Christmas is heroically attempting to make its presence felt here in Perth, but I remain unconvinced. There is something fundamentally askew about shopping in Woolworths, wearing thongs (no, I'm not in the habit of wearing several g-strings at once, I'm talking about flip-flops) and a halter-neck dress -- not to mention it being almost 30 degrees outside -- while Bing Crosby croons 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas' over the sound system.
And although I've lived through several Christmases in the Middle East, at least it was actually winter there, meaning it was ever so slightly cooler than usual (and the locals would amusingly go around bundled up in jumpers and tights to fend off the slightly-cooler-than-normal weather). Here in Perth things are hotting up, and frankly the last thing I want to do is shoehorn a celebration which can only work if it gets dark at 4pm, is freezing cold outside, and one can comfortably drink their own weight in mulled wine without over-heating, right into the middle of the summer.
Some ex-residents of the northern hemisphere like to celebrate 'little Christmas' in July, to ensure they get to experience a taste of the real thing while it's a bit cool outside. We tried this too, buying a few cheap little toys for the kids, making a big roast dinner, lighting sparklers out on the deck, and playing Last Christmas on the CD player, but it wasn't terribly convincing, mainly, I suspect, due to the small matter of IT BEING JULY.
It's difficult having your world-view tipped on its head. And viewing July as winter rather than summer, is not something I'm sure I'll ever get used to. In the UAE the weekend starts on Friday -- or rather Thursday night -- meaning everyone was back to work and school on Sunday, and in the three years we were there, I could never shake the feeling I was somehow being cheated when the alarm went off at 6.30 on a Sunday morning, to get the kids up and ready for school.
The upside was that mentally, although Sunday felt wrong, it also meant that the weekend seemed to come around very quickly. Swings and round-a-bouts I suppose.
And sometimes, as one gets bogged down by every day life -- kids, bills, mountains of washing -- we forget to stop and around us; we stop noticing the 'otherness' of the place we currently call home.
For example, the ubiquitous Jacarandas which have all suddenly come into flower -- their bright lilac blossoms frothy and fantastical -- as if created by Dr. Seuss's own hand.
Or the parrots you see everywhere -- or as they're called here, 28s -- which back home are only ever seen in a pet-shop or zoo. Cheeky and confident in their bright green coats and yellow collars.
Of course this 'otherness' also means that at times I'm left shaking my head at the upside-down thinking here in Oz. For example, on several occasions I've driven past a large warehouse displaying a sign out front with the words 'Indoor beach volleyball'. Now surely this is wrong. Surely if the volleyball doesn't actually take place ON the beach, and is in fact indoors, it's just 'Volleyball? Isn't that a bit like calling the game of hockey 'ice-hockey without the ice?'
And then there is the preoccupation with sex; they even have Viagara adverts on the telly. My favourite is the one with the woman dressed up as 'I dream of Jeannie', standing on the tongue of a massive man (not Larry Hagman), mouthing 'llllonger, llllasting, llloving' lasciviously at the camera, before disappearing into his mouth. .
Or the countless sex shops dotted around the train station in Midland - Skindivers, Scandals, Lovers - among others, all situated in a prime part of town which would be far better served by a few tapas bars or pizzarias or even an Argos. Then there are the condom adverts displayed on massive billboards on the side of the road, featuring steamy couples getting down to business, while staring sexily at the camera. Luckily the children haven't asked any questions about them yet. But it's only a matter of time.
And don't get me started on the pubs which unashamedly advertise 'skimpy nights' out front, which basically mean the barmaid gets her tits out twice a week - or for the classier places, every night. Yes, that's right, in 2012 they have topless bars here in Australia. I worry that they've not even heard of Emmeline Pankhurst here, really I do. No wonder Germaine Greer was driven to write 'The Female Eunuch' before moving to England. I would have done exactly the same thing. And when I asked DH if he went to a skimpy bar during his time in Kalgoorlie, his eyes widened in what I thought would be a blustering denial, before saying, 'But ALL the bars are skimpy bars in Kalgoorlie!' Quite.
And although I've lived through several Christmases in the Middle East, at least it was actually winter there, meaning it was ever so slightly cooler than usual (and the locals would amusingly go around bundled up in jumpers and tights to fend off the slightly-cooler-than-normal weather). Here in Perth things are hotting up, and frankly the last thing I want to do is shoehorn a celebration which can only work if it gets dark at 4pm, is freezing cold outside, and one can comfortably drink their own weight in mulled wine without over-heating, right into the middle of the summer.
Some ex-residents of the northern hemisphere like to celebrate 'little Christmas' in July, to ensure they get to experience a taste of the real thing while it's a bit cool outside. We tried this too, buying a few cheap little toys for the kids, making a big roast dinner, lighting sparklers out on the deck, and playing Last Christmas on the CD player, but it wasn't terribly convincing, mainly, I suspect, due to the small matter of IT BEING JULY.
It's difficult having your world-view tipped on its head. And viewing July as winter rather than summer, is not something I'm sure I'll ever get used to. In the UAE the weekend starts on Friday -- or rather Thursday night -- meaning everyone was back to work and school on Sunday, and in the three years we were there, I could never shake the feeling I was somehow being cheated when the alarm went off at 6.30 on a Sunday morning, to get the kids up and ready for school.
The upside was that mentally, although Sunday felt wrong, it also meant that the weekend seemed to come around very quickly. Swings and round-a-bouts I suppose.
And sometimes, as one gets bogged down by every day life -- kids, bills, mountains of washing -- we forget to stop and around us; we stop noticing the 'otherness' of the place we currently call home.
For example, the ubiquitous Jacarandas which have all suddenly come into flower -- their bright lilac blossoms frothy and fantastical -- as if created by Dr. Seuss's own hand.
Or the parrots you see everywhere -- or as they're called here, 28s -- which back home are only ever seen in a pet-shop or zoo. Cheeky and confident in their bright green coats and yellow collars.
Of course this 'otherness' also means that at times I'm left shaking my head at the upside-down thinking here in Oz. For example, on several occasions I've driven past a large warehouse displaying a sign out front with the words 'Indoor beach volleyball'. Now surely this is wrong. Surely if the volleyball doesn't actually take place ON the beach, and is in fact indoors, it's just 'Volleyball? Isn't that a bit like calling the game of hockey 'ice-hockey without the ice?'
And then there is the preoccupation with sex; they even have Viagara adverts on the telly. My favourite is the one with the woman dressed up as 'I dream of Jeannie', standing on the tongue of a massive man (not Larry Hagman), mouthing 'llllonger, llllasting, llloving' lasciviously at the camera, before disappearing into his mouth. .
Or the countless sex shops dotted around the train station in Midland - Skindivers, Scandals, Lovers - among others, all situated in a prime part of town which would be far better served by a few tapas bars or pizzarias or even an Argos. Then there are the condom adverts displayed on massive billboards on the side of the road, featuring steamy couples getting down to business, while staring sexily at the camera. Luckily the children haven't asked any questions about them yet. But it's only a matter of time.
And don't get me started on the pubs which unashamedly advertise 'skimpy nights' out front, which basically mean the barmaid gets her tits out twice a week - or for the classier places, every night. Yes, that's right, in 2012 they have topless bars here in Australia. I worry that they've not even heard of Emmeline Pankhurst here, really I do. No wonder Germaine Greer was driven to write 'The Female Eunuch' before moving to England. I would have done exactly the same thing. And when I asked DH if he went to a skimpy bar during his time in Kalgoorlie, his eyes widened in what I thought would be a blustering denial, before saying, 'But ALL the bars are skimpy bars in Kalgoorlie!' Quite.
But of course, all this is part of the fun of discovering a new culture, no matter how similar it may appear from the outside, and it would be a dull world if everywhere was exactly the same -- especially on the opposite side of it. Although to be honest, the oddest place I've ever visited is the Isle of Wight, a mere hour or so from Ireland's shores, where a waitress once chirped 'I dunno', when I asked her what the soup of the day was, making no effort to go and investigate further, and where a wedding I attended came to an abrupt end at 10.30 pm when the barman turned out all the lights with a cheery 'times up people, drink up' -- leaving a bar full of Irish people scrambling for take-outs to bring back to their rooms. To be honest the night only got more interesting after that....
You are such a funny lady! Laughed through this entire post. Congrats on the Expat Blog Award!!! Good on you! Hope your 2013 is fantastic :)
ReplyDeleteI wanted to thank you for this great read!! I definitely enjoying every little bit of it I have you bookmarked to check out new stuff you post
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