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There’s something reassuring in seeing boot arrive around 6:30pm Pacific Standard Time and knowing that it is morning there, Australia has taken over and I can retire to my cups for the night knowing someone’s keeping a watchful eye on Keith’s watchful bird.
’Tis the season to wear bathers Fa la la la la, la la la la, Mum said we’ll go swimming at hers, Fa la la la la, la la la la, Now we don our beach apparel, Fa la la, la la la, la la la, Check the waves for a good barrel, Fa la la la la, la la la la!
He snuck around the house, drinking the beer (thank goodness these Australians knew not to leave out milk), nibbing on the biscuits and putting things under the tree, while outside the lads grazed happily on the carrots and guzzled the water in this damnably hot stopover.
Iced vo-vos, ginger kisses, venetians, tic-tocs, monte carlos, tim tams, hundreds and thousands, ginger nuts, soggy milk coffees, fruit rolls, ANZAC biscuits, and the now lost bush biscuit (two sandwiched together with vegemite and butter in the middle).
I wonder at what temperature the human brain actually does boil and completely stop working?
Looking at the bits of brain all over the kitchen walls, she wondered how many minutes left until she too, er… whuh… (SPLAT!)
Mate, I was fully maggoted last night!
Crikey, when I saw that huntsman it right gave me the collywobbles!
You know you’ve been looking at Australian language stuff for too long when you find yourself trying to construct a sentence that uses the phrases follow-me-home boots, fruit cup, and piece of piss in a meaningful and comprehensible way.
“Still loving the Australians now that you’ve found out they’re completely insane?”
The little girl sat on the scorched lawn, in front of the red verandah, with the garden sprinkler tik-tik-tiking away, when suddenly the wind changed direction and she looked up into the horizon to see the wind roar across the plains towards her; it smelt of abattoirs and salt, and it felt as though it would flay the skin from her tiny body.
I used to have a human for a manager and he treated me like people do, he was real, he was Australian and he was from the land; now he has gone and I have a textbook for a manager and she engages me as a stakeholder would, she is plastic, she is American, she is from the Ivory Tower and I, I am lost.
It’s been yonks since I’ve done that.
australia is a big country and IT wasn’t anywhere near you guys, right?
Taking things for granted is all too easy, and having grown up in a place where I’ve seen the beautiful giant that is the Red Kangaroo and many other amazing mammals, I just wanted to state categorically that I’m grateful to have witnessed, experienced and even occasionally touched such beauty.
Nothing to say really, just felt the need to go “bonza, mate”.
You will harass Australians into baking biscuits.
Looking at the pictures, I can hear the sound of the waves, the taste of the salty air, the wind on my cheeks - the warmth of the sun - the smell and taste of the past, delicious.
I was decorating the Christmas tree the other day, bemused, as always, by the large number of snow related items I have, and the very next day I happened upon a book featuring the song Six White Boomers - a much more Australian Christmas.
with sincere and profuse apologies to irving berlin I’m dreaming of a burnt Christmas, just like the ones we always cheer, where the beach crowds mingle, and get Kris Kringles, while Santa downs another beer.
I note the 500 word competition with some regret, as it comes to my attention on a day when the most official course of action available to me could be summed up thusly; “can’t be stuffed”.
The little lurt was confused when his arms fell off, but not all that bothered.
‘mouse idly wondered how anything ever got built in Australia without 2x4’s.
“Go ahead, enjoy your late-autumn harvest festival,” snickered the Australian, eating a handful of fresh cherries.
Bugger the snow and open fireplaces, give me a barbie, some beer, a trip to the beach, and Six White Boomers.
Yesterday was Australia Day and while the notion did occur to me to write something cutting and witty about it, in the end, in true Ocker fashion, I thought “nah, I can’t be stuffed”.
Between the water in their toilets flushing counter-clockwise, the apparent epic-level potency of their weed, and the wiliness of their most senior of citizens, why has Australia not yet conquered the world?
They do, but it’s July fifth over there.
Every time Henry sat down at the head of the long conference table with his associates who had flown in from Australia, he couldn’t help but think of that one picture his son had shown him years ago now, leading his business partners to believe that they were more entertaining then they actually were.
In 1910, Australian Minister of Home Affairs, King O’Malley, shepherded new prohibition laws through parliament after a harrowing encounter he’d had with some rather unruly kittens whom he’d caught lapping up whiskey in the alley behind his house.
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