MY BIT OF THE UNIVERSE

I'm lucky to live in the Lucky Country, better known to most of you as Downunder, though we never refer to your country as Upover. It's a land of sun, scorpions, sand, trapdoor spiders, surf, blue-ringed octopuses, bronzed lifesavers, death adders, cold beer, sunstroke, koalas, bent cops, kangaroos, crooked politicians, cute bandicoots, redback spiders, birds, crocodiles, sheilas in bikinis, muggings, the Melbourne Cup, greedy lawyers, cricket, skin cancer, Aussie Rules and drunken b*****ds. Like I said, the Lucky Country, with the best beer in the world.
Aussie blokes are quite casual, with a great affection for their mates, who they refer to as decent b*****ds. If an Aussie calls you a b*****d, you're in! But as an outsider, if you call him a b*****d, you're gonna need reinforcements with big muscles.
He'll think himself superior to "Sheilas" in many things, of which beer drinking ranks high on the list, but we sheilas outrank him in sheer cunning. This is obvious by the way we have him convinced that only blokes can cook a barbecue. While we sit by the tablecloth in the shade of a tree, next to the esky loaded with grog, he's the poor b*****d out there in the sun, slaving over a hot sizzling steak, with the smoke in his face and the dreaded Aussie bush flies swarming around.
I live in Western Australia, the biggest (and best) bit. There are cities and stuff over the other side of the rabbit proof fence, but we don't talk about them much.
By the way, as any Aussie will tell you, J.K. Rowling (the Harry Potter author) got it wrong. A bludger isn't a ball used in Quiddich. A bludger is what every red blooded Aussie aspires to become - somebody who collects a wage for doing bugger all, and sits around in the shade, drinking beer.

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