think it's because the "presents after lunch" way always seemed to be the really posh method. After 37 years of doing it one way I just can't get my head around the other way. Must be my poor, country heritage. At least some things are the same at every house: the feigned excitement at really terrible presents (I got wine so my excitement was real) and at least one, often many, really awkward moments when one member of the family gets drunk/stoned/belligerent for no reason/tearful with another member of the family. Oh the fun of a family Christmas.

Thank your gods it's over I guess. Now it's just time for the sales. Or more accurately the jumble sales. We went onto Perth today and it seems that the shops are suddenly full of crap. For example, David Jones seems to have moved out pretty much all the stock they had in there last week and brought in piles of crap that they are just selling in the sales. I mean it really looks like a jumble sale with stuff piled on tables and crammed into racks. In fact it was pretty much completely pointless gong into town at all. I mean the only thing I wanted to buy had actually increased in price since Christmas. That is not my definition of a sale.

So now it's all over and I have nothing to do until I go back to work after Australia day. Luckily the house I'm in now has cable tv so I have 50 channels to choose from to fill in time. Currently I'm watching Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall cooking pigeon pie with scrambled eggs and almonds and cinnamon. My god, these toffs will eat anything!

Twas the Night

OK so I'm house sitting for friends over Christmas and they have an item in the house which I just love.

It's an instant boiling water tap! Brilliant! Every Englishman's dream: tea at any time with no kettle to boil. This is what the future is about, forget flying cars and zip up polyester jump suits, just give me instant boiling water.

Now if only the damn cat would decide whether it wants to be in or out.

Driving Me Crazy

So I've been back a couple of weeks now and I would like to know why nobody in Perth seems to be able to drive properly?

Driving on the freeway is the scariest experience in my life, and I've just come back from Europe. No one here seems to be able to grasp the concept of merging into the traffic already on the freeway. There are two basic methods. One seems to be to drive as fast as possible down the slip road then cut up the people already on the road making them jam on their brakes. The other is to crawl down the slip road and then pull out in front of the traffic already on the road making them jam on their brakes. Both methods involve a significant amount of jamming on. There is a third way where you match your speed exactly with the traffic already on the freeway and have a very brief game of chicken with the driver of the car that you're are next too as the end of the slip road looms up. It's a bloody nightmare. To explain to everyone here; the idea of merging is for the vehicles on the freeway to maintain a steady speed, with sufficient gaps between them for the joining vehicles to carefully match the speed and gently filter in. This NEVER happens here. Ever.

To be fair that's partly because everyone on the freeway drives with a gap of about two feet between them at 100 kph. I have lost count of the number of Landcruisers and Holden Commodores that have tried to get into my boot while driving up to the City. I have always wondered why the freeway in Perth has such a low speed limit (100 kph) and I know why. It's because no-one is capable of driving any faster.

I have been doing quite a bit of travelling over the last couple of weekends. Last week it was up to Kalgoorlie to visit the gang and see the Christmas Show at the Goldfields Repertory Club, which was great. I did get a bit shocked by the drive though. I mean I've done it millions of times before (yes; millions) but I'd sort of forgotten how far 600 kms really is. I was completely knackered by the time I got there. It was good to go back as it made me realise that I really don't miss Kalgoorlie. In fact it's a bit of a hole. I can say that now. When you live in the bush here you are contractually obliged to tell everyone how great it is and how much you love it. We all do it and we are all mostly lying. I do miss my friends though. It was brilliant to see them all. 

This weekend I've been to Bunbury to visit some other friends. I am so popular. Another great weekend but another nightmare drive. This time not so far but through speed trap heaven. This is normally not a problem but on the road to Mandurah there are signs everywhere saying "WE Know The Speed Limit. DO YOU?". Well actually, no, I don't. Because you never put any bloody speed limit signs up. And it changes from 80 to 60 to 90 to 100 in the blink of an eye. Makes for an interesting trip I suppose, especially watching all the other cars flying past at 120 kph then seeing them just down the road stopped by the rozzers. Obviously some people love getting points on their licence.

Mandurah itself is just horrible. A great smear of suburban excrement spread along the coast. All huge, unimaginative identikit mini-mansions thrown up on vast treeless blocks. All with no eaves, black roofs with a massive air-conditioner on the roof. Oh and no shops except for a massive big-box shopping centre here and there that you have to drive to. Very sustainable.

Maybe I'll stop now before I offend every single person in the State seeing as they all live in huge, uninmaginative identikit mini-mansions thrown up on vast treeless blocks. All with no eaves, black roofs with a massive air-conditioner on the roof.

Whoops!

The Property Dance

Well I've been slack blogging. Actually I've been really busy trying to find somewhere to live. In the last few days I've looked at about 12 houses and they were all poop. Either the wrong house in the right street or the right house in the wrong street or the wrong house in the wrong street. It has been a bit of a nightmare to be honest. 

The biggest pain has been the real estate agents. They just all act like dicks.  I've decided all you need to be a real estate agent is a very basic grasp of English, enormous sunglasses (if you are male and under 30), bleached teeth (if you are female and over 30) and an ability to sort out keys. That's it. The first question is "how much can you afford?". Like I'm going to tell them that. Then you have to put up with the ancient dance of the estate agent, them fishing for info, me trying not to give any info, them trying to talk up the damp marks on the wall as features, me picking holes in the state of the kitchen and the lack of a dishwasher space. You know how it goes. 

Today in particular has seen me up and down the freeway about 6 times going to visit different places. In the end I was so disheartened that I was about to give up. However....

As you don't know I have just bought an iPhone (yeah, yeah, sucked in I know but if you saw it you'd want one too) and you can view the internet on it from anywhere. So I logged onto realestate.com in desperation at about 1pm and saw a nice looking place that had come onto the market this morning. To cut a long story short: I bought it.

It's in Mount Lawley, which, if you don't know Perth, is a nice place. And the house is a nice house. So I guess you could say I bought the right house in the right street. Well as long as the bank fronts up with the money. So for the next ooooh, say, 30 years I have no money. At all. 

But I still got a nice house :-)

Jet Lagged

Well I am back in sunny Perth, I will blog soon but, to be honest, the whole trip back is a bit of a blur, caused mainly by horrible lack of sleep on the 'plane and fairly appalling jet lag now that I'm back. 

So stay tuned (that's lame but, like I said, I'm jet lagged so it's the best you'll get) and I'll tell you about my house hunting and all that fun stuff.

Heathrow

Ahh, here again at an Airport. I think the target audience for Singapore airlines is a bit more loaded than i am. The magazines in the lounge include "Luxury Yacht Monthly", "Executive Jet" and "Rich, Mahogany Tanned Old Slappers Who Think They Look Great In Dior Weekly".

I may have made the last one up.

White cliffs of Dover & Joy of John Lewis

It's my last day at home, hence the reference to the wartime song above. (Vera Lynn is a Saint in case you didn't know, and she's still alive which must indicate some sort of supernatural powers at least). I also thought I'd let you know some of the things I'll miss when I get back to Australia.

Now you'd expect this to be lists of family and friends, childhood memories and all that guff. But actually the thing I'll miss most, apart from lists of family and friends of course, is actually Waitrose. And John Lewis. 

Now you might think it's weird to miss a supermarket and department store, but if you've ever been to Waitrose and then had to go to Coles or Woolworths then you would understand where I'm coming from. It's a different world in Waitrose. Everything is gourmet and everything has it's provenance on it. For example you don't just by eggs, you buy "Large, Organic, Free Range Old Cotswold Legbar Eggs" and it's got the name of the farm on the box too. When you unwrap the burgers (or "Scottish Aberdeen Angus Free Range Quarter Pounders"  to be precise) you get a little picture of the farmer and his story. You want tinned duck confit? Waitrose has it. You want Madagascan vanilla pods? Waitrose have got them. 

It's not just that they sell all this fantastic stuff, it's also a lovely place to shop with clean, wide aisles, friendly and helpful staff. In fact staff that take you to the item you need, not just point and mumble "aisle 46". Actually Will takes you to your item too, but he's far too classy for Woolies anyway. It is truly the altissimus quod optimus of supermarkets. So nice in fact that I've gone all latin. That's how posh it is! You do of course pay a bit more for this. Actually a lot more but Waitrose has the highest rate of passing money from the customer to the farmer of any supermarket in the country. So you pay more but the producers get more too and this makes you fell all warm and fuzzy. And makes paying a third more for your Marmite than at Tescos almost bearable. Waitrose also has no shareholders. It's run like communism, where all the staff own the company. Actually it's not quite communism, as there are, to my knowledge, no Waitrose gulags where employees found shopping at Lidl are sent to push heavily loaded trollies around remote parts of Siberia. More like socialism maybe. Does anyone remember what that is?

It's like this because it's part of the John Lewis Partnership. This whole company has a fantastic story which you can read here. I just love it as it's sort of the last real department store left. It's not just full of other retailers concessions. For example it still has a sports department that actually sells sports equipment (like hockey sticks and tennis rackets), not just sports casual wear. It's got a men's accessory department where you can buy wallets and cufflinks. It's one of the last places in the country that still has a haberdashery department. I just love it. It is even unique when it comes to advertising, this christmas it has managed to be the first company in the UK ever to be able to use a Beatles song in a TV commercial. 

Tell me that isn't cool. Simple but brilliant. See why I'll miss John Lewis?

And if you're wondering who does the music it's John Lewis' staff and Music society. See. Socialism.

Oh no it isn't!

Ahh, the great British Pantomime. 

Fun for the whole family: girls in hot-pants pretending to be boys, grown men in dresses pretending to be old dames, an angry, shouting mob for an audience and a lot of arcane rules that you just have to be born here to know about.  For example when does one shout "He's behind you!", does the audience start with "Oh yes it is!" or "Oh no it isn't!"? Do we boo the baddies and cheer the goodies, or just one or the other?

The extravaganza I saw yesterday was The Village Players production of The Three Musketeers in a tiny village hall the other side of the Severn at Elmore. My cousin Norman was playing the villainous Le Chevalier Lobster Roquefort. See how the gags work, this one was pretty simple, basically lots of anti-French gags and jokes about eating snails. Which is a perfect evening out if you ask me.

It was the first Panto I've been to for donkey's years and it was a laugh. However it was difficult for me to watch and turn off my critical faculties. As some of you know even though I am involved in the theatre I don't actually like going to see plays. I can't stop noticing the dodgy sets and dodgy acting. Not that there was any of that in Elmore. Well not much anyway. What amazed me most was the number of young blokes involved. Whenever we did a play that needed fellas in Kalgoorlie you'd be lucky to get two turn up. Must be something in the water. Or more accurately it looks like there is nothing else to do in this part of the world. I mean Elmore doesn't even have a pub!

So I had a good time, but not as much as the little kids in the audience who were very vocal in their booing and shouting. Actually they were pretty chatty all the time. That is the the major thing about panto, the target audience is aged 6 to 10, but 6 to 10 year olds get very bored after 2 hours of French monarchistic comedy.

Funny that.

Healthy Breakfast

I've just seen an advert for a new breakfast cereal with honey, nuts and chewy caramel!

When did it become normal to have toffee for breakfast? I thought nutella was bad enough, apparently it's a hazelnut spread full of "milk and goodness". Not to mention 31% fat and a 55% sugar. Oh actually that's not mentioned.

What's next? Cadbury's Fruit and Nut as a healthy start to the day?

Je suis juste revenu de Paris...

..et je l'ai vraiment apprécié. OK I think that's plus de Français pour the moment. So as you may guess I have just got back from a trip to Paris with the folks. It was great, I'd not been for a long time but it doesn't seem to change much, the eternal city and all that (or that might be Rome, whatever, it'll do).

For the first time though I went on the Eurostar through the Channel Tunnel. Sadly it now leaves from St Pancras so the French don't have to see 'Waterloo' every time they look at the departures board in the Gare Du Nord. Luckily the new station is absolutely spectacular. In true modern British style it's basically yet another shopping centre that just happens to have trains in it but it looks lovely. The trains are great: fast and smooth but the security at St Pancras is ludicrous. They have airline style security with x-ray machines, metal detectors and rent-a-goons intimidating everyone and confiscating pen knives. Has nobody pointed out that trains are not like 'planes; if someone runs amok on the Eurostar you just stop and everyone gets off, you can't do that in a 747: if a crazed terrorist hijacks a train he's going to have quite a challenge in ramming it into a 110 storey office block. It's a bit bizarre. If this security was really needed on trains surely you'd do it at every station in the country and on every entrance to every Tube station in London? Oh no, because that would be far too difficult and might have actually stopped the 7/7 bombers. Hey-ho, you should all be used to my rants about security theatre by now. This one is made more personal as I had my bags emptied and searched by some goon at St Pancras. My letters of complaint are already on their way to the authorities.

So anyway after 3 hours on the train (eating sandwiches from Marks and Spencer, how English can you get?) we got to Paris and that's where I realised that even though I can speak French a bit I can't really understand it at all. The first conversation went something like this:

Me - "Bonjour Madame, nous avons une réservation pour deux salles pendant trois nuits"

Receptionist - "D'accordvousavezunnombrederéservationoulenoms'ilvousplaît?"

Me - "Errr, plus lentement s'il vous plaît madame"

Receptionist - "Name please"

This happens a lot, I speak French, they answer in French then I look blank  for a while 'till they answer in English. This also messes with your brain as you desperately try to change gear and think in English again. To be fair to myself I did get better as the week went on but I'll never be good at it as I don't have the lips. French seems to be very pouty lip intensive when spoken. We managed to order dinner in a bistro where the waiter spoke no English and didn't end up with some strange french concoction like raw horse meat stuffed in ducks gizzards. However I did learn that there seems to be no French for chicken breast. It's either 'poulet' or nothing. See they'll eat anything the French. It sounds like I hate them but actually I really like France and the people are generally really helpful and friendly, especially if you at least try to speak the lingo.

We went for a wander round after we arrived and discovered that I had managed to book a hotel in the rather less salubrious end of the 18th Arrondissement, the Pigalle on one side with it's sex shops and 'revues' and the Goute D'or on the other with it's multi ethnic, working class vibe (I'm trying to be polite, just use your imagination). It did at least mean we had lots of life going on around us and surprisingly few tourists except those going to visit the Sacré Coeur. It was the Ibis and I can reccommend it, it's cheap, near to Anvers and Pigalle Metro stations and the top floor rooms have fantastic views over Paris. As long as you don't mind the lift which is the size of a broom cupboard. I kid you not, it says the capacity is four people but they would have to be either very friendly or have laid off the pies for a few months before the trip. 

It may be because there seem to be very few fat people in Paris that they can get away with such tiny lifts. Everyone is really slim and generally stylish. It must be all the fags they smoke. That and the fact that there seemed to be absolutely no lifts or escalators anywhere in the Metro. I have never been up and down so many steps in my entire life. At this point I'd like to defend the Tube in London. I am always being told how great the Metro is compared to poor old London and, yes it's cheaper and more frequent, but the stations are bloody awful, dirty, confusing and dirty. And did I mention dirty? Even when I knew I wasn't getting off in murderville it sometime felt like it, as so many of the stations look abandoned and graffiti covered. Actually the street artists in Paris must be pretty brave as there was even graffiti in the tunnels of the Metro. If you tried that in London you'd be smeared along the tunnel wall in a very colourful way. Even Banksy would find it hard to sell stuff after that. The other thing is that the doors on the trains stay open for about 10 seconds at each station, as my dad discovered on the first train we got on when he was viciously pinned in the doors as the train started moving. We should have been warned as the signs on the door say "Keep hands away from the doors as they may be pinched very hard". They're not kidding.

Once he'd been extricated from the door mechanism we did the tourist stuff, Musée d'Orsay, Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Sacre Cour, Notre Dame, Champs Élysées, Arc De Triomphe. You know the drill. All very good, all full of art and views and stuff. I did discover that the French have a different idea about security (here we go again). Every place we went involved a bag search and a metal detector. However they would be pretty easy to fool. For example at the Musée d'Orsay the guy looking in the bag just looked in the bag, just the top where you open the zip. That was it. If you wanted to smuggle in a bomb or smuggle out the Mona Lisa you just needed to hide it under a few tissues. Not exactly foolproof. And the metal detector at the Eiffel Tower was even better. Even after I'd emptied all my pockets it was still beeping. The woman in charge just looked at me, gave a fantastic gallic shrug and waved me through. Brilliant.

Actually the museums and galleries are all a bit overwhelming, to find you self standing in a room with 15 van Goghs on the wall and realising that they are all worth at least $10,000,000 each is quite an experience. Same with the Louvre. "Oh yes over there it's the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa is round the corner. Now where's the café?". Actually it doesn't matter where the café, is you can guarantee it'll be extortionately expensive. We paid 40€ (or €40, I have no idea which way round it's meant to go, and neither do the French by the looks of the price tickets) for lunch. That was two crôque monsieurs (the only thing you learn to order in french lessons at high school), a bowl of onion soup and three coffees. That is about £33 or AU$80! 

So a few tips for travelling to Paris:

Bring lots of money.

Zebra crossings are just suggestions, DO NOT expect vehicle to let you cross at them.

Bring more money.

Teenagers smoke pipes. It's normal here so don't stare.

They really do sell beer in McDonalds; as part of the meal deal too. Enjoy it as it's all you'll be able to afford to eat after a few days.

Do not expect any of the lifts or automatic doors to work at the Gare Du Nord. The unions won't allow it.

Check very carefully before wandering into the shop with the lovely christmas display window of Santa and his reindeer. It's probably a sex shop.

The only shows on the TV with sub-titles are from French Canada. No, I don't get it either.

Great Clip

This is just a great mash up, Quantum of Solace and The Incredibles. I love it.

Quantum of Something

I went and saw the new Bond movie yesterday; Quantum of Solace and it was absolutely fantastic. 

I have to admit that I had no idea what was going on half the time but it didn't really matter as it was so cool, everything you want in a Bond movie was there; fights, big things exploding, evil foreign villains, baddie CIA agents, fast cars, small things exploding, hot chicks, blatant product placement, and some gadgets. And lots of fighting. The only thing missing are the Roger Moore era double entendres. Who can forget "I had a bit of trouble in the beginning, but got off in the end" for example. Actually missing the double entendres is no bad thing, they were a bit crap even in the 70s. Also I know a lot of people say that the lack of exploding underwear and laser beam equipped watches from Q is a problem but I much prefer the more realistic, and almost possible, gadgetry in this film. I mean after the invisible Aston in Die Another Day we needed a rest. 

There was also a lot more of M in this movie and who can resist a bit more of Judi Dench screen time. In fact I think that's the major difference between the new Bonds and the pre-Daniel Craig version - the new cast can all actually act. It makes a huge difference. I also love the fact that when Bond get's in a fight now he gets hurt, bleeds and doesn't just jump up, dust off the safari suit and make a quick getaway in a union jack decorated parachute. In fact, in spite of the risk of a lynching, I have to say that Daniel Craig is far and away the best bond. Ever. Sorry Sean but the crown has been passed.

I'll try not to spoil it if you haven't seen it yet (actually quite hard as I really had no idea what was going on) but it seems that this movie was introducing a new villainous super organisation for Bond to fight in the future (Quantum) and a replacement for Blofeld (Mr White). See if you agree when you see it. Lets face it SMERSH and SPECTRE must be retired by now, or at least running some Russian petrochemical conglomerate or gas company. All above board of course.

Bored

Well it's raining, cold and I have nothing to do.

I think that's the most boring post in the entire blogosphere.

Only Australians

I sadly get all of these, except 41 (I do know all the answers).

1. You know the meaning of the word "girt".

2. You believe that stubbies can be either drunk or worn.

3. You think it's normal to have a leader called Kevin.

4. You waddle when you walk due to the 53 expired petrol discount vouchers stuffed in your wallet or purse.

5. You've made a bong out of your garden hose rather than use it for something illegal such as watering the garden.

6. You believe it is appropriate to put a rubber in your son's pencil case when he first attends school.

7. When you hear that an American "roots for his team" you wonder how often and with whom.

8. You understand that the phrase "a group of women wearing black thongs" refers to footwear and may be less alluring than it sounds.

9. You pronounce Melbourne as "Mel-bin".

10. You pronounce Penrith as "Pen-riff".

11. You believe the "l" in the word "Australia" is optional.

12. You can translate: "Dazza and Shazza played Acca Dacca on the way to Maccas."

13. You believe it makes perfect sense for a nation to decorate its highways with large fibreglass bananas, prawns and sheep.

14. You call your best friend "a total bastard" but someone you really, truly despise is just "a bit of a bastard".

15. You think "Woolloomooloo" is a perfectly reasonable name for a place.

16. You're secretly proud of our killer wildlife.

17. You believe it makes sense for a country to have a $1 coin that's twice as big as its $2 coin.

18. You understand that "Wagga Wagga" can be abbreviated to "Wagga" but "Woy Woy" can't be called "Woy".

19. You believe that cooked-down axlegrease makes a good breakfast spread.

20. You believe all famous Kiwis are actually Australian, until they stuff up, at which point they again become Kiwis.

21. Hamburger. Beetroot. Of course.

22. You know that certain words must, by law, be shouted out during any rendition of the Angels' song Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again.

23. You believe, as an article of faith, that the confectionary known as the Wagon Wheel has become smaller with every passing year.

24. You still don't get why the "Labor" in "Australian Labor Party" is not spelt with a "u".

25. You wear ugh boots outside the house.

26. You believe, as an article of faith, that every important discovery in the world was made by an Australian but then sold off to the Yanks for a pittance.

27. You believe that the more you shorten someone's name the more you like them.

28. Whatever your linguistic skills, you find yourself able to order takeaway fluently in every Asian language.

29. You understand that "excuse me" can sound rude, while "scuse me" is always polite.

30. You know what it's like to swallow a fly, on occasion via your nose.

31. You understand that "you" has a plural and that it's "youse".

32. You know it's not summer until the steering wheel is too hot to handle.

33. Your biggest family argument over the summer concerned the rules for beach cricket.

34. You shake your head in horror when companies try to market what they call "Anzac cookies".

35. You still think of Kylie as "that girl off Neighbours".

36. When returning home from overseas, you expect to be brutally strip-searched by Customs - just in case you're trying to sneak in fruit.

37. You believe the phrase "smart casual" refers to a pair of black tracky-daks, suitably laundered.

38. You understand that all train timetables are works of fiction.

39. When working on a bar, you understand male customers will feel the need to offer an excuse whenever they order low-alcohol beer.

40. You get choked up with emotion by the first verse of the national anthem and then have trouble remembering the second.

41. You find yourself ignorant of nearly all the facts deemed essential in the government's new test for migrants.

42. You know, whatever the tourist books say, that no one says "cobber".

43. And you will immediately forward this list to other Australians, here and overseas, realising that only they will understand.

Via misscellania

HM the Q, Whitehall and metal detectors

Well I've had an interesting few days, spent Saturday night out with Liz, Phil and the kids. That's Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh, The Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall, the Earl and Lady Wessex, The Princess Royal and the Duke of York to you lot of course.  

Admittedly when I say "I was out with them", there were also 5,000 other people in the Albert Hall with me. Not that exclusive then really. I should explain that this weekend was Remembrance Sunday, which is like ANZAC day but without the slightly poorly hidden anti-British sentiments and politicians making political mileage from other peoples sacrifice. As dad is a loyal member of the British Legion he managed to get tickets to the Festival Of Remembrance at the Albert Hall and I have to say it was fantastic. It's basically a memorial service to all the fallen but it's also a celebration of the survivors and a way to raise money for the poor buggers who are still suffering. There was also rather too much of Russell Watson, Il Divo and Haley Westrena singing but the marching, gun firing and thunder flashes made up for that. And obviously the Queen was there with almost the entire ascendency to the throne (the heir and spare were probably off getting pissed at Fabric or something). It's the first time I've ever seen her in the flesh and it was oddly exciting. I'll rephrase that. It's the first time I've ever seen her in real life and it was pretty cool. I'm obviously never going to be a republican as I can't imagine seeing President Blair or Howard would be quite so special. Don't ask me why, she's just a fairly short, slightly dumpy old lady but there is something special about having a Monarch compared to yet another politician. Even if he is black.

It was pretty obvious that no one knows all the words to the National Anthem. The first verse was ok, but the the amount of page riffling to get to the words of the second verse printed in the programme was hillarious. I wonder how sick to death of God Save The Queen the Queen is? I bet she'd vote to change it to Land of Hope and Glory after hearing it sung, usually badly, at every occasion she's been to for the past 56 years.

 There was also the entire upper echelon of British politics present, Gordon Brown trying not to look guilty (especially when the film of the Mum who's 20 year old was killed was shown) and David Cameron trying not to look smug (quite a challenge). This probably explains all the security to get in, I've never been through a metal detector in the street before, it's a bit of a weird experience to be honest. 

The best bit was when the Gurkhas marched in and a huge cheer went up. If we'd been a bit closer I would have loved to see the look on the pollies faces. Down right shame I would hope as they are trying to deport retired and ex-Gurkha soldiers from the country after they have served in the British Army. Go sign the petition now as their treatment has been nothing less than shameful. There was a lot of blatant emotional blackmail throughout the evening but it was good to see that the public do still support the armed forces, to the tune of £30 million to the British Legion last year. It is a bit odd for me to be saying this, as I still maintain that anyone who joins the military now is really just asking for trouble, but I think it is important that returning service men and women are supported and as the government seems to be incapable of doing it the public will have to. It's just a pity they are fighting in two places at the moment that they shouldn't be. I still don't support the war in Iraq or Afghanistan and I think it's about time our troops came home. There were some surreal moments during the course of the evening when poems and pieces were read about all those who laid down their lives for freedom while looking around inside and outside the Albert Hall you couldn't move for CCTV cameras and armed policemen. Whose freedom exactly did the poor buggers fight for? I suppose the local councils freedom to film you doing your shopping.

If you saw it on the TV you missed the best bit (and missed me as I was sitting up in the gods) at the beginning when the Massed Bands of the Guards Division treated us to a medley of James Bond themes. What made it even better was the Marines sergeant, in full mess kit, singing Goldfinger! He was brilliant and a definite shoe-in for the next Britain's Got "Talent".

The next morning we went into Whitehall to see the Cenotaph service and the march by of all the old soldiers. Again more metal detectors in the street, but with very polite policemen and women on duty (see I can cope if they are real security personnel, it's just Chubb going through my hand luggage I have trouble with) just to stand in the street. It must be a security nightmare having thousands of tourists and hundreds of old soldiers all crowded round the Head of State and all her ministers standing in the open air, in the street, for 2 hours. No wonder there were so many people on roof tops and plod with machine guns on the streets. I have always wondered if they'd actually open fire with those Heckler and Kochs in the street, or at Heathrow, if there was a perceived threat. I would imagine you'd end up with no dead terrorists and hundreds of dead standers by. I think they just carry them to look hard. Especially on Sunday as I'm pretty sure there were a few SAS hidden in the bushes to deal with any actual eventualities. The service was interesting, not that we could see much, had to watch what was going on on a big screen. If you are ever in London on the Sunday nearest 11th November and want to see the Cenotaph service my advice would be to get there at about 9 am and stand on the Ministry of Defence side of Whitehall west of Downing Street. All we could really see from where we were near Horseguards Parade was all the old soldiers either fainting or swigging out of hip flasks. Not that that wasn't entertaining mind you. The most amazing thing was how absolutely silent it went when Big Ben struck 11am. I've never heard birds twittering in central London before. Quite moving really. And again much loud cheering and clapping for the Gurkhas. 

One of the oddest things about the whole weekend was seeing all the military personnel walking around in their uniforms. This is something I never get used to as when I was a kid you never saw military uniforms on the street. Not because the British have any sort of weird standards about dress but because the Irish used to take pot shots at anyone in camouflage or boots and spurs. How times of changed. Now we just have people with exploding backpacks on the Underground.

I would also like to apologise for any freak weather we may be experiencing. It's because both of the above events involved a certain amount of religious fannying about and the fact that I have been to two religious ceremonies in two days may have made hell freeze over.

Whizz Bang

It's Guy Fawkes Night tonight and the village sounds like a war zone with fireworks going off all over the place. I love it, one of the things I miss in Australia is the ability to buy explosives at least once a year and set them off in the confines of your garden.

Except this year I left it too late and Sainsbury's sold out so I've just got to watch all the neighbours.

I suppose I could still go out and burn a pope. Actually it's only Lewes in Sussex that still burns the pope, the rest of us have to burn the Guy.  That's progress I suppose.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I can think of no reason

Why the Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent

To blow up the King and Parli'ment.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove old England's overthrow;

By God's providence he was catch'd

With a dark lantern and burning match.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King

Cold Comfort

Well I'm back from the 'smoke'. It was not a smooth journey however. I left the apartment at 11 and headed to Paddington to catch my train. Now I had bought an advance ticket but thought I'd change it and just get an earlier train. How much d'you reckon they wanted to change the time of my train from 15.48 to 12.30? 

£48! That's $117!

That would have made my single ticket from London to Gloucester cost £60.50. For a two hour train journey. I think that's a bit steep but when I said as much to the woman in the ticket office I got the stoney silent look. Obviously you pay the price or get stuffed. It would have been cheaper to get my dad to drive from Gloucester and pick me up, even paying the fuel and congestion charge. So I thought I'd just put my bags in the left luggage and go back into town. Now obviously there are no left luggage lockers anymore, terrorism you know, so you have to pay to put your stuff with the company who has the contract for left luggage. This costs a bargain £7.50. Per item. Per any part of 24 hours. So £15 for two bags. Now call me a tight ass but I am not paying that much for some one to look after my bags for two hours. So I spent a lovely couple of hours in the freezing cold at Paddington station marvelling at the amount of junk food available at the average UK train station.

So a few final observations on London made while wandering around on Sunday:

There forty-seven churches in the City but are only four are open on a Sunday, the rest are only open in the week (plenty of bankers need a place to pray at the moment). I found this out in St Vedast-alias-Foster, which must be up there with weird ecclesiastical names. Why does a church need an alias? Been testifying against the sports centre down the road maybe? Actually I think St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe wins in the funny name game. Anyway St Vedast was just beautiful inside, especially with the organ playing and the soloist practising for the sung Eucharist. It's enough to make an atheist cry. In fact I do love a church, even though I am an un-believer. I think you'll find most atheists love religious buildings whereas your average born-again, happy clapper would be perfectly happy praising in a high school gymnasium. Anyway the point of this is another example of that long history you come across in Europe. St. Vedast was founded in the 12th century, destroyed by the Great Fire of London in 1666, rebuilt by Wren in 1697, damaged by enemy action in 1940 and finally restored in 1967. I was told this by a lovely lady setting the church up for the morning service. Who I eventually realised was Josephine Tewson, who played, amongst much, much else, Mrs. Bucket's neighbour in Keeping Up Appearences. Eventually a real celebrity.

There seems to be an obsession with sausage and mash at all the restaurants and pubs. You can get it anywhere. There is even a chain called S&M that sells only sausage and mash, they have the franchise to supply food on the Thames fast ferries.

The Barbican is a love it or hate it kind of place. I have to say I love it but most people hate it. It was built in the 60's on a massive bombed out section of the City as a kind of upmarket council estate. All the flats were rented by the City to lawyers, bankers and doctors as well as people from all walks of life. It's a vision of what the future was supposed to be like; all raised walkways, rough concrete and glazed tiles. All the pedestrian areas are separate from the traffic and it is a total maze of passages, stairwells and lifts. Unlike all the other concrete high rise developments in the UK of that period though this one worked. It never turned into a sink estate (probably because it's always been full of middle class people and therefore much closer to Le Corbusier's original theories) and now the apartments in the high rise blocks command prices in the millions. I don't think there's many left that still belong to the Council.

Is there anywhere else in the world that has a working meat market right in the middle of it's Capital city? Sitting on some of the most expensive real estate in the world. It's like having a butchers in the middle of Wall Street, or a vegetable market on the Sydney quays.

Finally I realise that the English are truly a forgiving lot. There is a memorial to William Wallace at St Bart's hospital. Now I know some people see him as a hero (after all one person's freedom fighter is another's terrorist)but the fact remains that he was an enemy of the country for quite a while and was executed as a traitor. But the English still let a memorial go up to him. Can you imagine a memorial to Ho Chi Minh in Sydney or a statue of George III in Boston? I really can't imagine any other country doing this sort of thing.

Does that make the English noble or just daft?

Seeing Sights

You see some strange things on the Tube. Actually that should be strange people on the Tube. For example yesterday I saw a family in full riding gear; jodhpurs, whips and silly hats, the whole kit and kaboodle. No horses though. I'm not sure you really need to dress up like that to ride the escalators on the District line. Unless it's a new event for the 2012 Olympics - Public Transport Eventing. Dressage on the busses, show jumping over the station barriers in the Tube. It's a thought, Team GB might even manage to win a medal. I also got asked yesterday if it was worth visiting the Imperial War Museum. It certainly is; but I was asked by a German family! What do you say to that? "Yes it's great, there's a V2 rocket in the foyer, you know; the ones you lot fired at London". It's full of booty brought back from the wars we've fought. It must be the only UK museum that doesn't have a queue of foreigners outside asking for their stuff back. I also got cornered by a bloke called Miles selling scientific dvds. I told him to bugger off but he was very persistent and just moved onto the next person. It may surprise you that the 'science' on the DVDs was "Intelligent Design". Or maybe not, let's face it people who approach you on the street are not usually selling copies of A Brief history Of Time. Apparently there is a 'large number of scientists who now support the fact that evolution is just too unlikely to have happened all on it's own without some guiding hand'. He didn't mention who made the even more unlikely guiding hand in the first place however, and I was not about to engage a nutter in discussion between Tottenham Court Road and Bond Street.

After this I have taken to riding the busses. Mainly because you can get off in the face of nutterdom a bit more easily but also because you can see more. For example yesterday I went past the Direct Marketing Association offices. The urge to get off the Bus and stick loads of unsolicited junk mail through their letter box was almost irristable. I also went past Bookmarks, London's last socialist bookshop. Apparently there are still some socialists left. By the looks of it they are currently in their element, as the window is full of books about the Credit Crunch (the failure of Capitalism, the rise of new socialism &c.). In one of those strange coincidences that happen a lot in London I was on my way to the British Library, where I saw Lenin's application for a readers ticket. From new school socialism to very old school socialism in one bus trip.

The Library was absolutely fantastic. Hideous to look at of course, I've never seen so many bricks in one place in my entire life. It's like a huge high school gymnasium. It took years to build, went massively over budget and was dated even before it opened. But inside it is full of fantastic things. If anyone says that a room full of documents must be boring they've never been here. I saw:

Shakespeare's signature on a mortgage for the Rose theatre, 

Two Magna Cartas, 

Captain Scott's Diary, 

DaVinci's notebooks, 

The Lindisfarne Bible, 

The Codex Sinaiticus, 

A bit of dead sea scroll, 

Charles I's death warrant, 

The declaration of the English Commonwealth (and Cromwell's oath as Lord Protector)

And the original, hand written version of Alice in Wonderland that Dodgeson wrote for Alice (apparently he was "very fond of children". Hmm. I think that's a polite euphemism).

It was all a bit overwhelming.  I was in there for ages. If you are ever in London it is worth a visit. Much better than the tourist trap of Madam Tussaud's at the toher end of the Euston Road. And the bookshop has a section called "Books". 

I also went to the National Maritime Museum. This has been shut for years for renovation and the last time I went I was a little kid. The only thing I could remember was seeing the uniform Nelson was wearing when he was killed at Trafalgar. The reason this is all I could remember is that it's the only interesting thing in there. The whole place suffers from that strange problem of the English in that everything we did in the past was evil colonialism and nothing good ever comes of that. In a museum that deals with Britian's maritime history this poses a problem as that's all the Navy was for in the 17th to 20th Centuries. Weird. This even comes through in a newish display which has the stained glass naval memorial from the Baltic Exchange in the City reassembled, so you can see it as it was originally. All very interesting. But nowhere was there any mention of why this glass  was in a museum. 

It's because the IRA blew the Baltic Exchange to smithereens in 1992 and there is nowhere else for it to go. Obviously you can't put this on a museum information label as it might upset any Irish ex-terrorists. Is it just me or is that a bit pathetic?

Bit o' culture

I was in the V&A yesterday. It's full of so much stuff. But you get that in museums. It made me realise that the victorians were obsessed with death. The place is full of funeral statues and tombs and mourning clothes. I don't know why. They must have been miserable buggers. I did find out that the Courtaulds, who were one of the richest industrial families in the country, made all their money from making mourning crepe and flogging it to all the widows from a massive shop on Regent St. Now they flog Macs and Gap on Regent Street. The museum was also full of very bored looking kids who obviously really wanted to see the dinosaurs in the Natural History Museum but their parents refused to stand in the queue. They would get to see lots of boobies though; the place is full of art you see. Every schoolboys dream, or maybe not in the age of online porn. The victorians also managed to combine some pretty broad interests, for example Henry Wellcome, founder of Wellcome Pharmaceuticals, who was a pharmacist, explorer, art collector and pioneer of aerial photography. Now that's a CV by any definition.

I did increase my celebrity quota yesterday too. Well if you can call Stelios Haji-Ioannu a celeb, he's the bloke that founded EasyJet and has the unhealthy obsession with all things orange. I was very gratified to see he still uses the tube though, even if it is the posh one at South Kensington. I also saw Stephen Jones wearing a really bad hat. That only makes sense if you know that he's a milliner I suppose. Again I am wearing the definition of celebrity pretty thin here.

I've just got in from the theatre, The 39 Steps, which was brilliant if you get a chance to see it (it's on in London and New York so you have a choice), and obviously it's Halloween and, boy, are the locals getting into the spirit. I've never seen so many adults with face paint outside a football stadium. It seems especially popular with the boys and girls (who like boys and girls, respectively) on Old Compton Street, most of them are out in nothing but tiny shorts and a coat of red paint. I would like to point out that it's October and about 4º so if anyone says those gay boys are soft I would beg to differ. Unless they just put partying above pain? Mind you it might be like this on Old Compton every Friday night for all I know.

As for me I'm off to bed to avoid the ghouls, ghosts and drunk Australians on the Tube.

When you are tired of London etc.

So says the oft quoted Dr. Johnson and it is sort of true (I'm not including the Tube or Oxford Street as you get tired of those pretty damn quickly). Last night I walked past The London Stone (Roman), along Garlickhythe (Saxon), past St Paul's Cathedral (17th Century) and many, many post war office blocks (current). That's about 2000 years of history just on the way to buy tea bags. It's pretty amazing.

I'm actually staying right in the City, the oldest part of town, as you can see from the 'Where am I' map over there. I'm in an apartment backing onto the Thames with views of Shakespeare's Globe and the Tate Modern...at least I would have if the place hadn't been built in the 70s with slit windows. Brilliant architect that then. The City is an interesting place to be at the moment, with lots of very worried people in expensive suits wandering round all over the place. There also seems to be a load of building going on, all new offices and renovation of old places. Unfortunately there also seems to be an absolute glut of empty office space. And shops. Even banks. Why build more when there is loads empty anyway? It always seems like this, they start building in a boom and the offices are ready just in time for the recession. There is also a lot of renovation of heritage buildings going on (Charing Cross is covered in Scaffolding for example) and I worry that, with the lack of cash around now, these projects are going to fail and remain shrouded in sheeting for the next five years.

I also started the tourist bit yesterday. Went to the National Portrait Gallery to see an Annie Leibovitz exhibition. It's no wonder I never saw any of her work in the US as it all seems to be here. It was a bit steep to get in though at £11, not really worth it as it was all her latest pictures since 1990. I have to say that I wasn't that impressed. It all seemed a little obvious, The Queen at the end of her reign looking out the window at a sunset (get it?), dancers dancing on a beach etc. I did notice that the art galleries provide braille translations of all the notes on the pictures. Is this a little odd? Do a lot of blind people go to art galleries? I always assumed it was quite a visual medium. There was also an exhibition of portraits of British sporting heroes. I guess this was a bit of a challenge to fill, as illustrated by the inclusion of the British Olympic curling team.  Oh the shame.

 I also did a tour of the BBC Television Centre which was great. It's one of those places that is so iconic if you've grown up in the UK, seeing it on Blue Peter and hearing gags about the BBC canteen etc. It's also a beautiful bit of fifties architecture, all glazed tiles and hope for the future. It's also full of long curving corridors that look identical in every floor and must be a nightmare to navigate around. Apparently there are 8000 people working there everyday, a few more yesterday I expect, trying to sort out the chaos caused by Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand. Just sack 'em I say. If any other public servant left obscene phone calls on a member of the public's answer machine they would definitely be sacked. Especially one getting six million quid of licence payers money. Sadly I saw no celebrities only news readers (Brian Hanrahan and Huw thingy). We were told that Alan Titchmarsh was in the building and if we saw him to please not mob him. 

I would have thought he would have wanted us to.