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Notes on cultural differences...

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.

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....

Why Glee is the solution to homophobia...

I remember my first Gay; he was up the hill in the Christian Brothers School, and I had a little crush on him. Of course I now realise why; he was engaging, charismatic and yes, slightly effeminate. He was also able to look a girl in the eye without kicking a stone, muttering 'fuck', and gobbing on the pavement. He wore nice clothes - actual colours and patterns -- in a time where such things were unheard of, and he had nice hair too....

You didn't get many gays back then. Well there was that odd-looking guy who worked in the Chemist and lived with his mother, but his gayness was never confirmed beyond the odd scurrilous whisper.

Gay happened on telly - Stephen in Dynasty was gay. Poor Stephen. But I can't think of another single case as I sit and type. It will come to me no doubt, but maybe not....

So when the boy from the CBS confided to my best friend that he was gay, it was big news. She of course immediately told me, with the impossible caveat that I couldn't tell my boyfriend.

OH COME ON!!!

Gayness was bigger than the news that someone had a bottle of Jameson for the Friday night bushing* session down at Westport house. Yeah, BIGGER than that! (classy days...)

I'm telling you this because I had a conversation with my daughter this morning which made me realise just how far we've come in twenty years, where the word 'gay' is no longer a noun, but an adjective.

Listening to the new Mika album, she asked 'is Mika gay?' to which I replied, ' I have no idea....perhaps he is, he's certainly good looking enough to be, and who can forget the yellow jeans? But I honestly don't know'. 

She brushed it off and went on with her toast.

It made me realise how unimportant these questions are these days. The conversation ranked just below 'what are we having for lunch?'

I will never forget how gutting it was to learn that Neil Tennant from the 'Pet Shop Boy's' was gay. 'Oh Neil', how COULD you - how CAN we marry now?' I wept, rending at my bosom.  'I am but a mere' -- I spat the word -- 'WOMAN!'

Andy Bell: Not exactly the marrying type....

By the time I discovered 'Erasure' were also gay, I was ready to give up on ever marrying a pop star, although with retrospect it shouldn't have come as any great shock, considering that red rubber cod-piece that Andy Bell wore on 'Top of the Pop's', while singing 'Give a little respect' in 1988.

So it really gladdens my heart to see young, straight, pop bands such as 'One Direction' frolicking on the beach in their videos, touseling each others hair affectionately in interviews, and giving each other man-hugs at every given chance. This generation of young men coming up are unafraid to show physical affection to each other, and that can only be a good thing.

A generation ago men only touched to briskly shake hands, and even then could hardly look each other in the eye. It wasn't until my father was terminally ill that my brothers started to hug him on saying hello or goodbye, and even then they'd fall into Gay jokes to pass it off.

Personally I think Glee -- the massively popular American musical comedy -- has done more in four seasons for the public perception of homosexuality, than twenty years of marches and legislation**, helping to shed the 'bloke-in-a-pair-of-pants-and-heels' image (of which there is nothing wrong of course although I think the very straight Eddie Izzard does it best) to a far more prosaic and mundane image. This is a good thing. It makes it more mainstream and less freak-show, as it should be.

So far we've had at least four leading gay roles, (Kurt, Blaine, Santana, Brittanny) and numerous Gay plot-lines, including the one where the bullying beef-cake Karofsky attempts suicide after rumours of his sexuality abound following a pass he makes at Kurt. This is resolved nicely at the end of the show by a rendition of 'What doesn't kill you make's you stronger' by the Troubletones. There is no crisis -- no matter how big or small -- that can't be fixed by a good cover version of a Kelly Clarkeson song. I've always said that.

And out of all the love story plot-lines in the show, it is the Blane/Kurt relationship which really keeps me watching. They are the most adorable couple in the show (and far less annoying than Rachel and Fin), and far more interesting, what with the double dose of boyishness and Kurt's falsetto. But I'm bias, I have a massive crush on Blaine, and yes, I know that's a pervy thing to say about a fake schoolboy -- but that's just where I'm at at the moment. It's a Germaine Greer thing....

But oh Blaine, as long as you wear the blazer, you can serenade me with 'When I get you alone' while I fold jumpers in the Gap any time. Any time at all. And I won't be angry if I get fired...promise...

Anyway, I think Ian McKellen, George Michael and Elton John should pool their cash and send a box set of Glee to every government struggling with the issue of same-sex marriage (and that's practically every one of them on the planet), from Canberra to Riyadh, Washington to Pyongyang. It might take some time, but no leader/ruler/insane dictator -- from Ahmadimejad to Kim Jong-un -- could possibly watch Kurt and Blaine sing 'Baby it's cold outside' for the Christmas Special and not want them to live happily ever after...

By jiminy, I think I've solved it...

* drinking from a bottle of spirits al fresco - away from the prying eyes of adults - because we couldn't afford the pub.
**It's pointed out that this is factually incorrect, but you get my gist...