This is my ocelot. His name is Fabio.

Australia is a perfectly nice place but it also happens to be perfectly pricey. I spend a large amount of time worrying about money causing a slow degeneration into miserliness. I walk around shops talking to myself and prodding bags of flour. I measure apples in the fruit and veg section to make sure I get more apple mass for my dollar. I tell Australians that Australia is expensive, because people love it when you criticise their country. People also love whiny paupers, which is why I’m so popular.

As a result, thoughts and statements of the following nature are just on the horizon:

“New clothes? Are you insane? Why would I buy new clothes when there are all these abandoned curtains just lying around, dying to be made into a toga?” (I said toga as an appeasement to my masculinity.) Actually, I could always make them into a fetching outfit to charm some money out of Rhett Butler, thus saving Tara. (Sorry, masculinity.)

Or this one: “Hey guys, instead of going out for coffee today, why don’t we pour ourselves cups of hot water and pretend we’re drinking coffee instead! Let’s be children again, living in a world who’s boundaries exist only at the limits of our imagination! Please don’t leave!”

Or perhaps: “I think human beings should embrace their natural biorhythms. Shun electric light, housemates! From now on, we should all go to bed at six. If you can’t sleep, we can stay up and talk in the dark about carving flint and making underwear out of ferret skins. Please don’t leave!”

The day is coming soon. Maybe I’ll start bringing cucumber sandwiches to restaurants, who knows? It clearly isn’t healthy, and so I’ll probably take the more sensible route. Once I’m adopted as the seventh child in Brangelina’s rainbow family, I’ll start spending money again. Oh, then it’ll be all: “This is my ocelot. His name is Fabio; he wears nappies  and he only eats the blue M&Ms. This is Marta, she changes Fabio’s nappies. She comes to the house every day in the chopper. Once a week she cuts my toenails. Marta, here’s a thousand dollars. Go buy Fabio a new stroller.”

Either way, you’re basically screwed. The Man keeps producing shiny things to tempt us to spend money. A typical creation in this vein is Siri, an app you control with your voice. Simon has her on his phone. She seems pretty useless, and responds to most commands with “I’m sorry. I do not understand what you want me to do.” Her name reminds me of Suri Cruise. Suri Cruise makes me sad. Poor little beggar has Tom Cruise for a father.

I stop writing now since thinking has made me tired, and I feel chilly. This toga lets in a draught.

Thieving Kookaburra Bastards and Other Life Lessons

I’m still wildly ignorant about most things here, but I have learnt some valuable life lessons so far. And here they are.

1. Kookaburras will try to steal your chips. 

My sister and I were sitting in the park today eating chips and talking about a pair of kookaburras we could see (and hear!) Oh yes, they looked harmless and Australian, but really they were planning  to steal our chips all along. I was in the middle of delivering a pearl of wisdom when one flew directly at my hand, attempting to snatch the chip from my very fingers. All I saw was a flurry of grey feathers. I heard my sister shout and I fell to my side. A deep seated biological reaction must have kicked in because I shielded the chip with my body the whole time. Lesson learned – kookaburras don’t care what anybody thinks about them when there’s food around.

That’s a big-ass kookaburra and I apologise for that.

2. You need your ID a lot. 

I was  surprised to discover that you need ID to buy a phone here. I’m guessing because crims might try and buy phones and then, I don’t know, phone other crims and organise plans to rob banks and whatnot. You also have to give ID every time you use the toilet. A driver’s licence will suffice for a number one, but only a passport will do for a number two.

3. It’s hot. 

Really hot. It’s not conducive to effort. Just the like the coldness of Ireland wasn’t conducive to effort.

4. The sea can really hurt your face.

The waves here are powerful. They stand at man height and hit you full force in the face. Normally you’re distracted because you’re squinting to see if there are any sharks or jellyfish sliming around in the disturbed sea sand. Then POW you get a sharp wave-fist right on the nose and/or genitals. I say squinting because I am shortsighted and don’t want to lose my glasses to the ocean. No mermaid is going to put my glasses in her secret cave of human treasures I can tell you that, with her forks and statues and so on… until her father destroys it with his big glowing trident… my glasses will not be destroyed by trident beams I tell you!

5. A lot of products have mysteriously changed their brand names. 

Cillit Bang – Easy Off Bam (why?)

Autoglass Repair – O’Briens (why??)

Woodies – Bunnings (both equally poor, to be fair).

I understand that an Australian travelling to Ireland might see things the other way, but damn it I don’t have time to appreciate the viewpoints of others!

There is my wisdom, gleaned over a month or so. Cherish it. Share it with your loved ones.

(Kookaburra Image taken from http://www.giftlog.com/pictures/photo/kookaburra_picture_6.jpg)