Being Australian
Without Prejudice.
I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland and have always been very proud to be a Scot. But since I was 2 and barely old enough to remember, I have been an Aussie. I love everything about here and always have.
One man saying recently his homeland is his wife and his new homeland, his mistress and he chooses to be unfaithful all of his life.
I love the UK when I am there, the shops, the people, the pubs, the social life, the food, the family I have there. I think Scotland is one of the most beautiful countries in the world, visually stunning. And Yorkshire, Wales, Ireland. But give me St Kilda on a Sunday, give me a basic Aussie life.
Give me the beach near where we live and and lots of kids and fish and chips and a hot day and it's close to heaven for me. From the careful high stepping on to the hot sand and at least one child trying to throw themselves off the pier, down to the gritty sand in the chips I love it all.
The bay is brilliant blue, with white caps undulating slowly. Far off in the distance is Williamstown and the city. Creeping furtively in the far distance are cargo ships, sneaking their way out of the bay, like thieves in the night.
There are always seagulls and they swoop on the kids spilled chips and chatter and scream and peck at each other. At first we will find them cute and funny and after a short while find their greedy beady eyes look a little too predatory and shoo them off.
We keep an eye on the kids and make sure they haven't gone too far out of our sight and try and fight with the Sunday paper. Exhausting that, we wade into the water and shriek as the water laps our nether regions. We could be brave and shallow dive in but prefer the jiggle and hop of slow immersion.
Then we are swimming and are surrounded by the kids that welcome the new distraction and swim around us like encircling dolphins. We splash and dare and we climb the pier steps, slippery and green and covered in crusty barnacles and flop backwards on to the pier, laughing.
We attempt to jump the 12 feet or so to the water and I am terrified all at once. Me, who once jumped off a Passenger Ship from Middle deck, at 16, is scared to jump the measly few feet that separates the old wooden pier and sea.
It takes me 15 long minutes to brave it and am disgusted with myself and my quaking fear. The boys jeer at me and in the end I just jump without thinking. The crash into the water reminds me of every swimming race I have ever swum. The water in the ears, eyes forced open and the becoming one with the water.
We eventually swim our way back to the sand and toast ourselves on big Beach towels and feel a cool breeze across our dampened skin. There will never be enough towels on the hot trip back to the car. The kids will have one last romp in sand and water and it will always involve coating their entire bodies in sand.
We will towel them down in a rough way and they will squirm and complain, some we send back into the water to rinse off. We will stop again at the outdoor shower and twist them underneath it, it's cold blast making them shriek. We wet their head as well amd more mopping up.
And with sand encrusted sandals and thongs on feet, we will cross the burning highway, the kids running ahead to the car. We will remove the foil car protector on the dash and toss it over the back. the kids will muck around all the way home, and we will threaten their highjinks with dire threats.
They will demand we have icy poles on the way home and we stop and get lemonade ones as they make the least sticky mess. We will arrive home amd some will be tuckered out and some raring to go. The house smelling hot and closed up.
We will wash the towels straight away and the babies, check bodies for any sunburn and cover them in soft tees and shorts. By night time there are sleepy eyes and tired cries and we put them to bed early. Exhausted by sand sea and wind, they go down with no trouble and there is peace, just for us.
That day encapsulates everything about how I feel about Australia.
And today I put together an old fashioned sprinkler, iron, circular, that shoots out a fountain of water and the little ones are entranced. And excited. So they do all the things I did when I was a kid and run through the spume of water.
They stand over the sprinkler, they move it, they spend hours just getting wet in a suburban backyard, and they could be kids from the 50's and 60's. Just kids, a sprinkler, hot weather and that boundless energy they have. Right there is another moment that encapsulates Australia.
Backyard cricket after Christmas dinner. falling asleep in front of the Queens Speech, hot and tired and over stuffed with fine food. Australia moment again. I've had two white Christmases and it's pretty and different but it's so cold.
Our Christmas menu as a family when we were gathered together, usually never varied. Prawn cocktail on lettuce in glasses or tomato soup. Then the main, chicken and vegetables, no turkey, and Plum Pudding with custard.
One Christmas we sat appalled as Dad served up our pet duck and we wouldn't eat it, not one of us and Mum and Dad thought they were being so clever.
I've been just about all over the world and every time I come home to Australia I want to kiss the ground. It's not just because people have short sleeves and smiles as we all shuffle into customs. We feeling like death warmed up and jet lagged so we don't know if we want to eat, shit or die.
But coming back to Australia for me means a smiling man in a short sleeved customs uniform and I notice the smile as I haven't had one in any airport in any country I've been to. And I've only just realised it at that point.
London can be hostile and rude. Especially when they hear our nasally Australian accents. Just a quick tip from my niece, Tracey, dress warm no matter what. With regard to your baggage, pack light, as at some point you will be climbing the steps at Kings Cross station and have no help.
You will be running late for a train. And everything you decided to pack in Melbourne with such high spirits is either under your arms, on your back or cutting off the circulation in your hands. No one will help you, trust me, no one will.
So unless you want a miserable time, with your luggage becoming your albatross around your neck, pack light. Go and enjoy, travel to all the places you have ever dreamed of. I've swum in the Red Sea. I've swum under the stars in Nusa Dua. I've seen the exotic ports and the poor world countries.
I've been to Italy, and Greece and Port Of Aden, Papua New Guinea and Sri Lanka. Japan, Tahiti, new Zealand, the list goes on and on. But no where is there a place like Australia.
My parents made the right decision to emigrate, they made the decision for their children and we all could not be happier,
Love Janette
I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland and have always been very proud to be a Scot. But since I was 2 and barely old enough to remember, I have been an Aussie. I love everything about here and always have.
One man saying recently his homeland is his wife and his new homeland, his mistress and he chooses to be unfaithful all of his life.
I love the UK when I am there, the shops, the people, the pubs, the social life, the food, the family I have there. I think Scotland is one of the most beautiful countries in the world, visually stunning. And Yorkshire, Wales, Ireland. But give me St Kilda on a Sunday, give me a basic Aussie life.
Give me the beach near where we live and and lots of kids and fish and chips and a hot day and it's close to heaven for me. From the careful high stepping on to the hot sand and at least one child trying to throw themselves off the pier, down to the gritty sand in the chips I love it all.
The bay is brilliant blue, with white caps undulating slowly. Far off in the distance is Williamstown and the city. Creeping furtively in the far distance are cargo ships, sneaking their way out of the bay, like thieves in the night.
There are always seagulls and they swoop on the kids spilled chips and chatter and scream and peck at each other. At first we will find them cute and funny and after a short while find their greedy beady eyes look a little too predatory and shoo them off.
We keep an eye on the kids and make sure they haven't gone too far out of our sight and try and fight with the Sunday paper. Exhausting that, we wade into the water and shriek as the water laps our nether regions. We could be brave and shallow dive in but prefer the jiggle and hop of slow immersion.
Then we are swimming and are surrounded by the kids that welcome the new distraction and swim around us like encircling dolphins. We splash and dare and we climb the pier steps, slippery and green and covered in crusty barnacles and flop backwards on to the pier, laughing.
We attempt to jump the 12 feet or so to the water and I am terrified all at once. Me, who once jumped off a Passenger Ship from Middle deck, at 16, is scared to jump the measly few feet that separates the old wooden pier and sea.
It takes me 15 long minutes to brave it and am disgusted with myself and my quaking fear. The boys jeer at me and in the end I just jump without thinking. The crash into the water reminds me of every swimming race I have ever swum. The water in the ears, eyes forced open and the becoming one with the water.
We eventually swim our way back to the sand and toast ourselves on big Beach towels and feel a cool breeze across our dampened skin. There will never be enough towels on the hot trip back to the car. The kids will have one last romp in sand and water and it will always involve coating their entire bodies in sand.
We will towel them down in a rough way and they will squirm and complain, some we send back into the water to rinse off. We will stop again at the outdoor shower and twist them underneath it, it's cold blast making them shriek. We wet their head as well amd more mopping up.
And with sand encrusted sandals and thongs on feet, we will cross the burning highway, the kids running ahead to the car. We will remove the foil car protector on the dash and toss it over the back. the kids will muck around all the way home, and we will threaten their highjinks with dire threats.
They will demand we have icy poles on the way home and we stop and get lemonade ones as they make the least sticky mess. We will arrive home amd some will be tuckered out and some raring to go. The house smelling hot and closed up.
We will wash the towels straight away and the babies, check bodies for any sunburn and cover them in soft tees and shorts. By night time there are sleepy eyes and tired cries and we put them to bed early. Exhausted by sand sea and wind, they go down with no trouble and there is peace, just for us.
That day encapsulates everything about how I feel about Australia.
And today I put together an old fashioned sprinkler, iron, circular, that shoots out a fountain of water and the little ones are entranced. And excited. So they do all the things I did when I was a kid and run through the spume of water.
They stand over the sprinkler, they move it, they spend hours just getting wet in a suburban backyard, and they could be kids from the 50's and 60's. Just kids, a sprinkler, hot weather and that boundless energy they have. Right there is another moment that encapsulates Australia.
Backyard cricket after Christmas dinner. falling asleep in front of the Queens Speech, hot and tired and over stuffed with fine food. Australia moment again. I've had two white Christmases and it's pretty and different but it's so cold.
Our Christmas menu as a family when we were gathered together, usually never varied. Prawn cocktail on lettuce in glasses or tomato soup. Then the main, chicken and vegetables, no turkey, and Plum Pudding with custard.
One Christmas we sat appalled as Dad served up our pet duck and we wouldn't eat it, not one of us and Mum and Dad thought they were being so clever.
I've been just about all over the world and every time I come home to Australia I want to kiss the ground. It's not just because people have short sleeves and smiles as we all shuffle into customs. We feeling like death warmed up and jet lagged so we don't know if we want to eat, shit or die.
But coming back to Australia for me means a smiling man in a short sleeved customs uniform and I notice the smile as I haven't had one in any airport in any country I've been to. And I've only just realised it at that point.
London can be hostile and rude. Especially when they hear our nasally Australian accents. Just a quick tip from my niece, Tracey, dress warm no matter what. With regard to your baggage, pack light, as at some point you will be climbing the steps at Kings Cross station and have no help.
You will be running late for a train. And everything you decided to pack in Melbourne with such high spirits is either under your arms, on your back or cutting off the circulation in your hands. No one will help you, trust me, no one will.
So unless you want a miserable time, with your luggage becoming your albatross around your neck, pack light. Go and enjoy, travel to all the places you have ever dreamed of. I've swum in the Red Sea. I've swum under the stars in Nusa Dua. I've seen the exotic ports and the poor world countries.
I've been to Italy, and Greece and Port Of Aden, Papua New Guinea and Sri Lanka. Japan, Tahiti, new Zealand, the list goes on and on. But no where is there a place like Australia.
My parents made the right decision to emigrate, they made the decision for their children and we all could not be happier,
Love Janette
