Sun, Shane, and Shameful similarities

I have a gift. Well, its not really a gift. Actually its not a gift by the stretch of anyone's imagination. Its more of a weird hobby. Anyway, enough beating about the bush... are you ready for this...? I quite often see people as animals. Yeah, anticlimactic, I know.  I hasten to add that I don't routinely see giraffes walking down the street or anything - apart from that one time I was convinced I was being followed by an Alsatian. But we don't talk about that...

And its not everyone. But certain people have very distinct characteristics that identify them with certain animals. Like my favourite example: Dustin Hoffman and a Koala.

See...?

Generally I keep these observations quiet. While they are by no means meant to be offensive, when I once told a school friend that he definitely looked like some kind of lizard, it didn't go down well. My Mum did at least agree with me when I shared this with her later.

Personally I don't see myself as having a very distinct similarity to any one species (well, apart from human, I hope!). A lecturer at university once told me I bore a disturbing resemblance to a squirrel monkey. Which I would have ignored if the lecturer in question hadn't been one of the world's leading primatologists. 

More recently I have been compared, very unkindly I feel, to a cockatoo. White face, yellow hair, screeching voice. Grrr. When looking into jobs in the mining industry (where else can one make money in Australia?) the same 'friend' pointed out that I could easily get a job... as the canary.

At this point I will go on a slight tangent. When people think of Brits abroad they think of loud voices, drunken behaviour... and lobster red sun burn. Now I am not a sun worshipper as such. Unlike many of my fellow countrymen I get bored and would rather be doing something with the day (unless I can sleep in the sun, I never pass up the chance to sleep - thats my inner sloth talking). The pursuit of a tan is not my number one goal. As a pale skinned person with an abundance of freckles, I'm never going to achieve the colour of a digestive biscuit. Only the crumbly texture. But I do enjoy the odd hour 'catchin some rays' while reading a good book and enjoying an ice cold DC. Today I finished off the new Shane Warne biography (ok, fine - yellow hair, slightly overweight, bit dumb, the similarities have again been pointed out before). Living in a hot country has inevitable had some effect on my colouring - I recently found some pigmentation on my thigh and back - they look like tea stains. Really no big deal. But on returning inside and looking in the mirror I was aghast. For now I have a large brown stripe running down the bridge of my nose. Not unlike a kind of reverse blaze, such as would be found on a horse. So from monkey to cockatoo to canary, now, it would seem, I resemble nothing more than a splodgey palomino pony. Bugger.

Signs, sniggering and speedos

This week I have been revelling in road side signs. And shop signs. And any kind of sign really.

In England, a sign is generally just a thing you look at for information. Here, its a place to display the creativity that everyone obviously has oozing out of their pores and cannot find a normal creative outlet for. To proudly plaster that most Australian of things 'the pun'.

There is a wide range to observe. Some may remember I previously mentioned the gorgeous freeway billboard proclaiming "PERFECT CONDITIONS!!!... for melanoma". Like what they did there. It raises the spirit, and then brings it crashing down. Recent highlights include the plumbers van that I passed on the way to work "We repair the problems your husband 'fixed'". Nice use of the inverted commas. Or the furniture shop on Parramatta road which boasts "butt ugly men making handsome furniture for beautiful people".

While some are truly terrible, making you cringe in the style of an Anne Hathaway film, "bedding and blankets... they're the sheet!" I have become rather fond of the distraction they bring to a normal bus ride. If only I could now stop sniggering out loud everytime I pass one. I don't seem to manage a bus ride without getting some kind of shushing or dodgy look from someone.


But its very hard to keep a poker face when asked where you are meeting this evening and having to shamefacedly whisper "Thai me up" down the phone, in the hope that those around you will realise you are talking about an Asian eatery, rather than planning a 50 shades moment. Or when your phone alerts you to a free wifi hotspot which you excitedly click on to only to discover its called "just fucking try it... I dare you". Or where men in speedos walk barefoot down a major street and no-one bats an eyelid. Ok, so that has nothing to do with signs. But it still constitutes a good morning distraction.

An advertisement of a different kind...

Rugby ridicule and some serious scanning

Today, my boss tried to kill me. Which rather suggests I haven't made the best impression at my new place of work.

Ok, so it wasn't intentional. Although, since coming to Australia, the number of incidents of unwitting shellfish consumption (since when has an allergy been an amusing toy for your friends to play with...?!?) have been so high that I'm beginning to think its a conspiracy.

The new job has not got off to a flying start. Today I scanned and cleaned sticky labels off the filing cabinets. The day before I scanned some more. As I sit there, watching the pages feed into the machine I cant help thinking how glad I am to be £25K in debt for a degree which has led me to this prestigious position. As the boss said, if I play my cards right, I might even one day be promoted to the dizzying heights of receptionist...!

But the pain is worth it if it means I can afford to play two up on Anzac day and go to see the Waratahs play the chiefs tonight. Maybe I'll finally get to grips with the difference between rugby league and rugby union! So far I have had the following explanations:

• League is a gentlemen's game played by thugs and union is a thugs game played by gentlemen.
• One has fat people pushing around in scrum and the other has people running very fast at each other and as hard as they can and taking horse tranquillisers.

Its hardly surprising I'm confused! However, it is essential I work this out to avoid the merciless bullying I get at work. Admittedly, its a sports management company, I should probably make an effort to be more knowledgeable.

But no, the new office is good really. Even if the rest of them turn up in matching clothes (today its pink shirts and jeans) and all apparently share the same birthday... Which makes me think I have probably stumbled into some kind of cult.

The hazards of horticulture

After roughly a week of seriously hideous weather (think shoes floating away down the street when merely trying to cross the raging torrent that used to be a road) the sun has finally broken through. So, with a free day in hand, I decided to spend it in the garden, luxuriating in the fact I had the whole place to myself. Grab a cool drink, catch some rays, read a good book. What could go wrong?

Firstly, the family next door decided to have a major domestic. The incredibly nasal and whiny twang of the daughter floated over the hedge. She was resolute - the word 'northwards' did not exist. Woe betide her poor parents who were clearly trying to do her prep for her.

When she eventually stomped off inside (which surely would have been a better place to have the row, rather than out in the open, disturbing the peace of innocent eavesdroppers...) I returned to my pleasant pastimes. Reaching for my drink I saw a small patch of grey under my chair. It was a dead mouse. Unmarked, but very dead. And ruining the otherwise immaculate lawn. How thoughtless of it. Picking it up by the tail I carried it to the flowerbed. Only to see another one! And then a few inches away another - barely alive and drenched by the morning downpour it was trying to move but failing. I felt torn - should I put it out of its misery? But then I remembered a horrible story about a friend who found a baby rabbit that he was so sure was injured, because it wasn't moving, and he should therefore kill it in the interests of being 'humane'. While discussing with his brother whether it was better to hit it with a hammer, or, for some inexplicable reason, whether to drive a nail into its head, the poor baby rabbit lolloped off. Evidently it was either napping, or riveted by the conversation of these two crazy Danes. Similarly, another friend had found a bird that was on its last legs. She opted to kill it by bouncing a basketball on it. But missed somewhat, so had to do it again. And again. All observed by another member of the family, I think, who then reported her to her parents for animal cruelty. Or something along those lines. So much for trying to do a good deed. So I left the poor mouse, wondering somewhat what silent killer was murdering all these rodents. Only one thing came to mind but I dismissed that as ridiculous. This might be Australia, land of the deadly, but torrential rain does not kill. Right?

Having noticed the mice I found myself unable to concentrate on my book. The dangers of Australian nature kept creeping into my psyche. Suddenly I became aware of constant rustling, each disturbed plant hiding a potential killer. Although all I could see were millions of tiny lizards romping in the sun and chasing a large cockroach, I became convinced that something of the snake or spider variety was sure to be watching me, waiting for my guard to drop. And then a massive piece of the palm tree above decided to fall on my head. I retreated inside. Clearly sitting in the garden is far too dangerous for an innocent Pom.