The other day I joined an International website that asked me to provide a description of where I lived.  You may be interested in what I wrote...

I’m lucky to live in the Lucky Country, better known to 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, conspicuous Government waste, huge prawns and drunken bastards.  Like I said, the Lucky Country, with the best beer in the world.

Aussie blokes are quite casual, with a deep affection for their mates, who they refer to as decent bastards.  If an Aussie calls you a bastard, you’re in!  But if, as an outsider, you call an Aussie a bastard, 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 bastard 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.