Australia

Sucking milk through Tim Tams,

our collective chocolatey grins.

Big Ted on playschool,

cattle dogs “doing” the heard.

Sun and nicknames,

hot dry summers,

lawn hose runners,

sand that burns your feet at the beach,

all the kids screech.

Pineapple on burgers.

Zinc on your noses.

Our laid back life style that is oddly competitive too,

taking the piss out of ourselves, me and you.

Not being too stuffy

calling our bosses buddy.

Saying, “Sweet.”

“Moving on.”

“It's happened now, what can you do?”

“Can't change it, even if I wanted to.”

Tall poppy syndrome...

don't we just love knocking people off their thrones.

And we all say crap,

and “fuck,” just to fill some space,

“'ken oath," or “'ken hell",

as we make bongs from garden hoses,

watching never ending fucking Sport:

test cricket,

Aussie Rules,

Rugby League,

if you can understand it at all.

Flies and beer,

thongs and singlets,

those silly Acubra's with the corks dangling down,

not something for going to town.

AC/DC,

sunscreen across your nose.

Y's on the end of good people’s names;

Farnsy,

Barnsy,

Warney, and the rest.

Timmo,

Chook,

and Bluey's the best.

Good humour,

cultural cringe,

beer guts with tank tops,

thongs worn with jeans and jumpers on a cold winter’s days.

Barracking for the underdog in the outer bay.

Public holidays, thumbs up, never enough,

Long weekends full of BBQs,

good friends,

drinking beer.

Unintelligible slang,

shorts and t-shirts,

Winnie Blues up your sleeve,

laughing easily.

Gum trees.

Plum trees.

Sheep and cows.

The Dreamtime.

A roast lunch on a Sunday.

Swimming in the Murray river,

cockatoos, rosellas, king parrots,

“Ya bloody galah!”

Eucalypts,

kangaroos,

spiders and snakes,

Weis Bars,

bindis,

panel vans,

for fuck's sake.

Hot Christmas Barbies.

Bagging out the Kiwis.

The Royal Show,

drover’s dogs,

we love the wogs.

Pavlova’s,

lamington drives.

Kanga Cricket,

Koalas that aren’t bears,

Oi Oi Oi!

Vegemite toast,

suburban 1/4 acre blocks.

Having a whine

how Public Transport is never on time,

or that fucktard’s a swine.

Inner city trendies,

blokes called Wendy.

Storytellers,

Ruth Park, Norman Lindsay, May Gibbs,

Tim Winton, Kate Grenville, Peter Carey.

Bullshitters,

fucken fairies,

Aunty Gwen.

The Dreamtime.

Gum Trees in Europe that make us all miss home.

Bionic ears,

cervical cancer vaccines,

heart transplants,

blackboxes,

the Victa mower, I still have Pop's original in the shed.

The Hills Hoist's that give mum a few minutes of peace.

And everything good that ever came out of New Zealand at any given time.