Australia Day Whoopee

So what does Australia day mean to me? Well for one thing the cricket starts a day later to cater to the long weekend. That’d be good but I’m sleeping fine anyway. Maybe I should set up a practise in NY to cater to Heath Ledger like folk, selling my patent drug free, cricket watch, sleep and relaxation techniques.

Some yank called Kernaghan has won Australian of the year. I’m not surprised, I’ve been thinking of asking Hugh if he still has that white suit and could I borrow it to do Tom Wolf impersonations to improve my chances. Alice, bless her soul, always nominates me but what about the rest of you? You know what they say, not in it can’t win it

Endless tennis ended when the Serbian mimic beat the French wild card but I can’t watch tennis, it’s too busy and impossible to sleep to. Ferries raced, Big Days were out and celebrated so. My backyard neighbours perpetuated their tradition of handing their house and backyard pool to the Canterbury Bulldogs who in turn perpetuated their tradition of turning in pre dawn by as small a margin as possible.

I celebrated the day with a sausage sizzle at Bunnings followed by take away spag-bol and a beer or two.

Lucky for me and you, this maudlin rant has been brought to a close by Reg Mombassa’s Herald front page and accompanying editorial on the barbecue. He eulogises the NZ mutton boil up and speculates about the potential of genetically modified turkey size blow fly as barbecue meat. Yummy. I’m sure you all agree that it’s nice to find kindred spirits and I understand Reg also shares my passion for telegraph poles.

Wait a bit it may turn maudlin again, here now at 5:58 PM the cricketers have all started hugging each other especially Gilly, with still a session to go. If the music wasn’t so loud I might hear and understand but oh no it’s one of those we haven’t got any more time, gott’a go now draws. The cops should try showing this stuff to rioting crowds in place of pepper spray. Calm them down quick smart I recon.

Hear is a little ditty I wrote for the occasion to be sung to the tune of Peter Allens, “I still call Australia home” and don’t worry I can almost guarantee it wont happen again.


I sit here at home just writing this blog,
Hoping that others might read it and log
A comment or two o that would be great
Hurry up now get started, it’s never too late.

I’ve been to Strathfield and found my way back,
I lived in Leichhardt in a three bedroom flat.
I’m always evicted wherever I roam,
There’s still no place I can call home.

I’ve waited with starlets in supermarket cues,
I’ve met Coreys and Corbys in crowded pub loos,
I call up Gilly but he’s never at home,
And I don’t think his mobiles on roam.

I don’t travel much, that’s easy to see
Up street to Enmore that’s enough for me
Over the bridge with Alice to lunch,
Is all I need of that northern bunch

I hope that next year to Tuscany will I go
And it’s to this end financial seeds I do sow,
Somewhere out there on a road back to Rome
I might find a place to call home.