I’ve been watching the olympics.  Like most of the rest of the planet, I assume.  And I’ve noticed, too, that Britain are doing rather well..

Which brings up strange feelings in me.  I’m aussie to the core and will be til I die, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t feel a sense of pride in my resident country, does it? 

See Britain are notoriously crappy at olympics, usually to be found around position 10-15 on the medal table.  But since London’d got the next olympics, the govt has been spending money on sport (SHOCKER!).  I think they’re mainly doing it so that they won’t be embarrassed by the general crap-ness of their team.  Whatever the reason, it’s working and they’re starting to see significant results.

And I am proud of the Brits.  They’ve been so crap for so long, that the jubilation and excitement about winning, hell – even placing!, is somewhat infectious.  For example, on Saturday Louis Smith, a 19yo UK gymnast, got a bronze medal in the pommel horse – which is Britain’s first medal in artistic gymnastics for 80 years!  Well done Louis!  I don’t care who you are, that’s quite an achievement!  It’s even more of an achievement when you think that gymnastics has been dominated by the Chinese, Americans and Russians for as long as anyone can remember.  Damn well done!  (And almost certainly secures him an OBE / MBE / Knighthood!  Honestly, sometimes I think the Queen puts honours in Xmas crackers! They seem to be handed out for everything..  Not to diminish Louis’ achievement, but he’s only 19 and has plenty of good sporting years yet.  How about you wait til he retires from sport??)

So I find myself with mixed feelings – I want Australia to do well, of course I do.  I want the Aussies to wipe the floor with the rest of the world and prove once again what a fantastically sporting nation we are.  But I also want Britain to do well. 

I find myself watching a race like the rowing, where Aussie and GB are neck & neck and have a nasty moment of not knowing who to scream for!  Its never happened before.  Weird.

Go Aussie Go!  Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi! Oi! OI! (but come on Team GB too!)

Anyone who’s been out of touch with the world for the last few days, I have news.  The Olympics have started.

Yep, that ritual athletic testing that started in an ancient foreign land as a way of challenging soldiers has returned once again.  (Which, by the way, means that I’ve been away over 8 years.  I arrived in the UK before Sydney 2000. Egads!)  The best of the world have gathered in Bejing for two weeks of testing before their peers and the world.

Talk about your stage-fright – estimated 4 billion people watching the opening ceremony?  Bloody Hell!  But from what I could see there was only one stuff up – and I imagine some poor little Chinese guy getting a slap around the ear for letting the torch-bearing air-runner guy catch up with the unravelling scroll.

All the athletes look lean & hungry.  That’s how they’re supposed to look, right? Lean & hungry?  Are we not feeding these people regularly?  They all look ready to defend their country and themselves from repeated embarrassment of failing dismally.  If there’s one thing I’ve learnt over my 30something years on the earth, there’s always someone better than you.  Sorry..  Maybe I’m feeling a little too reflective today.

But along with the lean & hungry come the joys of a fiercely patriotic crowd, and billions of televiewers everywhere, screaming and shouting, clapping, laughing, crying along with their team.  The Olympics is the only time people can be most vehemently patriotic with no fear of recrimination, verbal abuse or attack.  It is expected at the Olympics, encouraged.  Over two hundred countries coming together to wage mini battles with each other.

Question:  Have the Olympics become our pseudo world war?  Instead of taking out your emeny with bullets and bombs, you take them out with skill and expertise, with a fine throw or blistering speed.  You take them out honestly and directly, with no cheating or sly actions, no backstabbing or sabotage.  You do it directly in front of them, to their face, and you wait for the words ‘bad sport’ to start fizzing about between their ears, at which point they’ll come and congratulate you on a good match/race/battle.

And I even understand why it’s being held in China, despite their air quality and human rights record, despite their environmental and foreign policy.  It’s being held there because the IOC reached a point where it had to say yes for to be seen as being influenced by politics.  See, China is the most populated country in earth, they send ridiculous amounts of althletes to each and every games, they do very well in each and every games, and they haven’t hosted in over 100 years.  The IOC proclaims itself a non-political animal, and under that guise had reached a point where they could no longer refuse China’s application to host.  They had no choice.  To do otherwise was to rebuke China, which no-one seems willing to do.  I mean, geez, Moscow hosted in the middle of the cold war.  Germany hosted, Hitler opened their games.  The IOC had to do it to stay apolitical.  I’ll stop there, I don’t want this post to be an anti-China rant.

I realise from the above that it may seem I sneer at the Olympics.  But I don’t.  Honestly.  I’ve got nothing but admiration for the athletes who can devote themselves so completely to their sport.  I don’t think I could do it.  And I’ve nothing but admiration for the medalists themselves.  To be the acknowledged best in the world at anything must be a fantastic feeing and worth every second of that seemingly endless training.

And, of course, there’s the fact that I’m Australian and we love and respect sportsmen and women.  We’re a sporting nation.  Comes with the sunshine and being able to go outside.  The Australian press are whipping up a patriotic frenzy, I find myself trying to program my tele-watching to times when there’ll be coverage of Aussies (and I understand totally that the UK coverage is all about the UK team, I just wish they’d interview a winner every now and again!  Oh, but they did interview that Zimbabwe swimmer with the american accent, thought I’m not sure why..)

I find myself digging my wee aussie flag out of the box and drapiing it proudly around the house.  I find myself suddenly shouting “Go Aussie!” at the screen, freaking out cat and flatmate.  But I can’t help it.  And gorram it, I shouldn’t have to!

So GO AUSSIE!  Go, you good things!  Enjoy yourselves and bring us back some neckwear, huh?

Oh, and..  ahem..  good luck to everyone else too. :)

xx

I tell ya, I truly didn’t think my skin had become so pommie.

Nell was at the airport to meet me of a quite laid back flight from a 37deg and steamy Bangkok airport.  The trip to Bangkok had been a trial – not only stuck next to two elders who felt like chatting (for 10 hours) but that my headphone jack wouldn’t work unless it was being held in a certain position (slightly up and to the right), and the plane was full so no movements allowed.  Almost intermidable.

Arrived in Bangkok 10 hours later with the pre-requisite 4 layers of winter-in-britain clothing, and rushed myself to the bathroom to change into skirt, T and sandals – much more civilised in summery climes.  Just enough time to have a cigarette and change clothes, then back on the plane for another 9 hours to Syd.

Mentioned my headphone problem to the purser tho, and he managed to get me shifted to the first row after business class, complete with leg-stretchy space, groovy fold up table and (somewhat disappointedly) a dodgy video screen.  It did the flickery thing every half hour or so, but I gave it a stern talking to each time it did it by repeatedly hitting it on the back until it stopped.  It didn’t get my carefully worded message, however, and flickered the entire way.  But the other benefits of the change of seat made up for it.  For a start, my legs could stretch in almost any direction they chose, I was sitting next to a good bloke who spent half a year mining to earn enough money to live overseas for the other half.  He’d just been in Thailand for 7 months & was out of cash, so home to mine for a bit more cash to fund his next trip.  Now that’s gotta be a nice way to live.  (G’day to you, and all in Trundle!)

And as we were both happy people, we made friends with the steward sitting facing backwards in front of us for take off, had a chat and a giggle, and then he went off to serve drinks to the rich.  He soon returned, though, with a glass (that’s a real glass, made of glass!) of champagne and a pkt of lovely cashews each!  Bless you Simon!  So when our dodgy cattle class drinks trolley came round we were already lording it up with champagne in real glass and cashews!  WhooHoo!  Simon was our friend the whole way & smuggled back a few choice titbits for us.  I even scored one of the rich folks’ free giveaway satchel thingys with all sorts of creams & stuff in it. 

Anyway, so Bangkok-Syd was much MUCH better than London-Bangkok.

Got to Sydney early enough to see the sunrise over the airport carpark, which is surely a momentous event in anyone’s books!  Nell was incredibly happy to see me (and not pregnant, despite my suspicions, tho her & Gav are trying).  Took quite a while to navigate Sydney’s ridiculous traffic situation, and we took a slightly scenic route that took me past classic Sydney haunts and ex-haunts – though Marrickville, Sydenham, Petersham, Leichardt (Max’s at Petersham is no more, btw – a sad loss to my musical memories of home), The Annandale (which on the upcoming board out the front listed ’special guest Jimmy Barnes’!!). Down through Camperdown to Glebe, the Fish Markets and up past Sound Level studios in Ultimo – where so much time was spent with various boyfriends and bands.  Ah, the patience and loyalty of youth – not to mention the egos! :)  Nell took me over the Harbour Bridge, then up the Pacific Highway to the Central Coast, where by 9am I was esconced on her verandah with a tea and a cigarette, just as I predicted. :) 

I was trying to stay awake as long as possible, which is the only way I’ve found to deal with jetlag – get yourself in tune with the diurnal cycle of your destination asap – so we went to Erina Fair for a bit of retail therapy.  Got myself two pairs of lovely heels (yes, heels! :) and a fantastic panoramic print.

Thursday, after a lovely 2 hr morning beachwalk, we headed to the beach for a wee bit of dipping of toes in the Pacific.  In true british fashion, I dipped my whole body into a bottle of 30+ sunblock, armed myself with sunglasses, a hat and a picnic lunch, and off we went.  Two hours later I’d had a lovely swim and it was getting a wee bit warm.  I could feel myself starting to turn pink, so we retired to the house to eat our picnic.  I had a shower to wash off the salt and discovered just how burnt I really was.  My chest and arms were red, though they didn’t hurt much.  My legs were a very fucking angry red, and started full on screaming about it later that evening at Nell’s parents for dinner.  Next morning, despite generous repeated swatherings with 100% aloe vera, the fucking angry red had turned to murderously angry red and my legs were so swollen my knees looked like red cabbages.  I couldn’t walk properly, hobbling around like a little old lady, and every time I stood my legs screamed with rage.  And to top it all off Nell’s cat kept brushing itself against my aloe vera’d legs, leaving them covered not just in green goo but also punctuated with chunks of cat hair that was too painful to remove.  I honestly never thought that my skin could be so pommie. 

It’s 3 days after the burning now, and I just have to push push PUSH to you, good readers, the godlike abilities of the humble aloe vera.  That spikey ol plant has been a life and leg saver.  After two and a half days of almost hourly coatings, my legs were ok enough to wear jeans out to dinner with mates last night.  My murderously angry sunburn is now just mumbling to itself in a grumpy way, and I’m well able to wear my new and terribly cute heels to The Church gig tonight. 

So – must be off, time for another fantastic seafood lunch before the primping commeth this evening, along with a wonderful dinner and soundscapes to die for.  love to all, wish you could be here.  xx

Is it possible to put a curb on the dream of the United World of America?  How the hell would we do it?

Easy!   At least according to John Birmingham….

Teach Americans to play cricket!

“For one cannot have pretensions to mastering the universe when one is regularly undone by the likes of Sri Lanka or Zimbabwe. When one fears the re-emergence of the Caribbean as a world power, one is likely to face the re-emergence of a caliphate in the old Ottoman Empire with equanimity. “

Too true, John – too true.

What a classic, brilliant, and deceptively easy answer!

Your Score: The Fourth Doctor

You scored 25% intelligence, 33% compassion, 54% sense of humor, and 31% weirdness!

Where you’re concerned, priority one is having fun. You’re not as
absent-minded as you look, but you are pretty irresponsible. You would
never, say, allow one of your companions to die in a space freighter
explosion, but you might let him THINK he’s about to die just before
you go in and save him. (You know: for shits ‘n’ giggles.) Your
turn-ons include yo-yo mastery, Harry Potter enthusiasts, jellied
confections, and strong wine. Your turn-offs include imbeciles, falling
rocks, quarries, and radio antennas. Chances are, you’re a dog person.

And it’s a pretty correct diagnosis of me..  all except the dog person part :)