10 Things I like about me

Since I have been , in a fairly non-specific way, tagged for this by Snoskred SEE I READ YOUR BLOG, here are Ten Things you didn’t know about me (unless I have mentioned them before or you know me in real life)

1. I used to have long hair, at least one piercing and an irrational fondness for bandanas. All gone now.

2. My middle name is also not Craig

3. Prior to meeting my gorgeous wife, I set some sort of record for unsuccessful attempts at dating. I went on about three dates in 8 years and not even with the same person. And none of them went well.

4. I have bad luck with lawnmowers. It’s possibly some sort of voodoo thing.

5. I got quoted on Triple J’s “Hack” a couple of years ago. It was a proud moment.

6. I once helped to produce a musical for the deaf. Annoyingly, I agreed to do this for my then-girlfriend’s father just before she broke up with me, meaning that not only did I spend 12 hours working on a fundamentally ridiculous production, I did so in the company of someone who was not speaking to me.

7. Unsurprisingly, I am one of the inventors of the popular game of “You’re not Craig”

8. I also invented “Find the Hamburger” much to the annoyance of several surly teenagers who were required to compete in this sport.

9. I have not yet told Craig about this blog because I’m not sure whether he’ll be annoyed that I am using his name (although technically I am very specifically NOT using his name)

10. Apparently I am not entirely over that whole musical for the deaf debacle, even though I should be by now. It was made in 1992.



This looks more like a list of future blogposts than stuff you didn’t know about me, but hey, it can be two things. Anyone else who wants to be tagged, check out Snoskred’s list here which will have the desired effect if you read to the end.

My happy place

One would think that applying for a job I desperately wanted and not getting it would have been the low point of last week. Not at my workplace.

So, time to go to my happy place, which turns out, surprisingly to be in Tennessee. This will annoy Arrested Development (the band, not the show) if they ever read this.

Unlikely.

Anyway, the point of this post is to celebrate the return to Australia of my lovely parents, who arrived home yesterday, after seven long years of living in Nashville, Tennessee.

We visited them for Christmas 2002 and spent three very pleasant weeks sitting around reading books by the open fire and drinking eggnog, and occasionally getting out and seeing stuff during the day.

So, here are a few of my other favourite memories of Nashville and the surrounding area…

Donuts
The Krispy Kreme donuts were cheap, fresh and plentiful

Pop Tarts
Pop Tarts may be the least healthy breakfast food in the world. Not only is the pastry mostly made of sugar, the apple filling must be made of toffee apples.

In Nashville, they took it one step further. We discovered that Pop Tarts also come in “Brown Sugar and cinnamon” flavour. Yes, they take the sweetest pastry in the world, and then stuff it full of sugar. They also have frosting on top. It was wonderfully wrong.

Other pastry related matters
I actually got to see The Nun Bun, at Bongo Java, a student café near the university. Somehow, I managed not to buy a T-shirt.

I was also impressed by the sign on the counter, next to the tip jar. It said “Support counter intelligence”.

And then there’s coffee
Speaking of cafes, Rembrants café in Chattanooga is still the absolutely best café I have been to anywhere in the world. It’s in a beautiful old sandstone building in the art district of the town, surrounded by excellent galleries. Inside, the tables and floorboards are made from beautiful rich dark wood. The coffee is filtered rather than espressoed but they have an excellent variety of fine beans from all over the world. The baked cheescake is exquisite, the open fire is roaring, and best of all I get to say that I have actually been to Chattanooga.

The people are wonderful
While we were there, one of my parents’ neighbours got a dog. She named him “Rupert” and invited us around to meet him. We went and spent a pleasant hour patting him.
She rang the next day to say “ I just want to tell you this, because I know it’s been on y’all’s mind” before explaining that she was concerned because “Rupert” sounded too much like “Rufus” and “Rufus” is a very “common” sounding name, so she had changed the dog’s name to “Clifford Cavalier” and therefore we were invited around to come and meet him again.

We went. It was fun.

And yes, she really said “Y’all’s minds”

The people are also mad
We had lunch at a cafeteria which served fine traditional southern food. Over a very pleasant meal of really really deep-fried chicken, mashed potato, cornbread and turnip greens, we were introduced to possible the most likeable guy in Tennessee, or possible the world. He was probably in his mid forties and he was in every respect the personification of old fashioned southern charm.

This wonderful gentleman was telling us about some problems with his irrational and quite violent neighbour who had a large gun collection and a nasty temper, and particularly a recent occasion when this neighbour had confronted him and he’d had to stand up to the guy. The conversation went something like this:

Nicest guy in the world: …and then he just got in his car and drove away

I’m not Craig’s father: Weren’t you worried that he was going to go and get his gun?

Nicest guy in the world: Hell, we’ve all got guns.

[Slight pause while I’m not Craig, Honey Bear I’m not Craig’s parents all try to think of what exactly to say to that]

Nicest guy in the world (barely pausing for breath): I don’t care if he gets his gun. He’s got a gun, I’ve got a gun. We’ve all got guns etc etc

But they’re mad in a good way
Another of my parents’ neighbours told us that she had stopped for petrol and the cashier guy at the servo had been less than chipper when serving her. In fact, he was unnecessarily grumpy.

Her solution? She went home, baked a batch of cookies, put them in a tin, went back to the servo and gave them to the cashier as a gift, saying “maybe that will sweeten you up a bit”, and then went home again.

You have to admire the effort involved there.




Welcome home, Mum & Dad. We missed you terribly and we're thrilled that you're back.

So, how was the interview?

Thanks for asking.

You may recall that I recently applied for a job in Adelaide. I did the interview two weeks ago.

There was a lot riding on the interview. You see, at the start of this year Honey Bear and I decided that we wanted to move to Adelaide. We believed that would be the best place to raise our children. We have a large family network over there, houses within 40km of the CBD are still affordable and the schools are good too.

We started making enquiries in January but our plans went on hold soon after, because Cherub was arriving in May. Plans stayed on hold for a couple of months after he arrived, which was fine too, but since August I have been applying to every organization in Adelaide that could possibly be interested.

Months went by with polite rejection after polite rejection. Meanwhile, my job in Melbourne has been getting increasingly painful. If I didn’t know better I would think that my employer was trying to get rid of me, which would be the logical conclusion to draw from the constant criticism and regular questioning of not only my competence but my honesty, integrity and character in general.

Then, finally, a ray of hope. An organization that I had applied to, and been rejected by, back in February rang me to say they had another position available that would be more suited to me. They invited me to reapply. I did, in slightly less than 4000 words. They called a couple of days later to arrange an interview. The interview went well and everyone on the panel seemed very positive and impressed with my application. At last, I started to believe that there was a way forward, a chance to build the sort of future for my family that Honey Bear and I have dreamed of.

They called yesterday.



I didn’t get the job.




This is not good.


I heard my phone ring about an hour earlier, while I was in a meeting that could not be cut short, I knew instinctively who it was, and I was right. I really believed they would offer me the job, and I spent a very happy hour thinking that this was the day I could finally, finally, resign, and in two weeks the nightmare of this job would be over.

An hour later, it took about ten seconds for the very polite guy to tell me that unfortunately I was not the best candidate, although they were very impressed with me. But I didn’t need him to tell me, as soon as he answered the phone and I told him who was calling I knew that the news would not be good. Suddenly, the lifeline I had been hanging onto, the last hope of getting out of this job this year, was gone.

I very politely thanked my no longer future employer for the opportunity and said all the right things, all on autopilot. I rang Honey Bear, who was as ever endlessly sweet and supportive, despite how hard this was for her too. Then I went back to work and tried to carry on as if I had not just been hit in the head with a large sandbag.

What do I do at a time like this? A few things:

1. Ponder the old saying ‘when life hands you a lemon, reach for the tequila and salt’

2. Decide that a hangover is probably not going to improve the situation

3. Struggle to get some perspective. No one died, I still have a job that pays the rent and feeds the family. Other people I know are going through worst stuff than this.

4. Go home and give my gorgeous wife a big hug and cuddle my two beautiful boys, and remind myself again that I am the luckiest man in the world

5. Open up a Bible and re-read the bit that says this:
I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future

6. Hold on to the last traces of hope so hard I fear my fingers may be bruised by the effort.


I may be too depressed to blog much for a few days or so. I will get back to it, preferably in a rather more entertaining and less emo manner, soonish.


The happy new for the day is that my parents, whom I love dearly, are finally coming home from the USA, where they have lived for the past eight years. They arrive on Sunday. This is very, very good news.

Scenes from my loungeroom

Scene 1

A change table. I’m not Craig is removing a nappy from his two year old Bundle.

I’m not Craig (silently): Ewwww!



Scene 2

Still at the change table. I’m not Craig is trying to put another nappy on a child who just wants to skip this part and go to the shops.

Bundle: Ready go. Shops

I’m not Craig: We can’t go to the shops without your pants.

Bundle: Shops nooowwwww

I’m not Craig: We can’t go without pants. Everyone will say “Bundle’s not wearing any pants”. Yes they will. “Where are your pants?” they will say.

[Bundle pauses for a moment to consider how he would answer that question]

Bundle: Gone away. Hiding.

[I’m not Craig finds this very funny and laughs a lot. Bundle is clearly encouraged by this]

Bundle: Hehehehe. Pants sleep now. Hehehehe

[I’m not Craig laughs some more, points at something behind Bundle and puts the pants on Bundle whilst he’s not looking]

Exuent.


Not quite doing whole sentences, but already showing signs of being a total smartass. I’ve noticed this before.

I wonder where he gets it?

Truth justice and "oh let's just make stuff up"

In more news from the world of lets-get-rid-of-this-idiot-government, our beloved Attorney General is fighting for justice and fairness once again.

In his own unique way.

"I suspect that when that is clear in the American system, in all likelihood there will be a plea bargain in which Hicks will agree to plead guilty to certain offences in relation to certain understandings as to what the outcome might be," Mr Ruddock told The Age.

Terry Hicks explained the situations more clearly that I ever could, like this:

"It sounded like a load of garbage," Terry Hicks told ABC Radio today.

To recap briefly, David Hicks was charged with a number of things that were not even illegal under Australian law. He’s been locked up for FIVE YEARS without a trial.

Our government has done absolutely nothing to help.

In June this year, the US Supreme Court did what our government failed to do and pointed out that the military commissions that were set up to try David Hicks and others were illegal.

The charges were dropped and yet mysteriously they continued to hold David Hicks in custody. David Hicks may now be charged with further offences, although it is not known what those charges will be.

Despite that, our Attorney General has decided to announce that he will probably plead guilty.

Does anyone join me in wondering whether this complete prat can even spell “fare tryall”?

In my endless quest to find the most ironic statement in the world, it’s hard to go past the opening lines of our Attorney General's website, which tells us, apparently with a straight face, that:

“The Attorney-General's Department serves the people of Australia by providing essential expert support to the Government in the maintenance and improvement of Australia’s law and justice.”

Yes, it really says that.

I am going to go outside where my children can’t hear me and swear really, really loudly.

Right now.

T stands for incredibly funny

I have rarely been more thrilled than I was when I read in The Age that Mr T now has his own talk show. And here’s what the man himself has to say about it:

On Dr Phil:
"My show ain't no Dr Phil, where people sit around crying, 'What's wrong with me, Dr Phil? What's wrong with me, Dr Phil?"' said Mr T. "You are a fool! That's what's wrong with you. ... My show is the Dr Phil on wheels."

On why one may “pity the fool”:
"You pity the fool because you don't want to beat up a fool," Mr T explained. "You know, pity is between sorry and mercy. See, if you pity him, you know, you won't have to beat him up."

And best of all, on what “T” stands for:
"I put the T in TV Land. ... For the women and children, it stands for tender. To the bad guys and thugs, it stands for tough. ... "What helped me in my career? To be on time. That's it. That's what the T stand for, on time, baby, definitely. ... "
"T stands for being nice. T stands for manners. ... T stand for working hard. T stand for loving thy neighbour. You know, T stand for feeding the hungry, you know. T stand for just working, working, working, being happy on the set, you know, lifting everybody's spirits. T stand for just a nice guy."

I do not need to try to make any witty comments about these quotes. Nothing I come up with could possibly be half as funny as Mr T, although I will say though that I just love the way he gets halfway through telling us what "T" stands for and then decides that to restrict himself to words actually starting with T is just too limiting.

I must see an episode of this show. I must.

Some good writing

From the book I was reading this morning:

“Llewelyn shifted so he could see his wife’s face. Her breathing was even, peaceful; he could only hope that so were her dreams. Carefully lifting the corner of the sheet, he let his eyes wander over her body, lingering upon her swollen belly. As he watched, he saw the skin ripple, like the surface of a pond, and he smiled, thinking Bran was wakeful, too, this night. The wonder of it had yet to fade, that he could actually see his son moving within Ellen’s womb.

He’d always assumed that intimacy was to be found in bed. But now he knew better. Naked bodies could entwine like ivy and oak without souls ever touching; he’d coupled with women whose names he could not even remember afterwards. There could be no greater intimacy than this, watching as his wife grew large with child, nurturing within her body a life sprung from his seed. How could men take such a marvel for granted? Why seek out miracles and yearn after holy relics when God’s greatest blessing was bestowed so close to home?

Ellen stirred in her sleep and he drew the coverlets up over her shoulders, gently extricated her long night plait from under his arm…”
- Sharon Penman, The Reckoning

An open letter

Dear Mr Howard,

Now that it has become clear that Angelina Jolie is way smarter than you, why don’t you take early really really overdue retirement and get her to run the country for a while?

There would be so many benefits. We could put parliamentary broadcasts on in prime time and I’m pretty sure they would rate just fine. Also, it would no longer be hard to understand why teenage boys were running up and hugging the Prime Minister.

Most importantly, it would put paid to the ambitions of that Costello upstart once and for all.

I should add that even this would not make me vote for your party, but I suspect that you would have the 18-24 year old male demographic so comprehensively sewn up that it just wouldn’t matter.

Yours, very sincerely

I. N. Craig

Weekend Wrap

A few final observations from the weekend:

1. I left my umbrella outside when I was hanging out the washing on our hills hoist. Then I worried about what would happen to the umbrella if it rained. That is idiotic on every possible level.
2. The Puffing Billy Cafe in Belgrave is a good spot for lunch, particularly with three children all aged 4 and under.
3. It is impossible to drive from my house to the airport and back on Citylink without ending up in entirely the wrong lane around 27 times.
4. If you haven’t been to see the Earth From Above exhibition at Federation Square, you should go right now.
5. My Honey Bear is back from Sydney. I am a happy, happy man.
   
   

Unintentional comedy and canned fruit

I am hurt that the Bracks government has not yet approached me to contribute to their “making it happen in rural Victoria” campaign, but as part of my coping strategy I’m going to frequently blog about those two rather curious years I spent in Thick Forest, a small town in the Goulburn Valley. After all, this blog is nothing if not obsessed with unintentional comedy and canned fruit, which are the two things the Goulburn Valley does best.

One of the most amusing things I saw in Thick Forest, and I saw it frequently, was a sign outside one of the local churches, which said “Thank God for rain”. The region had been in drought for a year (the same drought that is still going) so it was not so much a statement of gratitude for present circumstances as a statement of faith and gratitude in anticipation of what this church encouraged us to believe God would do.

Theologically, I have no problem with that. Provided that we allow for the fact that God is in no way required to do what we want when we want it, then hoping and praying for the best and being grateful in anticipation is fine.

So why did I find this so funny that five years later I just have to blog about it? One simple reason:

THEY WROTE IT IN CHALK

This can only mean that:
They did not actually believe it was going to rain any time soon; or
As soon as it did, they planned to immediately cease to be grateful.

I asked one of the local farmers whether this sign was an example of “that famous Thick Forest sense of humour”.

He looked at me blankly and said “What famous Thick Forest sense of humour?”

I suppose it was inevitable that I would move back to Melbourne sooner or later, but it’s impossible not to look back on those two years in Thick Forest with at least a small degree of fondness, as well as genuine gratitude for the wealth of blogging material they provided.

Stay tuned for future posts reminiscing about my years in the Goulburn Valley, which may include the Thick Forest Hoedown, and my personal favourite, Banana Sculpting Night.

Enough atmosphere to start a planet

So it’s Friday night, and a truly appalling week at work has finally, finally ended. If I had not already had a job interview this week (which went pretty well, I think) then I would be logging on to seek.com right now.

My lovely Honey Bear is taking a remarkably well earned break and has just flown off to Sydney for a weekend at Casa del Watershedd. If those two do not get merrily pickled together tomorrow night and leave slightly tipsy comments on this blog, it will not be due to lack of encouragement from me.

Cherub, being rather too young to eat solids, is currently enjoying his first plane flight and Bundle is sleeping soundly. So, to the actual post I was planning to write before I got distracted by talking about me….


If you ever wondered who reads all those “thank you to” sections on CD covers, and indeed everything else in there, it’s me. This may be genetic, as Bundle, who is far too young to read, frequently insists on taking the CD cover out of his Playschool CD and studying it carefully.

Why do I do this? Partly because I occasionally find the name of someone I know and I feel slightly cooler as a result, but mostly because musicians tend to be inherently creative types who occasionally manage to leave a small quantity of pure gold buried in the most unlikely places.

A few examples:

Lists of the musicians who played on a CD, and what they played, don’t usually leave much room for comedy. However, Ben Lee managed it on “Awake is the New Sleep” when he credited Lara Meyerratken with “keys, vocals drums, percussion, enough atmosphere to start a planet”


The ever reliable Kasey Chambers, in an otherwise very straightforward list of lyrics, musicians and general credits on “The Captain”, throws in the wonderful statement that “If angels could sing, they would sound like Julie Miller”

I will refrain from bagging Kasey out for failing to pay attention around Christmas time (Hark the Herald etc) because that is just so sweet.


Sleepy Jackson deliver an even more random moment, when they end an otherwise entirely unremarkable list of thank-yous and acknowledgments by saying “This sleeve is a LOVE POLICE action”.

They do not bother to explain that statement or even the mystifying venture into capitals for NO APPARENT REASON.


And then there’s liner notes, which can be particularly entertaining when a fan/music journalist gets to write the history of a band and their work. The best example I’ve found recently comes from “New Order: Singles.” Having posed the question of how New Order got from “the clattering nonsense of Confusion” to Bizarre Love Triangle, the writer of these particular liner notes answers it in part by saying “through Sub-Culture’s rude disco and the stuttering what-the? of Shellshock and its boyfriend State of the Nation, that’s how.”

Even though I only bought this CD because Shellshock is one of my favourite songs ever, I can’t help loving that sentence.


Lastly, I found this quote in the notes to the Billy Bragg/Wilco collaboration “Mermaid Avenue”. It is not in any way amusing but I include it here because it should be quoted at any and every opportunity:

The world is filled with people who are no longer needed – and who try to make slaves of us all – and they have their music and we have ours – theirs, the wasted songs of a superstitious nightmare – and without their musical and ideological miscarriages to compare our songs of freedom to, we’d not have any opposite to compare music with – and like the drifting wind, hitting against no obstacle, we’d never know its speed, its power…” - Woody Guthrie

Ever feel like you're being conn(ex)ed?

Recent reports of violence at train stations got me to thinking again about just how stupid Connex must think we are. They ran an actual advertising campaign to promote their ‘safety zones’ at train stations. For those unfamiliar with the concept, a safety zone is a small area of the platform marked in yellow paint with the words “safety zone” in large letters.

I was not sure how this safety zone would assist me if I was being chased by a chromed out balaclava wearing knifewielding crackhead* who had his own particular view on Locke’s concept of the end of property as it relates specifically to my wallet, so I went to the relevant websites and found this:

Safety Zones
Selected Connex Train Stations are trialling a new initiative called 'Safety Zones' to help passengers feel safe when travelling on public transport.

The new initiative is part of a series of programs, which will be integrated throughout the system.

The 'Safety Zone' will be outlined by station signage and clear markings on the ground. The specified areas will be well lit and located within reach of the emergency buttons, which are present at all Connex stations. Most importantly, these areas receive comprehensive video surveillance throughout operational hours.

Safety Zones will be clearly marked so passengers will be able to identify their 'Safety Zone' easily when arriving at a platform.

The 'Safety Zone' program is part of a push to improve security and safety at Connex stations and on Connex trains.


And also this:

Safety at stations

All stations are equipped with CCTV camera coverage of platforms and station entrances. This footage is monitored by control room staff located at Premium Stations.

All non-staffed stations have communication links to these control rooms via the emergency button. By using this link passengers and staff can communicate directly to staff in the control room who are equipped to deal with incidents.
Yellow safety zones are also being trialled and are located on platforms. By standing in the designated intercom system area you will be within reach of the emergency button and will be in full view of the CCTV camera.

While Connex is unable to staff all stations, their customer service employees and Safe Travel Staff along with Victoria Police Transit Safety Division officers and local police pay regular visits to all stations.

Lighting of stations and car parks has also been improved.

A strong visual presence is the best way to reassure passengers, and provide a deterrent for anti-social behavior.


I love that last statement, and that they apparently really do believe that a strong viausl presence is best achieved by yellow lines rather than actual staff at stations.

No, these people are not being paid to write great comedy, although that seems to be the end result.


So, to summarise the benefits of safety zones:

Whilst being chased by the aforementioned chromed out knife wielding wallet coveting maniac:
1. I can ensure that the event is captured on camera, so I can sell the footage to some inappropriate but irritatingly popular Australian “reality show”

2. I can also press a button and discuss my situation with some anonymous Connex staff member at an undisclosed location.

I would be better off if they just had a computer terminal and internet connection so I could post a question on Reasons You Will Hate Me. Something along the lines of “So, what’s up with chroming OUCH” or “Which is the nearest hospital to Balaclava Station kthxbye?”

At least that way I could be assured of getting a response by the following Friday.

3. I can stand between two yellow lines and announce that I am barley/protected by either the full weight and authority of Connex or an invisible forcefield, whichever is more convincing/ in every respect as safe as someone who has just been told to stand over there by Andrew G.


Wow that advertising campaign was money well spent. I AM CONVINCED


If Connex actually want to reduce fare evasion or persuade people to use public transport at all, perhaps they could spend less money on annoying advertising campaigns and more on having the odd staff member or two at stations like they used to in those terribly inefficient days before privatization. Money could also be usefully applied to running trains a little more often.

Just a thought.





*Or, as we call such a person in my line of work, a “valued client”

Saturday Rage

I was up offensively early this morning, with another major case of CRYING*. So I decided to watch Rage. Here’s what I discovered:

1. Bob Sinclair is the new Jive Bunny

2. Record companies appear to have responded to the problem of reduced market share caused by online distribution and file sharing by cutting costs

3. Mysteriously, so far costs have only been cut in the wardrobe department

4. And maybe catering. SOMEBODY PLEASE FEED THESE WOMEN

5. Jay- Z may be the best rapper in the world but he is looking hella old lately

6. Everyone with the surname Jackson should learn to quit while they are ahead, unless perhaps their first name is “Sleepy”. Or “Luscious”

8. Diddy needs to pick a name and just go with it

9. Preferably not “Diddy”

10. The word ‘featuring’ is rarely a good start to anything (with the possible exception of Linkin Park featuring Jay-Z)

11. The irony of Beyonce having written a song telling other women to put some clothes on will never cease to entertain me





*Child’s Really Young, Insomnia Naturally Goesalongwiththat.

Songs that say 'Adelaide'

Last time I was in Adelaide, while randomly hitting buttons on my sister-in-law's car radio trying to find JJJ, I accidentally spent a few minutes listening to the local MMM outlet.

They had one of those wonderful commercial radio promos which said something like "There are some songs that just say'Adelaide'".

The first snippet they played was from "Khe Sahn". And yes, they did play the bit that goes "The last plane out of Sydney's almost gone."

The next song that just said "Adelaide" was, even more confusingly, "Werewolf of London".

It really was.

I can't remember what the third one was, but if it had been Paul Kelly's "From St Kilda to Kings Cross" or "Heidelberg" by Things of Stone and Wood I would not have been all that surprised.

I suppose Redgum's "One more boring Thursday night in Adelaide" was unlikely to make the list, however geographically accurate it may have been.

I mention this now because I have a job interview with a particular Adelaide-based organisation next week. It turns out writing that 4000 word application was worth it after all.

Oh well, the Hilltop Hoods are from there, so it can't be all bad.

Perthmodernism

I have just spent a mostly enjoyable weekend in Perth. The reason for the sudden trip to Perth were family related and not particularly cheery, but here’s a few things I enjoyed:

The Perth Modern School
I came across what appeared to be a fairly normal looking primary school/high school with this somewhat curious name. I love the idea of Perthmodernism as a philosophy or possibly a new form of art. Based on last weekend, the painting would be done almost entirely in blue and yellow and they would be quite loud and cheerful.

They also do surrealism quite well
My brother and I found a yacht club in the middle of nowhere that was, as one might expect at 5pm last Saturday, full of merrily pickled Eagles supporters. A delightful young lady approached my brother and I, and asked “Are you guys from “The X-Files?”

I was wearing jeans with a faded blue T-Shirt. My brother was wearing cream-coloured pants and a jumper. The only basis I could see for anyone suggesting that we might be from that show was that my brother was wearing sunglasses that could at a stretch be compared to the sunglasses occasionally worn by FBI agents, and I was talking on a mobile phone.

I was completely baffled. My brother, bless him, did not let such trivial matters concern him, and instead responded with a cheery “Yes, you can call me Fox”.

It’s laid back and wacky
I stayed with my cousin. I had met his wife once, for about ten minutes, six years ago, and she insisted on picking me up from the airport and driving me wherever I needed to get to that day. She also suggested that I should wear feathers in my hair so she would recognize me. I dutifully taped a red feather to the side of my baseball cap. I loved that no one either on the plane or anywhere in the airport so much as blinked at this ridiculous behaviour.

I should add that my cousin’s wife is wonderful, their 18 month old son is simply gorgeous and their five year old daughter is utterly charming.

It’s a small world after all
The first person I met in Perth grew up in the suburb I now live in, went to the same high school as me in Melbourne and he is now dating the sister of one of my oldest and closest friends. This is truly sweet as we used to tease my friend’s sister about liking this guy when we were all at school together in 1987, so we have been waiting for these two kids to get together for NEARLY TWENTY YEARS.

Also, most enthusiastic props to this guy for having the sheer nerve to hang around the greater Subiaco region in a Swans jumper the day before the Grand Final, particularly as he is not, as far as any of us know, a Swans supporter. At all.

They have amusing chain stores
We found a recently developed suburb with a brand new shopping centre. Only two shops appeared that have actually opened yet. One was a newsagent and the other was “A Taste of Britain”. This shop sells products that you simply can’t get in Australian, like, um, bleach.

Seriously, the product most prominently displayed was a specifically British brand of bleach. They also had curry simmer sauces, noodles in a bowl of the just add water variety, and Cadbury Roses chocolates in a tin (not in a cardboard box the way we unwashed colonials eat them).

About the only things that seemed in any way uniquely British were the peas in a can and the boxes of powdered beer batter and just-add-water Yorkshire puddings. I really do salute the courage of whoever decided to set up this shop next to the soon to be opened Coles supermarket.

They make great Thai food
The gelati is also excellent.

They really do hug strangers in the street
Possibly this would not have been happening if West Coast had not just won the best Grand Final since 1990. It was great anyway.

I also enjoyed the fact that at 11.00am the next day people were still driving around in car with a flag sticking out of every single window and tooting at pedestrians while yelling “Eaaaagles” regardless of whether said pedestrian (me) was wearing a scarf or indeed anything blue or yellow. Is it possible to punch the air with enthusiastic irony? I think I managed it.