These Pretzels are Making me Thirsty!

Despite the fact that fair weather prevails and winter seems reluctant to show its hand any time soon I have managed to settle into a little bit of TV watching. Once you peel back the thin layer of Australian-made shows, documentaries and news programmes, you are left with a wealth of hand-me-downs and reruns fresh off the ship from Britain. If you aren’t watching The Graham Norton Show, Antiques Road Show, Ruddy Hell it’s Harry and Paul, Lead Balloon, or The Bill, you are instead watching Australia’s very own interpretations. Much like Marmite has a petulant little sister in (the arguably superior) Vegemite, so the BBC’s Question Time has an acne-riddled brother in ABC’s Q&A. Never Mind the Buzzcocks probably isn’t aware it has a distant cousin in Spicks and Specks, and the influence shows like Pop Idol and X-Factor have had the world over isn’t lost on Australia, with So You Think You Can Dance and Australia’s Got Talent tapping into that failsafe recipe.

Ignoring this residual television and the flood of American favourites like CSI and 24, Australia does actually hold its own and produces some genuinely classy stuff that would thrill British and American audiences. If stars like Cate Blanchett, Hugh Jackman and Danni Minogue can strike gold overseas, there’s no suggestion Aussie productions couldn’t do the same. Underbelly is a slick and stylish execution depicting the real life story of one of New Zealand’s most notorious drug dealers, who plied his trade in Australia in the seventies and eighties. We already know the success of Kath and Kim in the UK, but I’ve never really been sure just how close to the bone it reaches in certain parts of Australia. I was proud to introduce the word ‘bogan’ into my life in London, and it was likely you would hear it being bandied about liberally at my old workplace, or on a Sussex golf course. It essentially means ‘uncultured buffoon’ and is a word I picked up when I studied here in Perth in the late nineties. Kath and Kim are perhaps Australia’s most famous bogans but I’m thrilled to announce there is a new satirical comedy show running at the moment called Bogan Pride. I’m surprised I haven’t been cast in it. Unfortunately, much like Lou and Andy from Little Britain, who resemble a number of real people in Britain, there is a lot of truth behind the characters and it is for that reason I believe these shows have limited shelf lives.

One thing is for sure though, despite welcoming foreign content with open arms Australia does come up with some outlandish material and ideas that only they could get away with. The Farmer Wants a Wife is perhaps the finest example of just how Aussie TV can get – it’s exactly what it says it is; a reality show of real farmers looking for a partner. The Farmer Wants a Sheep probably wouldn’t make it past the censors. It’s not just programming, it’s the attitude of newscasters and presenters that is also uniquely Australian. The Socceroos (Australia’s national football team) had a World Cup qualifier a couple of weeks back and on one morning news station the sports presenter had donned a Socceroos scarf in support. This would not be allowed on the culturally oversensitive BBC. On another news bulletin the presenter began a story about North Korea launching a missile for what they claimed was a test aimed at perfecting their ability to put satellites in space. The presenter paused momentarily at this point and inserted the sarcastic comment, “Yeah, if you can believe that.”

Australia has perfected the art of taking the best other countries have to offer and improving it – sometimes. The American method of painting words in reverse on highways has always frustrated me. The idea is that when you are driving at speed you read the bottom word first, rather than from the top as you would a book. For example, rather than say BUS LANE, with BUS appearing above LANE in large letters in the centre of the road, it will be painted as LANE BUS, which is just how you read it! You end up double-checking in your rear-view mirror, by which time you’ve realised anyway what it was saying as you park you radiator on the backseat of a 48-seater Mercedes. But then there is the inspired decision by Perth’s Public Transport Authority to allow bus passengers to request a stop anywhere on their route after 9pm. It’s a luxury late at night when you’ve had a few too many drinks.

As a final note on popular culture, there are occasions when one simple idea or occurrence crosses borders and appeals globally to viewers and listeners alike. I am not the world’s biggest fan of talent shows, but the appearance of Susan Boyle on Britain’s Got Talent has lit up the souls of all those who enjoy a rags-to-riches story. What a heart-warming and stunning moment. If she never goes on to achieve anything else in her life she will have that moment to remember for the rest of it. Demi Moore apparently had tears in her eyes watching the clip on YouTube so here’s hoping Ms Boyle, who has admitted to having never even kissed another person, can muster up her very own Demi-like mid-forties dream of finding young love with this new found fame and talent.

There are alternative sources of entertainment in abundance in Perth. I spent the Easter weekend in Mandurah with family and during my return train trip I shared an elevator with a young chap clad in a cowboy hat and fluorescent orange jacket shepherding an old bicycle. I enquired whether he had enjoyed his Easter weekend and in a broad Australian drawl he responded, “No mate, I work for a circus.” I’m sure we all as kids had a dream at some point that we would work in a circus, but for this lad that dream has either turned into a nightmare or his dream is the exact opposite; to work in a field that doesn’t involve clowns, tents, cannons and lions. He needed a shower badly, that’s for sure. If circuses aren’t your thing, there are plenty of great Australian authors out there. A very good friend of mine in London introduced me to Tim Winton, author of such tales as Cloudstreet and Breath. I have read several of his books now and find his storytelling enchanting, luxurious and capable of invigorating even the dullest of imaginations. But along came a teacher I met the other day who suggested Mr Winton is incapable of finishing a story and I suddenly realised that it’s actually true. The Riders describes an epic journey taken by a father and daughter in search of their wife and mother who has absconded. I could barely put the book down and turned furiously from page to page until, about three pages from the end, I realised there was no way they would possibly find her. They didn’t. Sorry, have I ruined it for you?

Peter Carey is another Australian author about whom I have heard great things. Unfortunately, however, I have only read one of his books; The True History of the Kelly Gang. It is essentially a collection of Ned Kelly’s autobiographical diaries written in the lead up to his death at the hands of the police. Despite the pages taking you on an undulating ride through an incredible period in Australia’s history, the writing (Kelly’s own with a hint of Carey’s artistic licence) begins to grate after a while and the characters become so plentiful and similar that I found myself willing the end to come quicker. As it happens, much like Kelly’s own life, I ended the story before I finished it. It’s true to say that Australia’s past is full of colourful tales and legends. My cousin has in his possession a collection of some of the most wonderful Australian fishing anecdotes. One such account occurred some decades ago, and it’s safe to assume it served as a lesson for future generations. It’s not uncommon in coastal areas of the country to find long jetties stretching out into deep water with railway tracks running all the way to the end. These constructions played an important part in local history as they allowed ships to pull into town after town to collect such things as sheep wool. Naturally, with the water being too shallow near the shore, it was the deep water found at the end of a jetty that enabled vessels with deep hulls to pull up and drop anchor. Many years ago some locals who had taken to using their jetty as a diving board spotted a tiger shark lurking under the planks around the base of the struts. Not to be deterred, one of them decided to draw on his old war experience and dispose of this predatory fish with a generous serving of dynamite. So, after a few preparatory throws of kangaroo meat, which had been gradually further and further from the jetty, he loaded one up with the explosive and chucked it as far as he could into the sea. The shark swam off to collect his easy meal and, with kangaroo and sparkling fuse, returned casually to his shady retreat beneath the planks. Sure enough the plan worked brilliantly. The shark exploded into bits, as did the section of jetty under which it resided. This left the man and his associates stranded at the end of the jetty, surrounded by water that was now infested with sharks arriving to feast off the bloody mess left behind.

I am pleased to say I had a far more relaxing engagement with some Australian fish the other day. For Easter I joined my cousin and his lovely family on the fringes of a coastal town known as Mandurah. This is a popular area for those who like to flaunt their money, for it has miles and miles of canals and rivers lined with huge houses, private moorings and aptly named luxury boats. My favourite so far has to be Source of Divorce. The canals, my cousin discovered, also house a number of healthy black bream (oddly pronounced ‘brim’ in these parts) and I am proud to say I yanked two of these silvery black fish out of the algae-riddled water. They weren’t as large as my cousin’s effort, but it was all part of the fun. Of course we threw them back. Catch and release is a popular idea here when it comes to certain species, and rightly so.

After Easter, it was back to my humble abode in Scarborough. I am beginning to feel like I live in my own version of The Truman Show. It doesn’t matter what time of day I walk through my suburb, I always seem to see the same people at exactly the same place. There is the bespectacled lady forever coming around the corner with her baby, the dreadlocked man carrying milk across the same curb, and the rabble of ruffians gathering on the same veranda to drink, smoke, and generally look menacing. Having said that, I am worried about my sanity and think perhaps I may be imagining all this. I made fun of David Beckham recently for his quote referring to the number of caps he has achieved for England; “I was pleased to make it to one-o-nine, but now I’ve made it to one-o-ten.” The smile vanished from my face in the kitchen the other day when I realised, during counting for something I was cooking, that I had gone from one-hundred-and-fifty-nine to one-hundred-and-fifty-ten. Perhaps it was the knock I took on the chin while bodysurfing a week ago. I’ve been walking around with a lovely sand burn, a great excuse not to shave. The jokes have been coming in thick mostly along the lines of “keep your chin up, Michael”. My cousin is worse off. He nearly put a tooth through his lip while bodysurfing. I took my first day trip to Margaret River not so long ago. What a wonderful part of the world, full of stunning coastland and vineyards. It is defnitely a place to see again, and for longer, particularly the wine region. I won't be shy next time. Pass me the pretzels!