Out of the mouths of babes

I phoned my little niece for her ninth birthday last night. I shouldn't say little, she's got the longest legs of any kid I know. She's gonna be an amazon woman knocking them dead in a few years I'd say.

We were having discussions about the difference between the southern and northern hemispheres. We got quickly through the boring stuff around day vs night, cold vs hot etc. We then got onto topics more relevant to a nine year old's currency, such as what junk food and breakfast cereals they have here compared to home.

I then tried to explain that they only have cars with a manual transmission over here. Why do I get myself into these conversations? Quick as a wink she could demonstrate what I was talking about by demonstrating with the sounds of a manual transmission changing gears. Pretty good considering my only explanation was "you know how Mum drives a car and she doesn't have to do anything with the stick thing, she just drives?"

The comparison that really floored her was that they don't call them doonas over here. It's a duvet. And it isn't pronounced 'yow-guurt' it's 'yog-it'.

Her response to that?

'Jesus'.

I didn't know what to say to that! I think it was in her delivery. Even though it was only the one word, it was what it implied. It really said 'What god forsaking place do you live in?'

It would be a situation of pot meet kettle if I pulled her up on her blasphemy.

Then again, sometimes I have to ask myself what kind of place we are living in. Then I look at the weather in Australia and all I can say is 'Jesus'.

On the topic of Australia, something needs to be done about the tourism advertising you guys distribute over here. It is downright embarassing. It just perpetuates the myth that we are a nation of redneck morons who have no culture. I think the last one read something along the lines of:

'There'll be a beer waiting for you at the 19th and Shazza will give you a pash if you're an alright sort. Where the bloody hell are ya?"

The only thing that has come out of that advertising campaign is ammo for every Pom, Irishman and Kiwi at work to say 'where the bloody hell were ya?' in a terrible Aussie accent if I am late for a meeting.