Australian Humour

Australians are renowned for a wry sense of humour. If there is something we do well down under, it is to poke fun at each other in a friendly ironic kind of way. This is not to offend, but merely to spread around a little joy and to lighten the mood. A laugh can be a wonderful health booster.

It’s been a tradition here at Something to Ponder About to publish a tongue-in-cheek Australiana post, in typical Australian fashion, in a nod to Australia Day, which is presently celebrated on January 26th, (the date of which becomes more and more controversial every year).

Then he asked, ‘So what is Australia like?’

Over the years, foreigners and overseas friends have referred to me as an “ARSE-TRAIL-LIAN.” Not because I have been rude or obnoxious, it is just their pronunciation or accent. Which is kind of funny in an ironic way – as we do live ‘down-under’ -the ‘arse’ end of the world!

Given that our homeland is affectionately called ‘Straya’ – we should perhaps be called ‘A-stray-ans’ more and ‘Arse-trailians’ less.

Who are Australians Anyway?

You don’t have to go back far to find Australians are immigrants. Even the indigenous people traveled here by sea or land bridges some 80,000 years ago.

Our nations embraces Indigenous, Asian, British, South African, Greek or Italian and many other heritages, besides that lot that jumped ship from across the ditch (aka New Zealand).

We do regard New Zealand as our sibling country. We poke reciprocal fun at Kiwis and they at us Aussies, most of all. We fight about which nation claims the Pavlovas, Lamingtons and Russell Crowe, as their own. Neither side takes offence. It is just that friendly banter style of communication we have with our closest neighbours across the ditch – in that ironic kind of way.

Goodness, even our constitution listed New Zealand as a ‘state of Australia’, but the Kiwis didn’t agree and opted out. Good on them, I say.

Questions and Answers for Those New to Australia

For those who don’t know us, here’s a Q & A to get you acquainted.

Q: What is Australia like?

A: A more or less egalitarian country fringed by spectacular beaches, with a whole lot of red desert in the middle.

Q. Is Australia a country, a continent, or an island?

A: It is all three.

Q: What is the weather like?

A: In most of the country, there are only two seasons – warm and too darn hot.

Q: How hot does it get?

A: Summer in Australia lasts for five months with temperatures reaching 38- 42 degrees celsius. Australians cool off at the beach in summer and get horribly sunburnt. Sunscreen is an absolute must and unless you are super-diligent about applying it, you will get sunburnt. Twenty years after a bad sunburn experience, we become wrinkle-ly and Doctors excise skin cancers from our nose and face. Shit happens.

Q: What is the most important thing to have with you, when visiting Australia?

A: Water. It is crucial. Drink at least 3 litres a day. Don’t leave home without it, or you could die – of heatstroke.

Q: What language do Australians speak?

A: We speak English and add lots of slang. We pronounce Melbourne as Mel-bin, Brisbane as Bris-bin, Sydney as Sydney and Australia as Oz. Most Aussies think we have the best country in the world, but that is debatable – but only by the other countries.

NB. Do not attempt to use Australian slang unless you have lived for several years. It won’t end well. Trust me on that. Read more on the Aussie Slanguage here.

Q: Are Australians good at swimming?

A: Yes, yes and yes. We need some way to escape the crocodiles! Every Australia learns to swim before they can crawl. Almost.

Q: Can Australia kill you?

A: Between spiders, killer sharks, deadly stingers, crocodiles in the fresh and the saltwater plus the most venomous snakes in the world, Australia can kill you. It just doesn’t happen all that often. 

Take cattle farmer Colin Deveraux’ – he even fended off an attack from a 3.2 metre crocodile by biting it back – on its eyelid! No longer Crocodile Dundee – it’s now Crocodile Deveraux!

Q: Are Australians friendly to foreigners?

A: Yes, Aussies are always willing to say g’day and help out a stranger in ‘strife,’ as long as you don’t tell them what to do. We have a bit of a ‘class’ chip on our shoulder, stemming from colonial days.

Q: Do Kangaroos hop down the middle of Australian streets?

A: Yes, sometimes. It depends on which street and the weather.

Q. Do Australian hamburgers contain beetroot?

A: Who eats a burger without beetroot? Come on! It’s essential – period.

Q: Are Australians weird?

A: We call a WeedWacker, a ‘Whipper-Snipper’, and a traffic cone is a Witch’s hat. Is that weird? It’s your call.

Oh, but what is weird is our love of constructing exaggerated sized and typically tacky tourist attractions. For reasons yet undetermined. Examples include- The Big Pineapple, The Big Banana and The Big Prawn – all iconic landmarks. [Nuff said.]

So on January 26, chuck a sanga on the barbie for Straya day, mate!

Happy January 26th, Australia.

How Christmas Shopping is Changing

While Scandinavia observes the time-honoured rituals and traditions of Advent and selecting a live fir tree, Australian shoppers prepare for their Christmas experience by visiting Westfield shopping centres and erecting plastic Christmas trees.

Perhaps you call them malls or something else, but these concrete Westfield centres pay homage to Western greed and indulgence. They are places where every possible gift or want could be exchanged for money. But visiting these venues at Christmas is not just about purchasing gifts, it is also an endurance experience.

It is cut-throat and dog-eat-dog – believe me.

For instance, it is not uncommon to experience a minor verbal brawl over the last free car parking space at Westfield at Christmastime.

Once the Christmas shopping is complete, arms laden with bags brimming with gifts, Aussie consumers dodge and weave the line-up of vehicles circumnavigating the Westfield car parks, like participants in the old video game: ‘frogger.’

Woe betide any shopper arriving late to the shopping party (i.e. after 10 in the morning) as this automatically marshals you into a ‘hunt.’ To snag a spare car park after 10 am at Westfield is like winning the lottery. Any human carrying shopping bags in the car park precinct is stalked and followed in the desperate hope the ‘prey’ will vacate their car park and not just offload their gift cache and return to the shops for a second ‘run’ through the Christmas crowds.

Every man must fend for himself in this retail frenzy.

Thinking Outside the Box

I know of one homeowner who capitalised on Xmas, finding a silver lining in the chaos. Compensating for the proximity of his home to a Westfield shopping centre, he made a small fortune in tax-free cash, renting out his yard as an impromptu car park to desperate shoppers in the days leading up to and after Xmas.

Good on him. There has to be some compensation for tolerating the bastion of consumerism at your back door.

However, Westfield’s days seem to be limited – the pandemic has changed the consumer landscape forever.

Shopping online, or choosing to ‘click and collect’, saves most consumers time and stress. Modern youth embraces it – despite issues with delivery (tell me about it) and the fact that buying online produces more fossil fuels in transport and the manufacture of the necessary plastic packaging. This includes black plastic packaging, which can’t be recycled at all due to carbon black pigments.

So, I ask: what is the future for the behemoths of consumerism and the acres of asphalt that constitute the car parks?

Will the ‘Christmas Shopping phenomenon, the ruthless haggling over car park spots, and the bustling Westfield Xmas chaos relegate the concrete monoliths to a slow decay, unwanted and unable to adapt?

Is there still a place for the in-store shopping experience?

What do you think?

A Country Life and Weird Family Traditions in Australia

The M.o.t.h. (Man of the house) was part of a big family and extended family. As was his father, who had nine siblings, all of whom were raised on a large dairy farm in a rich, agricultural valley in country Queensland, the so-called Sunshine State.

Both households were a sea of children, tiny legs scurrying about the house and lots of conversation and activity. By contrast, my home life was pin-drop quiet. I had one other sibling and little extended family as did another of my hubby’s in-laws.

Initially, the two of us found marrying into this big family atmosphere daunting, (we confused names for the first few months), but quickly became accustomed to Sunday night dinner with 35+ people and countless grandchildren and the dishes and dishes of food.

Morning tea was always an art form in that family.

Even more so, a generation back at the M.o.t.h.’s Grandparent’s house where the entire extended family would gather once a month, on a Sunday. Even today, an old Aunt says if you are going to have morning tea, it has to be a [family name] styled morning tea.

A Country Morning Tea Worth its Weight in Cream and Butter

A morning tea at the Grandparent’s house consisted of featherweight sponge cakes with lashings of freshly whipped cream, straight from the dairy, endless batches of scones with jam, served hot from the oven, biscuits (read: cookies), and pots and pots of tea in china cups, not mugs. The sound of tinkling spoons bounced off the walls amidst the conversational prattle of brothers and sisters catching up on gossip.

[I have written about the famous scones and that cook once before – recipe included]

One of their adult daughters had married another farmer who grew watermelons on his farm. Thus, the pack of grandkids would sit on the stairs, eating freshly picked watermelons and spitting the pips out onto the ground. No doubt there was a competition to see who could spit the pips the farthest.

There was always plenty to do at the farm, plenty to eat and no shortage of kids to play with, according to the M.o.t.h.

An old Aunt recalls one of the farm horses fondly. The horse was more human than horse. – so much loved by the kids and considered part of the family.

The old horse, let’s call him Tom because his name escapes me. Tom would participate in the morning tea rituals too. He’d invite himself up on the verandah of the old house and join in with some morning tea treat through the open door. For him to reach the verandah entailed negotiating a flight of stairs! No mean feat for a horse. But what would I know, I was only a “townie.” We had no horses.

My husband’s Grandmother – an extremely capable but rather stout woman of Prussian origins had raised ten children of her own and breastfed them all whilst running a large dairy farm.

She easily managed a Roast chicken lunch for 50 or so folks, an hour or two after morning tea. The eldest son – who had never married, had the job of killing four or five chooks and plucking them, ready for roasting. Vegetables were served along with cauliflower submerged in a bath of bacon and cream sauce. Dessert featured more artery-blocking dishes of cream and butter. It was hearty food.

The morning tea and lunches had long ended, when I arrived on the scene, as both Grandparents had passed on by then. I envied my husband’s tales of these cholesterol-filled extended family feastings with their convivial, country atmosphere. Horses on the verandah and cows in the pasture. Idyllic when compared to Sunday afternoon with my widowed Grandmother and one sibling who annoyingly refused invitations to play.

But,

I have it on good authority that there was one ritual this large country family followed that was at odds with the wholesome country values they seemingly represented. One that I thankfully avoided.

And that came to pass only after lunch was over.

Once the dishes were done, (of course), the T.V. was turned to the World Championship Wrestling. Skull Murphy was a favourite competitor.

My sister-in-law informs me no child would dare speak a single word during the wrestling show. If any child did speak, they were brusquely ushered outside to play. Staying meant you were required to watch the show in reverent silence. Skull Murphy was their absolute favourite.

Even as a young fella, my M.o.t.h. could understand that much of the wrestling program was entertainment and certain scenes were staged. But try as anyone might the old grandparents refused to believe the show wasn’t 100% genuine.

To suggest otherwise was sacrilegious.

Granted, Sunday matinée television viewing in country Australia in the late ’60s and 70s was probably limited to one station with no other choice of program, in any case. But I still can’t come to terms with the juxtaposition of wrestling with mild-mannered, hearty and gentle, country folk.

What were visits to your Grandparents’ like?

Did they have a regular family observance or tradition?

Happy Australia Invasion Day

Some cheeky Australian humour for you . Like the wrestling – it is not all true, (some is), but here to entertain:

Handy Contacts and Kitchen Conversions for the New Year

A fridge magnet with handy reference numbers appeared on my fridge recently.

I wasn’t miffed. It sure is handy to have helpline phone numbers handy. Especially in an emergency.

No one wants to be rifling through drawers of miscellaneous paperwork where a child has swallowed something awful.

And I have to admit that occasionally, I need to reference the Council number to report an overflowing public bin or other public nuisance matter. But well, there’s the internet for that.

The kitchen conversions listed on the magnet are actually very handy.

I just need to remember to look at the fridge door, rather than my ready reckoner on the back page of my well-used Women’s Weekly cookbook, which I have been consulting for 45 years. A hard habit to break in one’s older years.

But,

I seriously question the need to have the phone number for Defence Force recruiting at my fingertips.

Okay!

I think a little and ponder: In what possible scenario could knowing the number of the defence force recruitment team even be necessary?

Perhaps whilst cooking my morning eggs or sipping a cuppa, I need to grab the phone, and dial the recruiting office to have a chat about enlisting in the defence forces? How would I apply? Was I too old?

Photo by Tyler Lastovich on Pexels.com

No member of my household will claim responsibility for the appearance of the fridge magnet so its source remains a mystery. On closer inspection, I spotted a clue.

There was a federal Government logo in the top right corner and a severed balding head at the bottom left.

On consideration, it’s a bit creepy and a tad unprofessional.

Did the graphic design department stuff up?

Was it a misfire with the office guillotine?

So many questions!

After examining the fridge magnet closely, I suspect it was complimentary – from a local federal politician doing a bit of advertising.

I believe he is losing hair.

New Year Greetings for 2023

Where ever you find yourself this New Year’s Eve, I wish you a Happy New Year. May 2023 be a year of peace, friendship, altruism and thoughtfulness.

Here are some alternate ways to say it:

Godt Nyttår – Norwegian

Szczęśliwego nowego roku – Polish

Frohes Neues Jahr – German

नयाँ बर्षको शुभकामना or Nayām̐ barṣakō śubhakāmanā – Nepali

Buon anno – Italian

Hyvää uutta vuotta – Finnish

สวัสดีปีใหม่ or S̄wạs̄dī pī h̄ım̀ – Thai

Selamat tahun Baru – Malay

Head uut aastat – Estonian

щасливого Нового року or Shchaslyvoho Novoho roku – Ukrainian

明けましておめでとうございますor Akemashiteomedetōgozaimasu – Japanese

नए साल की शुभकामनाएँ or Nae saal kee shubhakaamanaen – Hindi

Christmas Snowman Humour

Lettuce all have a good laugh. Corny humour! Credit: facebook meme

Why You Shouldn’t Believe in Halloween

Following on from my recent Ghost Story, I didn’t grow up with the Halloween tradition and as such, I don’t feel the intense need to place a ‘ZOMBIE CROSSING,’ sign and plaster it in my front garden on October 31 each year.

Nor do I relish having an imprint of a hand on my door/window/car in red paint, simulating blood. And I definitely don’t walk around with a fake plastic axe emerging from each ear in the workplace. In fact, to my way of thinking many aspects of the Halloween festival, are just bizarre. Where did the obsession with the un-dead start?

How Did Zombies Originate?

Familiar search engines suggested Zombies were based in African folklore as a “spirit that is supposed to wander the earth to torment the living” – i.e. this explanation sounds a bit like what we might consider a ghost or paranormal occurrence here.

The Haitian tradition of Voodoo, involved Zombie beings reanimated through magic, but it was actually pop culture and various Hollywood horror movies of the 90 s, such as George A. Romero‘s film Night of the Living Dead (1968) that really cemented Zombies into our vernacular.

Btw, the M.o.t.h. (Man of the House), does loves a Zombie movie.

He watches them late at night, well after I have gone to bed. If I happen to wake, I know when he is watching a Zombie movie as I hear a familiar low growl-type tortured scream of the incensed Zombie mob hungry for a feed of living flesh, permeating the walls of the bedroom. So much for romance! I usually roll over and yawn. Zombie movie plots are so vastly similar and too far debased for my television tastes that I don’t see any appeal in them at all.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Why Celebrate Halloween?

I do wonder why we teach young kids stranger danger, especially strangers bearing sweets or gifts, yet openly encourage them to wander the neighbourhood at night on Halloween, accepting lollies and god knows what else from a person completely unknown to them? Decorations entice them to enter the yard and walk up to a strangers’ door and ask for treats! Incredible.

Worse still, kids may choose to step inside a garage/house which has been decorated in a ‘ghost train’ or graveyard experience-styled theme. Wonderful!

To say nothing of the incentive Halloween gives to consumers to purchase all kinds of plastic rubbish that end up in a landfill. It really is, on the face of it, you know, a bit crae-crae.

So there will be no Halloween celebrated here at the Home by the Sea. Apologies in advance to those who love to celebrate the tradition. As you’ve guessed, I am not one of them.

My light will be off, as that seems to be what needs to be done to dissuade the young ones’ and the Zombies lollie lust. Some will no doubt think our house is fair game, especially if it is still daylight when the Halloween hoards roam the streets, hungry for their fix of sugary treats.

While I am putting the boot into this tradition, can I mention how the ‘Trick’ objective of ‘Trick or Treat’ seems to have gone out the window in favour of just getting that Treat and moving on! Nothing like time management, I guess. Kids around here head straight to the goalposts – they expect a treat and aim to collect as many as possible. Forget about performing for any sweet offerings. No messing around with water pistols or the demands of any ultimatum to the householders.

I once had to offer a biscuit/cookie to a pair of children who fronted up at my door. This was around fifteen years ago when the tradition hadn’t completely taken off yet. I was embarrassed that I had been caught out unprepared. I didn’t always have treats in the house.

I offered the kids a Chocolate Tim-Tam, which they quickly snavelled before moving on to the next house.

Why I don’t believe In Halloween

• I didn’t grow up with this tradition. It came into vogue early in the noughties, in my location.
• It sends mixed messages to kids
• It is heavily commercialised (as is Xmas and Easter)
• It produces voluminous useless plastic trash that ends in landfill or worse still, the ocean
• Making yourself look like you are dead or a bag of bones is just a tad weird.

But like always, I do try to see a silver lining. So on the plus side, Halloween:

• enhances community
• is an excuse to get to know your neighbours better if they are not hidden beneath a Sasquatch onesie splattered in red paint
• means you probably don’t need to cook the kids any dinner that night
• is something children love
• means kids get frightened in a ‘safe,’ way which may help young children process intense emotions (although I am bit conflicted on this)

Any more reasons- both for and against Halloween?

Which Aussie Workmate Name Are You and Brilliant Baby Hack?

Australian men are known for it. They’ve turned it into an art form.

If your name is Robert, I’ll apologise now, because you’ll never ever be called Robert, when you set foot in Australia.

I am serious.

You may be called, Rob, Robbo, Bob, Bobby, Bert, or worse. But not Robert.

If your name is Harrison or Edward, you can kiss goodbye to hearing that name too. You’ll be Harry, Hazza and Eddie, Ed, Ted, The Tedstar, Teddy, Wardy or worse.

N.B. If your name is long, Australians will shorten it, if your name is already short like Todd, you can bet your life, Aussies will lengthen it to Toddie, Toddster or something that rhymes with Todd.

I once worked with a guy who was named Brendan, but his mates called him, “Slug.” My enquiries as to why he was named after a shell-less terrestrial gastropod, were left unanswered.

Tradesmen and workers on construction sites are rarely addressed by their birth name. Instead, industry gets creative. Especially in Australia. Often derogatory, a nickname should be taken as a sign of acceptance and friendship, and isn’t intended to be offensive.

Generally, however, nicknames are a sign of affection and mocking humour in Australia. A bit like a caricature. Designed to instigate a chuckle or two. Although I have wondered if the names might serve a dual purpose? A covert way of referring to the boss or colleagues on the work site?

Warning: Politically Incorrect Humour following. It is all in fun, cos, well, we all need a laugh these days.

Nicknames for Workmates in Australia

Example Australian Nicknames:

• Perth – he’s always 3 hours behind everyone else
• Noodles – thinks all jobs take 2 minutes
• Wheelbarrow – only works when pushed
• Cordless – charges all night but only works for 2 hours
• 2-Stroke (lawn mower) – hard to start and always smoking
• Deck Chair – folds under pressure
• G – Spot – you can never find him
• Sensor Light – only works when someone walks past
• Blister – appears when the hard work is done
• Show bag – full of shit
• Pothole – always in the road
• Olympic torch – never goes out
• Dentist – always filling in for others
• 10 mm Socket – can never be found when you need him
• Wicket Keeper – puts on the gloves, then stands back
• Limo – carries 8 other people
• Kinder Surprise – melts in the heat
• Stingrays – stand around with hands on hips (aka safety officers)

I have worked with a few Olympic torches, one or two Blisters and definitely a Limo.

We have probably all worked with a few show bags from time to time!

The guy in the photo might even be in danger of being nicknamed, ‘Call Centre’ – always on the phone!

Do you recognise any of your work colleagues on the list?

Funny Way to Keep Baby Asleep

Entirely unrelated but just had to share this reel I came across on Insta.

I so needed this 31 years ago!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mum Central (@mumcentral)

Keep Smiling!

Are You Ready Yet? How We Shop

“Are you ready yet?”

My other half, aka the ‘Moth,’ called out – anxious to leave for another shopping expedition. Meanwhile, I tapped away on the keyboard writing yet another blog post.

“I won’t be long,” I distractedly shouted back down the hall.

But time then slowed for me; I was engrossed in getting my thoughts down from the jumble of words that regularly spin about in my head.

I dislike shopping for food or groceries as it is such a mind-numbingly, repetitive, ‘rinse-repeat-rinse,’ kind of task that my other half likes to do, almost weekly. For him, it’s like a contemporary equivalent of an old religious ritual. And each time we do it, I have to grit my teeth.

Before the move to the Home by the Sea, the prelude to a shopping trip would be a visit to a delightful Italian cafe or Pasticceria and, in this way, I’d come to believe shopping could be enjoyable especially when it comes with a cup of hot chocolate as well!

The Pasticceria Cafe was run by an Italian man from Venice, with a rich and deep baritone voice, named Aladdino, who made the very best Italian hot chocolate! If you imagine a cup of blancmange-like, soupy thick, steaming dark chocolate milk, that you almost have to spoon into your mouth, you’d have the general idea.

Aladdino could often be quite intimidating, or so I found one day when I reminded him I liked the hot chocolate made really thick and soupy.

“You Australians,” he bellowed at me in a tone that would impress Pavarotti. “It’s not a pudding, you know!“

“It is a pudding for me,” I quip back. And my bribery comfort food, I think to myself; as it is some consolation for the ‘battle’ ahead.

Grocery shopping can be a suburban battlefield.

The stainless steel shopping trolleys are our ‘cavalry steeds’ and the supermarket aisles, a place where a cavalry-style charge might occur, if only during a red light special!

Not me, or the MotH! But a photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Each week, I notice the faces of shoppers at the supermarket. Stereotypes are always well represented.

There’s the elderly gentleman trying in vain to find Bi-Carb Soda, the fatigued mothers with crying babies insitu or children wanting popcorn, the bogan with a shirt-busting beer gut in a rush to get to the pub, the well-heeled Hampton fan searching for gourmet cheese and others who try to emulate TV reality show Chefs in an effort to tantalize their family’s tastebuds, while still balancing the budget.

The battlefield is exhausting!

The Rise of Generic and Convenience Food

Food prices continue to spiral upwards, coercing us to buy more of the less expensive generically branded items. Many seem to be quality degraded items from dubious overseas manufacturers, where one imagines working conditions to be almost medieval. I am lucky enough to pass them by if I can. The appearance of more and more convenience/ready-made meals is also worrisome.

Convenience food options seem to multiply each week taking up more and more shelf space.

I nearly lost the plot and caused a public scene last month, when I found they were selling shredded iceberg lettuce and grated carrot, in a bag!

So, now the working family has no time at all to grate a carrot, or perhaps the problem is they don’t own a grater? Will children grow up not knowing how to grate a carrot for a humble salad sandwich?

This leads my runaway mind to think of a future where only the elderly remember what a virgin vegetable actually looks like prior to peeling, slicing, dicing and wrapped in plastic bags lined with preservatives!

But we all have to eat, or face a riot on the home front, particularly if there are any remaining adolescent children lurking in the bedrooms!

“How much longer are you going to be?”

The disembodied voice filters down the hallway suddenly dragging me back to reality. It has happened again:  I have become engrossed in another blog post.

Has your supermarket changed?

Do you enjoy convenience food options?