Australia Day

Woo Australia Day! Barbeques, sunshine and whatnot.

Now that I’ve experienced sunburn for the first time in my life (stupidity in leaving out key areas when applying sunscreen yesterday at the beach) and decided it’s not a pleasant experience (no, really, I mean, I understood that before, it’s just more personal now –  the idea that your skin has had a slow-cooking process in the sunshine was never attractive, but to keep feeling it for literally hours after you’ve left the sun? Not fun.), I feel all that much more Australian. Barring the bit where I’m not cheering for Australia at the cricket (not until they’re the underdog, and I reckon (hah) that there’s nothing more Australian than that), there’s something unmistakable about the fact that we take the piss out of our national day by honouring such time-worn cranks as Sam Kekovitch and his message to go forth and slaughter the lambs. Other nations have parades, military and non, on their national days; we view it as a well deserved break shortly into the New Year, a chance to further soak up the summer, usually just before we bed down in earnest for work, what with the kids returning to school this week too.

So to all those over-the-top flag-waving alleged patriots I saw yesterday, before Australia day even, pull your heads in and remember Australia’s not America, and we don’t need to proclaim our allegiance to the country so bloody loudly.

(If there’s a more inane and empty chant than the shout of Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi anywhere in the world, I’ll happily dine on hat a la mode.)