Pizza Boys

It's Friday night. Therefore it's Pizza night.

The bloke comes to the door...

Him. 'I'm sorry I'm late, me love, it's been quiet since we opened and now it's gone mad'

Me. 'Where are you from?!'

(not in a completely authoritative way...honest )

Him. 'Plymouth, why?'

Me. 'Me too'

Him. Questionable look on his face. '....really?'

Me. With my best plimuff accent on 'yep really, I'm from Elburton'

I have a new best friend!! And he must be my age at least!

Him. 'Ok, it's brilliant innit? I've lived ere for 6 years and I don't wanna go back. I loves it. Woohoooo!'

Me. 'yep....hmm, 22 dollars did you say?'

I never had that much in common with people from back home!!

Unlikely Prime Ministers

One of my patients today was a holiday maker. Bloody pommie bastard! Fresh off the plane he started to feel unwell (an unnervingly common occurence it would seem here. All you Blightys beware) and therefore presented to Fremantle hospital.

It turns out he has cancer and has developed a slight confusion. Me being the most brilliantly observant nurse proceeded to talk to this chap and ascertain that he was neither stupid or confused.

...until Dr Brilliant walks into the room.

'Hello Mr Pommie Bastard, I'm Dr Brilliant. How are you doing today?'

'Not bad Doctor, I just wish I was at home with my daughter enjoying my holiday with my wife. Any chance of getting out of this place?'

'Well we have some tests to run and we think that maybe the steroids you're taking are interfering with your memory function a bit. '

And so proceeded the 'mini-mental' examination to determine the extent of this mans confusion or lack thereof...

'So, Mr Pommie bastard, could you tell me what the date is?'

(why would he know this? He's on holiday for gods sake.) I stood behind the curtain with baited breath...

'Christ knows, um...20th or something?'

(Ok, I'll take that. It's pretty close)

'Ok, and what season is it?'

(Obviously a trick question. He's pom. It's winter back home but summer here. Would he get it right?)

'Easy, winter....no I'm in Australia right? Then it must be summer?'

(Wooohooo, take that Dr Brilliant, not so smug now eh? By the way, am now cheerleading with imaginary pompoms behind the safety of the curtain)

'Well done. Last but not least could you tell me who the prime minister of England is?'

'Ooh, I know this one. It's good old Tony. Umm, Tony... Tony Blackburn!'

(Arse)

'...They're dropping like flies'

Have you ever dragged your exercise bike into the sauna (set at 40.1 degrees) and blindly set the resistance levels to random, then jumped on aforementioned bike and attempted to cycle five miles whilst trying not to gag on the part boiled water from your microwaved water bottle?

Well it happened. 40 degrees hit Perth.

I don't like it....make it go away?!

By the time I got home, I had sweat dripping off my forehead and my lungs were suffering heat exhaustion. The hairs in my nostrils had been burned off by the heat waves bouncing off the tarmac and my eyeballs were unable to blink without flipping my whole eyelid inside out due to dryness. The heat had sucked every last drop of moisture from the air except from the sweat patches on my tshirt. I had tried to chase each pathetic flea fart of a breeze and failed to even remotely catch one whiff of wind.

They had warned me it was coming. 'Bring it on' I stated. Pah, what's a bit of hot weather, I thought. Better hot than icy cold and feeling that your toes had grown to double the size with the big freeze. Hot weather was good. We're not even in the tropics here. How hot could it be? People live on the equator for gods sake but you never see documentarys teeming with people complaining about the heat and sun.

So as I lie here on my bed under the air-con, wearing nothing but my spangly marks and sparks knickers and vest, contemplating laying in the garden and turning the sprinklers on (to hell with the water restrictions!), I find myself wondering...

'So what is wrong exactly, with frost, sleet and a little frostbite again?'

Chocolate

Yesterday I travelled 70kms to buy a bag of minstrels!

I guess I'm homesick then?

In all fairness I also bought a multi bag of twiglets, a Q mag from December '05, a Glamour mag from Jan '06 and found the Next shop!

Yes they have Next here. I'm saved and will be able to spend a fortune replicating the fashions of my homeland.

Unfortunately, they were shut! Something about infringing the trading laws of Australia and being in deep poo poo until they tear out the original labels in the clothes and replace them with shiny new aussie ones?

And did I tell you that the British food shop also sells Irn Bru so Shazza will also be saved. I also found them selling pot noodles for that truly authentic British dining experience?

Why would you miss pot noodles when you are living in the land of culinary genius?

Valentines, Bah!

I trust you all spent loved up evenings gazing into the eyes of someone you love, whether it was the man in your life or just the mirrors reflection.

No one does Vals Day quite like an aussie male though. All I can say is that at least he didn't give me another bloody iron like he did one year! My card read....

"Please remember to be gentle with yourself and let the care and concern that's felt for you bring peace, comfort and healing during this difficult time"

Yes, I got a condolences card!

Quite right too, I am going out with Dave after all!

Multi-Culturalism

Hoy, I'm Pauline Hanson. Some of youse might know me from the political world but for those who don't... grrr, well hoy there you spunk-rat.

I know what youse are thinking. I get that reaction all the time. Boys are forever running up to me in the street with all kinds of gifts. Boys with shy eyes and crooked smiles. Showering me with roses, chocolates, phone numbers and pepper spray. I know you can't resist my charms. Just try and ignore my beauty and listen to what I have to say. It's more important than that angelina bob-pitt story, you knows.

Anyway children, today I want to tell youse a story about multi-culturalism and why we should ban all those nasty sewer rats with sheets with eye holes over their heads from coming to this wonderful land of ours.

Australia is a great land that was discovered in 1956 by Rolf Harris. Before that it was a vast land of nothingness, cluttered with the useless people. These people are called 'abbo's'. We often like to throw rocks at their toes to make them dance like Fred Astaire. It makes us proud to be Australian to think how we managed to desecrate their holy land and kill off the excess hordes all whilst maintaining our cheery demeanour, nice clean uniforms and fine bone china tea cups.

A few years ago some politicians decided to open our doors to people from the other countries (mostly the black and asian ones) so they could come and live with us in harmony and such. I said back then that it wouldn't work and the old mongrels in parliment threw me out of their boys club (probably because they wanted to make the hot sex with me and I wouldn't let them for less than fifty dollars). That was the end of my career in politics so I went and opened up a fish shop on the outskirts of town.

Now they are laughing on the other cheek. Multi-culturalism is once again in the Aussie media after the appalling riots by those middle eastern yobbos in Sydney (or by our boys, I forget now!). People are realising that we can't live in a multi-cultural society anymore.

I say, if you can't live by good old traditional aussie values then don't come knocking on our door. We australians have lived by the Christian way for hundreds and thousands of years (well at least a couple of hundred anyway. Before that it was just the Aboriginals. Jesus could take the Wagyl in a fist fight anyday) and we're not about to let some Iraqi culture take over our beautiful caring and giving christian way.

I'm all for a ban on people coming to our country who won't speak the english language or refuse to wear mini skirts with leggings. People that wear the bhurkas or tea-towels on their heads should stay at home where they belong. Surely they don't need to infiltrate our culture and turn our young against us in a series of terrorist attacks? Surely there are lots of other big buildings in the world that they can go bomb? And the refugee boat people? Well send them back to their own country. A little persecution and random executioning never hurt anyone! Luckily most aussie politicians these days agree with moy!

Embrace our way of life or go home you flaming galahs!


(please note, views held by PH are not upheld by the editor, Nat x)

The Reserved World of Politics

True story:

Two prominent aussie politicians happened to be at an airport this week. They were waiting for their plane to take them back to Canberra after the Christmas break.

The chap turns to the lady and mutters something to her. She takes offence to whatever he has whispered to her and angrily snaps at him.

The arguement is over when the the bloke shouts at her in front of the general public and the little kiddies surrounding them in the terminal,

'Oh, just go blow it out of your arse!'

It just wouldn't happen in Britain!

My girlfriends back, she's gonna save my reputation...

Hey la, Hey la, my girlfriends back...

Shazza has been approved for a visa application and she's been offered a job.

This means she's moving to the land of the vegemite sandwhich.

Now all she needs to do is apply for a visa, paint and sell her flat, drag her hubbie away from his job/work/family/friends, find schools for two of her kids, learn to love the 'foreign muck' (repeat after me: seafood IS delicious), find work for her eldest, find work for hubbie, find a house to live in, get an aussie bank account, find mobile phones for the whole family (you have to lie about how long you've been in the country to get one!!), move the kids PS2, Gamecubes, TVs and DVD players, old videos of Wet Wet Wet and her huge collection of shoes over here in a big container that will hopefully not get lost over the side of the ship, register as a nurse in WA, have CXRs, medicals and HIV & HepB blood tests to prove she won't be a drain on Aussie society, locate a GP that is willing to give her 'kiddy valium' to ensure that all three kids arrive in Oz with all limbs attached, find new friends for hubbie, Mikey, stevi and Murrae, learn to drive or learn to ride a scooter, buy a yute for Michael (he has his heart set on one), catch up on all they have missed in Neighbours and Home and Away, get used to sharing the house with cockroaches occasionally, buy shiploads of sunscreen and mossie repellent, get used to sand getting everywhere and learn to love the forty degree heat!

Only joking, it hasn't once been forty degrees yet this year!

Everyone please keep encouraging her cos me thinks she'll be a little bit stressed by the time she gets here!

Big Day Out, part II

Have to show you some more of the truly fabulous things from the BDO '06.


The silent disco! Everyone wearing headphones but looking ridiculous because you can't hear what they are dancing to. Plus they all look like they are dancing to different tunes. Hilarious.

Irish and myself.

The guys I tagged along with for the day (Dave refused to go because he couldn't get free VIP tickets!)

A particularly fine mullet!


My Kings of Leon ride. I'm in the middle, first seat to the right.

Art?

As much as I promised myself I wouldn't talk about yet another concert I'd been to, I just can't resist telling you about yesterday.

Yesterday was the day of the 'Big Day Out' festival. They are the equivilent of Glasto in being the original and best out of all the festivals that happen in Oz.

So we saw The White Stripes, Franz Ferdinand, Kings of Leon (we saw them from the unsual vantage point of fifty feet in the air and upside down!), End of Fashion, The Living End, Magic Numbers and many more I'm unable to remember!

However the best part of the day was when I had separated myself from my group to go and procure a drink from the bar. You can only drink in sectioned off bar areas so we don't give the nasty alcohol to troublesome teenagers! I even had to show my drivers licence to prove my age. Apparently crows feet and a tired apathetic demeanour aren't enough to prove security men of my twenty nine years! There I bumped into a guy we had met a couple of hours earlier trying to find the place that they sold tea and scones (?!). This guy, Irish (for I forgot his name almost instantly), had been persuaded to join me on the fairground ride which would give us our highly interesting but vomit inducing view of the kings of Leon.

As we chatted whilst drinking our respective beers the old crooner on the stage (Kimahl, like a Rolf harris at a Glasto gig) finished his act and four seven foot tall papier mache cows frolicked out onto the ground.

What happened next was so truly bizarre that I can only assume that it was all in the name of serious art and was pushing some political view point at the audience. However from my observation of the audience (a hundred half pissed twenty somethings) I think the political message got lost and only the comedy was understood.

So the plot begins with the aforementioned cows dancing around whilst a giant papier mache farmer chased after them. The farmer manages to slaughter each of the cows before 'losing' all his clothes to reveal a little papier mache willy. The cows now completely deaded, lie on the ground looking forlorn until their stomaches burst open and the entrails slither out and start dancing around tormenting the farmer. All this happens whilst a sinsiter looking alien being looks on at the proceedings. He is also naked with his very own papier mache grey, alien willy!

If anyone can fill me in on the political message please let me know. Is it a protest against the live exports that happen here in Freo still? Is it merely promoting vegetarianism? Is it a shout out against animal cruelty?

My head hurts!

I swear that if I didn't have photographic evidence I would have assumed that someone had slipped something in my drink and that I was just losing my mind!


The cows!

The slaughter

The entrails emerging and the alien!

Answers on a postcard please.