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AKA Prepare To Go Awwwwwwww!!!!

Following my adventures with Jeff, KB sent me an email to send to Peggy, to continue her love affair with all things koala. I did indeed send the email to Peggy however the pictures were just too amazing (and fricking cute) not to share with you all.

It is believed these baby koalas were rescued from a mother killed by a car. As mother koalas are hugely protective over their children, seeing pictures of koalas this young is incredibly rare. This really is phenomenal. Also, full marks to the wildlife personnel who reared the koalas. For months baby koalas live on a special koala milk so hand rearing them like this is incredibly labour intensive.

The new baby koala, called a “joey”, is roughly 2 centimetres long and weighs less than 1 gram, looking  rather like a pink jellybean as it is totally hairless, blind and has no ears.

Normally a joey makes its way from the birth canal to the pouch, where it will live for six to seven months. In the pouch it would attach itself to the mother’s teat, which swells to fill its mouth, preventing the joey from being dislodged from its source of food.

The young koala would drink only mother’s milk for the first six to seven months of its life and would remain in the pouch for all of that time, slowly growing and developing eyes, ears, fur etc.

At about 22 weeks, its eyes open and it begins to peep out of the pouch.

 From about 22 to 30 weeks, it begins to feed upon a substance called “pap” which the mother produces in addition to milk. Pap is a specialised form of faeces which forms an important part of the young koala’s diet, allowing it to make the transition from milk to eucalyptus leaves. How the wildlife personnel reproduced this I do not know. Let’s assume they did and look at the cute pictures.

The joey would remain with its mother for another six months or so, riding on her back, and feeding on both milk and eucalyptus leaves until weaning is completed at about 12 months of age.

 

Thanks to KB for the excellent pictures which I have mercilessly plundered and thanks to Peggy for letting me steal her email.

However, seriously, that was an 11 on the cuteness scale.

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Update on Jeff

Jeff, the attitude Koala, was a massive hit with everyone yesterday.

I visited where I left him yesterday and, good news, he’s moved on to a less suicidal tree as he was nowhere to be seen on the tree I left him.  Even more happily, there was no evidence of koala pâté on the road. This makes me happy.

In honour, Inappropriate Saturday will take a miss this week to allow more pics of Jeff. Not used yesterday as they are slightly blurry (So no grief from you KB. You do better with an iPhone that is playing Glee.)

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The Koala Whisperer

Peggy, this post is for you.

Even though I am on nights I do overtime whenever I can grab it to pay for my ridiculously extravagant travelling bug. As such, I was on the way to work this morning at 0730 despite having finished a night shift less than 24 hours before. So I am not used to the morning traffic and I am certainly not used to this.

A full-grown koala, hopelessly lost, walking along a busy (and soon to be busier) arterial road. No one seemed to be noticing and were driving at a great rate of knots. I, however, was appalled at how lost this koala was and no gum trees in sight. (Also, as I am sure Brad, Lauren and Lloyd will all attest, to my eternal shame, the very first thing I thought when I saw him was “Score!!!!!!!! I can BLOG about this!!!!!!”) I felt certain if I did not help the poor thing he was going to get squished by a car.

So despite the fact this would make me late for work I pulled off the road and got out to help the koala, whom I had now named Jeff. (All koalas are called Jeff, Peggy.  This is a known fact.)

Jeff is looking at me as though I am completely mad as, in addition to yelling encouraging things to him such as “Come this way Jeff, I think I saw a gum tree up the hill.” (I speak fluent koala), I am also photographing the crap out of him with my iPhone and getting reeeeeeeallllllly frustrated that my play mix of Glee songs wont shut up as Jeff appears to not be a Glee fan and is finding their style of bland, inoffensive covers of pop songs rather grating.

When you have a suicidal koala, you try not to upset them further.

Jeff continues to walk towards his doom as he tries to cross the road. I am trying to herd him away from the road and towards the less busy street while Poker Face is being played. Jeff appears to particularly find this song annoying (though I quite like it) and looks as though he is gonna bolt onto the road until I manage to stop the iPhone and shut Glee the f… up.

I now know that koalas can give humans looks of total disdain. Which just goes to show you where I stand in the pecking order of life when even koalas are giving you grief. His face was all, “Dude! You listen to that?????!!!!”

Jeff and I had clearly bonded at this point and he was much happier to be herded away from his path of suicide onto the flowing road.  All of my years as a suicide counsellor came to my aid as I was able to support Jeff from his path of destruction with such words of comfort as “There, there.” (normally said as you pat someone on the shoulder. I didn’t pat jeff on the shoulder as, you see those funky claws, Jeff would have shred me up.) I also added “It’s always darkest before the dawn” which, if you’re a suicide counsellor, is RollsRoyce stuff.

I managed to steer Jeff off the busy arterial street onto a side road where I could control the traffic and, if I could get him across the side road, he would have a number of trees to climb up and hide until nightfall and find something more suitable. Jeff had other ideas though as he thought the flagpole was possibly his new home. I began to suspect Jeff may have had mental problems as he tries to climb the flagpole.

 

After the third attempt at trying to climb the flag pole Jeff was starting to p… me off so I threatened him with more Glee music if he didn’t get his ass across the road to where all the real trees were.

And here is where I actually stopped taking pictures and helped Jeff out. Herding him across the road and standing in front of him so people wouldn’t drive over him. Everyone could see me, I can be seen from space, but poor Jeff would have been koala pate had I not stood there and blocked traffic. What was wonderful were people’s faces as they realised I wasn’t an annoying madman stopping the traffic for no apparent reason but their looks of realisation as they all saw Jeff and went “F…,that’s a koala!!!”

Jeff got across the road very safely and then took his own sweet time deciding which tree he was going to go live in.

Jeff ultimately went to live in a tree right smack bang next to the road so I am not entirely sure I curbed his suicidal tendencies. By this time I was half an hour late for work * and had to leave Jeff to his own devices. I had done my job and got him across the road safely. Last I saw Jeff he was happily up the tree ready to live happy ever after. As I drove past him he gave me a look of acknowledgement. It seemed to say “Thank God you’re taking that f…ing music with you.” You’re welcome Jeff. **

You haven’t lived until you have had grief from a recalcitrant koala.

* To their credit, work didn’t care. I had loads of picture proof of what I’d been doing and everyone spent ages going awwwww over the koala pictures.

** Jeff had attitude to spare. As do all koalas. Another little known fact.

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First year on. Apologies for not doing this yesterday. That’s impressive really, mark the first year of the blog by missing a day. Life got extremely in the way yesterday. Then I stupidly deleted all the work I had done for this blog anyway. No more time for excuses. Onward.

So first anniversary retrospective introspection navel gazing, as promised.

I am in a particularly introspective mood so apologies for what follows (I’m not sure what it will be, to be honest.) 

I suppose I measure how popular a particular post is by the hits it gets on any given day (roughly between 30 -50 on average), the number of comments it generates (take a bow my three regular mad, much-loved commentors) or the number of emails I get privately telling me how much someone enjoyed a particular post. As I have said I have been flabbergasted by some posts that I put out in pure desperation and then take on a life of its own. eg:

 The Surprises

Word

This went mental at the time. I wrote it in a hurry as I had nothing better to say. People loved it. I got so many emails (not the most, mind you. The most I ever got was about my toilet habits) telling me how funny they thought it was. It generated a couple of sequels, such was its popularity. It also has me eavesdropping everywhere for funny things to write in the blog.

Washing

Another throwaway idea that struck gold. People loved the idea of superstitions. I had loads of mails telling me of all the odd superstitions people believed. Fortunately, without even that help, my Gran had millions that I will be able to milk for the blog.

Doctor Who

I probably should have known this would have been big. Doctor Who is a huge success and it was reflected in the spike in interest the blog experienced as a result. it was tempting to milk that as well however other things came up that were far more interesting to other people. And you know where I’m going there. I am going to the Doctor Who Experience in London though, so expect a return to the delights of Doctor Who exhibitions before June.

The Sad

Song

This makes me cry whenever I read it. I doubt you would have the same response as it is one of those “had to be there” moments. Still, included as it makes me weepy and it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. heh

Come Out

Whereas I had more mail about this post, where people told me they were genuinely moved to tears by my words, than … well… ever. I am not sure if it was recounting my crappy coming out experience or people responding to my understanding of some people’s need to stay in the closet for the moment but this touched people. Lots of lovely emails thanking me for this one. The response to this post was genuinely lovely.

The Funny

Chocolate

Who would have thought that Cadbury,over whom I have dedicated much of my life in orgasmic rapture , would treat me so badly when I needed them most. That trip has gone into legend in the family and I am now not allowed to pick anywhere to go for field trips. As such I am going to Manchester United Football Club (who cares) and the Battleship museum (who cares) due to Cadbury being such a dog box.

Sad Person

This was the first post I had written which I genuinely found funny. I can still read it and chuckle to myself. I am tempted to return to Cardiff this time armed with flowers to lay at the shrine. I will ensure my visit is video taped and my wailing heard for miles around. On the other hand, maybe not, cos the Doctor Who Exhibition has closed there. Seems only half a trip this time.

Twinkies

I   don’t think this is necessarily funny per se. Though I must confess meeting Sandy the snack food Goddess was one  of the highlights of the last trip. What I find funny, still to the point of tears, was Wesley’s comment here, in relation to the Twinkies.  He remains on my list and will pay. Oh how he will pay.

The Intriguing

Skippy

The notion of eating kangaroo generated a load of interest from outside my usual readers. Clearly the idea of eating Australian cuisine is something I  should explore more often as it struck a chord. Having said that I can’t think of  Australian cuisine other than damper  that I have eaten recently. I guess I could pretend I have eaten crocodile in the last week but, as I am living on optifast, that seems cruel to everyone, especially my tummy. Consider the idea on the back burner….

Saul

I had forgotten this occurred, which is a shame as it remains a remarkably sweet moment in my life. It’s lovely when young people think you’re amazing and aren’t quite grown up enough yet to know you’re full of something less amazing. This was one of those moments. I hope to see Saul again when I return in a few weeks. Hopefully  he hasn’t grown up too much to see through me.

Brad

This was the moment the blog took off, riding purely on Mr Royuk’s coattails. I still remain irritated by the server that night which is an indication to me that I need to move on. Meeting the Bradster was quite delightful even if the night was amazingly loud. Next time we ARE going to the Outback Steakhouse. I even have the address. Keep May free Brad. On the strength of that one post, my stats went from a measly ten people a day to a much more respectable number. For a hit whore such as myself, this was incredibly helpful as I was starting to despair at how few people were reading. That, it would appear, people have continued to read this gives me great joy.

Queer Eye

Ahhhhhh my makeover. The last time I got  a haircut too, so doubly important. (Evidently I am sooooooooooooo close to 10 kgs…)  I still remain in shock when I see myself in something other than a blue shirt. Four months later and I still do a double take in the mirror. As a result of that experience my laundry bill has skyrocketed, I have layers which I look at fondly and pray for colder weather so I can wear them again (though I should be well layered in Europe); I am fastidious about attacking my nose and ear hair. I remain patiently waiting for Wesley to come decorate my house. This is, after all, only fair. He owes me for the Twinkie remark.

Dock

Simply put. Best morning ever. One of those remember all your days moments.

The Top Three

The most popular blog posts; in terms of emails and hits and comments, last year. And if you had asked me at the beginning of the year, I could have predicated none of them.  Completely out of the left field, the lot of them. I do not know what it says about my readership or my writing or what… all I know is that these three were PHENOMENAL. So in reverse order then…

Macrame

I know! I don’t get it either. Who knew. The debate about the pronunciation of a word became my first genuine steamroller. People went mental. I got abusive emails telling me the American (Wesley’s) pronunciation was correct, I got email telling me the English (my) pronunciation was correct ( which obviously I believed).  Ultimately it was never really resolved, though equally obviously it is pronounced MahCrahMay.  That people became so obsessive over it was really fascinating. I had loads of hits over that blog. And Wesley still mispronounces it, which saddens me. (Twinkies……)

Toilet

This was a runaway train. I still get people writing to me telling me it’s the funniest thing they have read. I love the fact people laughed so much at it. It makes the incident of urinating in front of the Queen slightly more bearable. Slightly. I still have to face her again at some point. What I didn’t mention in that blog, as at the time I was mortified by the whole experience, was that in the process of failing at urination I got myself literally soaked with urine. Literally the front of my pants were sodden. Thank God it is the style to wear your shirt outside of our pants as this made the wet patch less notable though I remained appalled that everyone could smell it. Then the Queen takes me to her study to show me her books all the while my pants are wet and I am desperately trying to leave and yet show a respectable amount of politeness. I was beside myself with embarrassment.

I seem to have many days that live in family infamy.

And finally, no one predicted this one.

Gomco

There is a throwaway line in this blog , about my eye cancer (by the way, do you know when I have an appointment to get that checked. June 6th!!! and this is with private cover!!! JW better be wrong. Back to the story), that mentions Wesley’s desire to circumcise me. This was taken  further in the comments of this blog and mentioned occasionally over the next week. Well more than occasionally. The thing is, there was method is my madness. Whenever I mentioned it, or it got mentioned in the comments, my stats would skyrocket. Literally quintuple. It got so I would mention it off the cuff to see if the same phenomena occurred (which it did.)

Personally I have found the whole experience really funny. The comments about my being circumcised are some of the funniest ever (and if you do not read the comments you miss out on so much wonderful stuff) and there is clearly an audience that I have inadvertently tapped into. It is completely fascinating. I have spookily moved from my mindset of ‘no way re circumcision’ to ‘maybe I should let Wesley doit ‘ which makes me laugh and laugh at the things I would do to amuse my audience. Thank god they are not into immolation.

Circumcision week is coming. Bring popcorn.

I may make t shirts with that as a motto.

So that was long-winded wasn’t it. Thank you, as ever, for coming here and reading this silly little thing. Hopefully you will continue to do so over the next year. I am off to Europe in five weeks so things will pick up in terms of amusing, non circumcision, content.

Look forward to seeing you here.

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I love it when someone comments and inspires me to a blog post. Bless you Peggy for realising I had writer’s block and come running to my aid. She writes:

(Hey Nigel–This Sunday is Superbowl Sunday here in the states. It’s a HUGE event, if you like sports. And chilli is a popular food to serve at Superbowl parties.

On the radio today they were asking callers what the weirdest ingredient they ever had in chilli was (everybody makes it different). Someone said kangaroo tail! He said he was in Australia camping and they roasted the tail, pulled the skin off & pulled the meat from the bone & threw it in the pot. Is it legal to hunt kangaroo…please say no. Have  you ever eaten kangaroo? Do you think this caller was telling the truth? He said it was really good?)

Yessum I’ve eaten Kangaroo (and emu and crocodile and snake and witchetty grubs among others.) And yes, kangaroo are hunted here. The idea is, I believe, to thin the population (or people are bastards, your pick).  In  the same way as deer, kangaroos have the habit of jumping in front of your speeding car and causing all manner of damage. Hence, many Australian cars have ‘Roo bars’ placed on the front of their cars for protection. Australian roads have many, many kangaroo carcasses on them.
 
Kangaroo (as a food) is really very popular here, particularly in terms of the native Australian foods I listed above. The meat itself is astoundingly healthy for you. It is high in protein and amazingly low in fat (about 2%) so that from a dietetic point of view  the meat is heavily promoted.
 
There are three factors preventing people from eating it though, despite its good nutritional value.
 
Firstly it is a very unforgiving meat to cook. Curries, as you have mentioned, are the way to go. Kangaroo meat loves slow cookers. The problem with the meat is that, like seafood, overcook  it and the meat is tougher than the toughest old boot you can imagine. It is inedible if it is overcooked. This is a picture of a kangaroo roast:
 
 
As you can see, the meat is incredibly pink. Basically all kangaroo meat will need to be that undercooked to be edible. Fine if you can cope with that but my family come from good British stock where all meat isn’t cooked unless it is charcoaled. As such, curries and stews work well with roo meat. The sauce hides the pinkness and the slow cooking process allows the meat to cook without getting too rubbery.
 
The second problem is that the meat itself is very gamey. It is a really strong flavour. It’s pleasant however if you are used to the bland tastes of most beef and lamb etc, this can  be a shock. It is really strong. I like it, I must say, however can see why some people would not. It is an acquired taste.
 
Finally, the reason most people wouldn’t eat it is cos you are eating Skippy. For those who do not know, Skippy the Bush Kangaroo was a VERY popular Australian show about a boy and his pet kangaroo having exciting adventures in a national park. Much like the Lassie  series, Skippy the Bush Kangaroo would save the day from bank robbers, drug smugglers, swagmen, hikers, rustlers and sharks(!)  In much the same way as, if it were possible, you wouldn’t eat a collie for its assosciation with Lassie, so too do some people have the same connection of eating roo means eating Skippy. Then they do it anyway cos Skippy was incredibly stupid.
Here is a picture of kangaroo curry, which looks remarkably edible.
 

 

And here for your education and so you’re prepared when someone offers you roo meat, Peggy, is a recipe to cook the very curry

800g kangaroo steak, diced
1/4 cup flour
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 large brown onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, crushed
4cm knob of ginger, peeled, minced
2 small red chillies, finely sliced (more if you like it hot!)
4 tbsp madras curry paste

300ml coconut flavoured evaporated milk (can add a little more later if its too thick)
1 tsp reduced salt beef stock powder
3/4 cup water
1 cinnamon stick
1 dried bay leaf
5 baby chat potatoes, halved
steamed rice, reduced fat yoghurt, naan bread, chopped fresh corriander, to serve

Method

1. Place flour and kangaroo in snap-lock bag. Season with salt and pepper. Shake to coat. Heat half the oil in pan on med-high heat. Cook kangaroo in batches, for 2-3 minutes or until just browned (be careful not to over cook, roo should be very soft and springy). Transfer to slow cooker.
2. Add remaining oil to pan and cook onion, garlic and ginger, stirring for 4 minutes or until soft. Add curry paste and chilli. Cook, stirring for 1 minute or until fragrant. Add coconut flavoured milk, stock powder and water. Bring to the boil. Transfer to slow cooker. Add cinnamon stick and bay leaf. Stir to combine.
3. Cook, covered on LOW for 5-6 hours or until kangaroo is tender. Garnish with fresh coriander and sliced fresh chilli (if you like it hot) and serve with rice, yoghurt and naan bread.

Bon Appetit or, as the say here, Tuck in.

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You have all lost the plot haven’t you?! Not just the Australians bantering with the lingo but the Americans and the Canadians. And everyone doing very well.

Considering some of the words I had to have explained (curse you East Coast exclusivity) I am sure the Bradster and many people reading this are confused beyond words.

So without further ado…. the translation (and isn’t that hysterical? A blog where you have to decipher the comments… I’ve arrived!!! )

So we’ve heard from Bazza Brown to which Turps Thompson replied ( he would never be called Turps in Australia, he would be called Thommo. I loathe the way Australians call people a nickname by either adding an O or a Y on the end of a name. Somehow people think this is clever as opposed to really lazy thinking. I tend to call people Dostoyevsky or Tchaikovsky as a preferable nickname, if I must. It adds gravitas and has consideration. It also pretty much outs me the moment I do it but it makes me happy. Thommo lacks decorum. God I go off on tangents.. ) His reply, again with the definition in italics:

I am elated or Ace! (An exclamation of happiness) I understood all but 2 references in BB’s aka KB’s Ozzie rant. (That’s interesting, Wesley. What ones didn’t you know? I suspect regional differences at play.)

My time in the land of downunder (Australia, naturally. There are songs about this now, you would have heard them ad nauseam when Australia won the America’s Cup for the first time ever. Then lost it the next year. Go, Aussie, go! ) has paid off. While not a fan of aerial pingpong footie (AFL, mentioned yesterday. The game of Australia. Also not an expression I know so probably Eastern coast. Thus named as the football is kicked long and high across the oval, repeatedly going from one goal end to the other), and I don’t have a missus (a wife) or ankle biter (a baby or child), I do like the blokes on the field. (I am a screaming homosexual) Hint hint hint.. (This is redundant. No hints are necessary. It is world-renowned. There are books written on Wesley’s homosexuality – Tell everyone I swoon at you, will you….?? ;))

Last year, I interviewed with an ocker (an Australian) who was a banana bender ( A person from Queensland, one of the 6 states and 2 territories  of Australia. Thus named as Queensland grows bananas??? Or they have the Big Banana? KB??) for a traveling GP position. He was a blodger (bludger, actually but by this time his Wesley’s use of the language has been flawless so we let him off spelling. A bludger is someone who is slack and / or unemployed) but sis says that’s typical. Most banana benders are not a full quid (are stupid) and I couldn’t make a quid doing it anyway. (I would be financially disadvantaged by taking this offer) I shoulda told him to rack off! (Go away. F… off!) I didn’t care – my grundies weren’t bunched. (An Australian equivalent (and one I hadn’t heard ) of my knickers are  in a knot. I was unconcerned.)

Oh dear Nigel, now I am Jonsesing (Now I am translating American dialect for the Australian readers – what a multicultural job this is. Aching for desperately, like an addict needs a fix) for a trip to Oz. Presh bud (precious buddy)……we are off the chain! (out of control, wildly funny) And yes, that a bit of East coast USA slang. Want more? (yes please.)

This was actually a revelation as many of the words Wesley had used I had not heard of. In this case it was because his experience had all been on the East Coast, notably Sydney, former home of KB and, thus,  how she knew the words he was using. Much like each of the US states has dialect and word differences, clearly so too does Australia. I didn’t realise how much until these posts. Also bear in mind, people REALLY do not speak like this here. The occasional word or two ( and more as you get more into the countryside) but if someone came up with the barrage of colloquialisms everyone came up with yesterday, they would be taken into a mental health facility and forced to watch Merchant Ivory films.

I reply to Wesley who comes back with this retort which I must admit I only knew one of the words:

You’re skiting (I did not know this expression. The East Coast dialect is at full play here. It means boasting, evidently) figjam. (F… I’m Good Just Ask Me. If you’re wondering what the F word stands for, worry not. Bazza Those-Years-In-Refining-School-Were-Not-Wasted Brown will spell it out for you in the next comment)

And yes, I meant bludger and yes you are right on the other two. I am a well travelled seppo. (Another word I have never heard of. pinching mercilessly from KB – Seppo is a very shortened term of endearment for an American i.e Seppo- Septic Tank-Yank )Probably east coast as everything I learned was from NSW. (Ya think?)

And no, last time I was there, my Southern drawl had men AND women buying me all I could drink. (There are books written about this too. Also blowhard, that’s all I’m saying ) And I ain’t a 2 pot screamer! ( A pot is a type of glass here; again a term from the East. A 2 pot screamer is someone who can not hold his or her drink.) As you know. (I do know this. There is an Encyclopedia range written about our drinking. Neither of us are 2 pot screamers.)

To which, Bazza Brown returns, high on life as holiday’s have begun for her and says (For the most part, further explanation isn’t required here):

Firstly let me apologise to Brad, It was all very tongue in cheek.I had just got home from work and was in an elated state as I was officially on holidays ( see. I told you. ), and couldn’t help myself! and now for other explanations…….”hangin on the hill” is that space at every cricket oval where the yobbos go, oops sorry where the beer swilling- screaming obscenities-drunks decide they will watch the match, because they can’t afford the cost of a seated ticket and being as the area is raised(hence the hill) they get a better view. (This is true. Around every cricket oval is an expanse of raised grass. You sit in the elements and watch cricket which sounds to me like torture but many people seem to enjoy it. ) Sorry Brad.
Now as for you Nigel, I guess I have to give you latitude due to your Albion heritage but skiting, you don’t know what a skite is???? (See. Now I am being lambasted in my own blog.) Its someone who tells you how good they are. FIGJAM is an acronym Fuck I’m Good Just Ask Me (There you go. Answer solved on my G rated blog You didn’t need to wait long, did you? Bless her.) Seppo is a very shortened term of endearment for an American i.e Seppo- Septic Tank-Yank. Not the full quid means (as my mother would say) affected or slightly less than” normal”. The football I was referring to was Rugby League (Rugby league – a much better game than AFL. The players have magnificent thighs and bums), NOT aerial pingpong, remember I AM an east coast gal. JW dont be threatening us with a visit down under if you don’t mean it , that’s just plain mean!! Nigel will tell you how well I can swoon at certain males (This is not true. She giggles like a schoolgirl),and even without hearing you talk,  would love to buy you a drink…Its my shout mate x (I will buy you the first round of drinks. See the encyclopedia above)

Then some more banter from Mr Wesley

KB, thank you my dear for setting Mr. Vanstone straight. I knew I had heard those terms. He was being a bloody bunyap (he actually means bunyip. The word is stupid so the spelling is forgiven. A bunyip is a large mythical creature from Aboriginal mythology. It is claimed they live in waterholes) that been watching the bush telly (shortened from the Bush Telegraph. Gossip, spread like wildfire through rural communities) too long. And you are on for that drink. I am quite partial to Hendrick’s Martini’s w/ a twist of lime….olives take up too much room where gin could be! And whisper vermouth over the top like a prayer! (All of this is true. We LOVE martinis. I am partial to olives though. The concept of it taking up too much room is silly unless you fill to the brim. Not saying a word)

Finally, Nick Off Stratford comes in, with her twopennuth:

All the drinks being promised are likely to make someone bang like a dunny door (bathroom door) in the wind (lose control), which will be seriously off like a bucket of prawns in the sun. (something that would be extremely unpleasant)

Phew!

Fantastically yesterday’s post was the best day ever on this blog. I have either hit a nerve or you are all maize, he said, whistling at the sky.

Bugger me dead. I was rapt. This blog was bang on. Normally we have to yarn about Wesley turning me into a hammerhead to get that big a mob.

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Well my intended post again takes a back seat as I need to decipher Ms Brown’s comments to poor unsuspecting Brad following yesterday’s posting.

Brad very reasonably asks :

Are there any Australia Day traditions? Do people eat turkey? Do they light fireworks? Do they have picnics? Are there Australia Day sales at the local car dealerships?

and Kerrie (Just Call Me Bazza) Brown came back with the most superb volley of Australian colloquialisms that even I struggled  to understand some of what she was saying. So here, for Brad and all the rest of you struggling with what Ms Brown said is Bazza Brown’s comment and translation in italics. (Also, forgive me for interpreting everything. I do not assume any person reading this is stupid if I interpret something blatantly obvious)

Hmmmm. I don’t know you Brad, but I need to tell you what Oz day (Australia Day)  is about……… Football (Australian Rules Football (AFL), the only game and topic of conversation in the winter months. A national pastime. It’s players become legends, even more so if they are cretinous. The game bores me), meat pies ( The food to eat while watching the football – tender bits of the worst part of a cow in gravy and wrapped in a pastry case – They are actually really nice) , Kangaroos (You should know)  and Holden cars (You should also know but, in case you don’t. Australia has a massive love affair with Holdens, a type of automobile. Basically they ruled Australia until the mid 80s. They write love songs and sonnets about their Holden Cars.)

. Now I am guessing that’s not going to mean a darn thing nor will these other great Oz traditions …..cricket (The game of gentlemen. Very popular in England, West Indies, Pakistan, India… Fills the void when football is off-season. Again, leaves me cold), and kickin back (relaxing) with a slab of stubbies (A carton of 24 beer cans, usually drunk until you pass out or go buy another)  to watch it on Oz day, or hanging on the hill (I am not sure to be honest. Must be an Eastern expression. I am assuming it is similar to hanging out, where you sit around and do nothing)  if you’re not workin.

Listenin to chisel (Cold Chisel – famous and very good rock band that I think you may know. Started in Elizabeth which is a suburb ten minutes from me. Most famous songs: Khe Sanh; Forever Now; Cheap Wine and a Three Day Growth, When The War is Over.)  at full bore  (the highest volume)in the Commodore (A brand of Holden Car and the object of love poetry) and singin your lungs out (singing heartily and, more often than not,whilst intoxicated), crankin up the barbie (cooking on the BBQ) in the arvo (afternoon) and burnin some bangers (Cooking sausages on the BBQ though Bazza is not wrong about burning them. Australian BBQs were notorious for overcooking food. Ain’t done till it’s black.), and finally watchin the castle  (The Castle – Famous Australian film about a man asked to move from his home as the government wanted to extend the airport. It resonated with Australians who love an underdog and even more so when the underdog defeats the mean oppressors. “Tell them they’re dreaming” has become an Australian colloquialism as a result of this film, such is its influence) with the missus (the wife) later in the night.

If you want to be something special you will need to change your name to Bruce, Brad (Ignore her. Very few people here are called Bruce despite what Monty Python will have you believe. Plus I think Braddums is a better nickname for  you 😉 ) just doesn’t cut the mustard (You probably know this but just in case; doesn’t come up to expectations) mate ( I am sure you know that one). Yeah we have fireworks, picnics and some scummy (unscrupulous, not to be trusted) car dealerships will try and cash in (make money out of) on the day with a sale or six, but no bloody( In this case meaning emphasis, not undercooked) turkey mate! The only turkey would be the guy who tried to serve it up(or Nigel who Lurrrrvvvveeesss turkey! (I eat turkey any day, gladly.)Now are you any wiser??? Happy Oz day mate x

Isn’t she precious?! That wasn’t at all time-consuming, he says, at 3 in the am.  Hopefully that was informative and/ or amusing. See, poor Braddums will never ask a question again….

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