What's typically identified with Australia. Kangaroos? Sydney Opera house? Stefan Dennis? Well, all three I guess but for me the abiding memory will
be flies. Maybe it's just the time of year, the location (the wilderness of Western Australia), or my smell, but take one step out of the city and you have to constantly wave two branches either side of your head to
stop the things crawling into your eyeballs. Aaaarrrrghhhhh!!!! Anyway, it's a lovely place really. The people are exceptionally welcoming, the food is great (you can even roast your fresh road-kill steak on one of
the many convenient bush fires that have thoughtfully been started), and the warm waters of the lapping Indian ocean ease the pain of endless driving.
Speaking of road-kill, I was told a story the other day of some
German tourists who hit a kangaroo (believe me, they are everywhere. Kangaroos are as well) and decided to dress it up for a group picture by the roadside, complete with hat, jacket etc. The roo, however, wasn't dead
merely concussed. It came to, hopped up and bounded off into the bush still wearing the clothes, complete with the car keys in the jacket pocket. Marsupial justice I say.
I do feel old here. The vast majority of
people I've met travelling in Australia have only just escaped puberty. On the plus side it makes me feel wise and adventurous, on the minus side I usually have to take a nap in the afternoon and tend to dribble down my
chin, while the other people in the hostel play hop-scotch and throw things at the grumpy old man in the corner.
Sydney was beautiful (although Bondi reminded me of Littlehampton) but forgot to take a picture of the
Opera house which resembles the off-white head of Lisa Simpson. Melbourne is a cool place to hang out and does some top notch tucker. Perth is remote, comfortable and warm, but deathly dull and is merely a gateway to
the barking-hot west coast. Above all, Australia seems rather familiar. There are so many echoes of Britain that it feels like touring a long lost home county where the sun shines more than two weeks a year and the
people look a bit healthier. Kind of like a bigger version of Bournemouth, with road-trains.
I've even got used to the standard vocal inflection which renders every sentence a question, and I no longer curl my toes
when hearing Midnight Oil or Men at Work on the radio (again).
Unfortunately, it's also nearly time to leave. This was always going to be a brief holiday after the rigours of South America, and as a
result, it has flown by. Off to New Zealand next (and Chris beware, I'm sharpening my satire pencil).
