CHRUSTMUS IN IN ZID: TEWTALLY CHOICE, BRU!

Rightyo, I promise that’s the only time I’ll write in a Kiwi eccent…… ahem. Okay, that’s the last time for the rest of this blog. I could go on and on, but when the Australian accent sounds like we’ve all descended from crows (maaaaaaayte, croyyykee - you catch my drift?) I’ve got nary a leg to stand on, really.

Have finally gotten round to writing this, so how was Christmas in New Zealand’s North Island, I hear you ask? Well, it was pretty damn tip-top. The natural environment is far more forgiving than our own kill-you-six-ways-from-Sunday-if-you-take-a-wrong-turn Aussie wilderness. The coastline is more jagged and intricate than a teenager’s moods, full of fascinating variety and hidden gems. The rural countryside is picturesque and chock-full of hobbits. Okay, maybe I made that up about the hobbits. But you wish it was true, don’t act like you don’t.

And, in the short-ish time I was there, the Kiwi culture felt (to me) the way I remember Australian society feeling when I was a wee tacker – a bit more chilled, less complicated, more make-do-with-what-you’ve-got, more appreciation for simple pleasures. Probably a massive over-simplification from the wannabe anthropologist writing this guff, but that’s how it struck me.

Here’s what I got up to (there’s a lot, so the humour’s lacking – just look at the pretty pictures, willya?!?):

Spent Christmas in Auckland
- Flew in late Christmas Eve, met Sarah’s lovely family for the first time

- Spent Christmas day unwrapping pressies and eating nosh ensconced in their home at Mission Bay.

- Had a crack at Ryan’s (Sarah’s bro) brand new WaterBeast of a jetski down at the beach after lunch, accidentally getting it airborne off the chop on the first run. Eased back off the gas on the next few runs (didn’t want my bank balance getting wrecked in a jetski dingle, y’know?). Plus my ribs wouldn’t have withstood any more of Sarah’s terrified, vice-like squeezes.

- Got taken for a wee trip up to the top of One Tree Hill by Sarah’s mum, Lynn, and took in the views of Auckland (yep, it’s definitely got a lot of waterways and old volcanoes) from the top. Wicked thing was that sheep were still allowed to graze in the parkland below – the greenest lawnmowers money can buy. Take note, Campbell!!

- Did a solo walking tour of inner city Auckland – won’t bore you all with my town-planner impressions but Vulcan Lane was nifty, their new Entertainment Centre looks the goods and the Viaduct harbour area reminded me of Sydney’s Circular Quay. Not too shabby.

Piha
- Went on a day trip with Sarah and her sister Monica from Auckland to Piha, New Zealand’s most famous surf beach on the wild’n’windswept west coast of the Auckland. It’s a Naomi Campbell sort of place, ie stunningly gorgeous in a wild sort of way but cold and harsh and quite obviously ready to smack the bejeesus out of you if you don’t pay it the proper respect.

- Awesome scenery, black volcanic sands, big angry surf, small cluster of development clinging to the bottom of the Waitakere Ranges that climb skyward directly behind the beach dunes etc. Climbed Lion Rock (see piccies), ignoring rockfall “Stop Here” signs and b*stard stabbing-thorn-encrusted gorse. Didn’t fall off. Result!

- Trekked up the KiteKite Track to the 3-tiered KiteKite Falls and swam in what was easily The Coldest Water I’ve Ever Experienced. It was so frigid that it made me emotional. Had a lump in my throat and everything, and it wasn’t because my Jatz Crackers had zipped northwards at the first step into the shallows, either. Brutal stuff. The swim under the waterfall itself was like being vigourously beaten about the head and shoulders by hundreds of psychotic children wielding frozen pool noodles. Emerged from the water feeling like I’d been set on fire. Mmmm, invigorating.

Northland: Kai Iwi Lakes , Tane Mahuta and Tauroa Point

Drove north from Auckland to the Northland and, after a stop to visit some family friends, stopped at Kai Iwi lakes, which were gorgeous. We had a swimbo and picnic lunch, then resumed our northward journey up to the point. Far too civilised and relaxed to have anything comical to say about it. Oy said, noyce one, bruvva.

- Stopped to have a look at Tane Mahuta, a mammoth kauri pine in Waipoua Forest and New Zealand ’s most famous tree. Estimated to be between 1250 and 2500 years old (meaning it was probably fully mature a few hundred years before the Roman Empire came on the scene), the big fella stands over 51 metres tall, nearly 14 metres in girth and even appears to have another huge tree growing out of the fork at the top of it’s trunk. Not the kind of thing you want falling on you.

- Next stop was at Tauroa Point. Stopped and walked out along the headland, taking in the bay and the coastline – tres spectacular. Made me come over all windswept-and-mysterious like.

Ahipara
- Spent 4 days at this small coastal community on the North Island ’s west coast, at the southernmost tip of 90 Mile Beach. Surfed, ate good nosh and hung out with Sarah’s family and family friends from her childhood.

- Sandboarded down the big sand dunes around the southern point (inbetween the ignorant tossers on quadbikes and dirtbikes continuously racing up and down the dunes and generally irritating the living sh*t out of everyone else within 5kms) before hitting the surf. Immediately lost the bodyboard I’d borrowed when the strap got yanked off my wrist by a wave, only to watch Sarah’s friend Kate almost got dashed against the rocks on her surfboard trying to save it. She missed it, and then had to paddle like a demon for ages against the heaving current to get away from the rocks. Sarah managed to snag it from around the other side of the rocks and got it back to me (my hero *swoon*). Got out and shame-facedly handed the bodyboard back to the kids on the beach, then took Kate’s surfboard out when she came in 5 minutes later, utterly tanked from her frantic escape job. Who invited me?!!?!?

- Collected tua tuas (shellfish) in the surf with our feet. Literally – you walk into the shallows and screw your foot down into the sand and they’re everywhere. Felt very Bush Tucker Man. Without the skill. Or the hat. The tua-tua’s were cooked in a big pot that night and devoured – delish.
- Had a 20 minute ‘go at kiteboarding (which involves using a big ol’ kite to pull you along the beach with your feet strapped into what looks like a 4WD skateboard) along 90 Mile Beach – got my feet in the straps a few times but mostly it involved being yanked bodily through the air and sprinting leaning back at a 45-degree angle as the kite “took me walkies”. Some people, not realising I was a rank amateur, decided to walk directly under the kite and the lines. Obviously they missed the 10 times I’d sent the thing plummeting into the beach like a meteor. Could’ve been interesting if I’d had Plummet #11 while they were strolling on through.

- After the whole family-and-friends crew hooked-and-baited it up for a second time, I got to paddle the long-line out to sea in a kayak (minimal waves so it wasn’t too hairy). Good fun. Could barely see the teeny figures on the beach waving to me in the dusk to let me know I’d gone far enough. Helped reel it in both times as well (team effort), plus we landed a decent-sized taylor . Yasssssssss!

- Jumped in the 4WD with Sarah, her Dad John and friend Mike, drove out around the point over the rocks all the way up the rocky, inaccessible coastline to “Pickersville” (a seasonal shanty town on the beach further south from Ahipara where locals who support themselves by collecting and selling shellfish live for part of the year). ‘Twas a wee adventure dodging razor-edged rocks, sinky sand and other 4WDers / dune-buggies.

Kawakawa, Bay of Islands
- Saw the world-famous Hundertwasser public toilet. W-o-w. Look this baby up on the web, words don’t adequately describe its Dali-esque beauty. Excellently, the same motif and design features appear to be spreading out along the street as if the other small shops, street signs etc are catching it, like a cheerful art virus.

Tapuaetahi
- Went snorkelling and nearly swam right over the top of a massive black stingray I at first mistook for a swordfish lying on the bottom (until the wings came into view). Realised what I was hovering above at the same time Monica grabbed my arm and pulled me away. Steve Irwin Moment: avoided.
- Went for a walk through and around a Maori settlement on the coast, trekked up through the bush along a river, then attempted to round the headland clambering over hexagonal volcanic extruded rocks. Almost got there but the big blowhole cave at the point cut us off.
Visited yet more family friends (they’re popular, these Pausinas)

Auckland Again
- After another frigid snorkel and a quick roadside pizza dinner outside a nifty country pub, we spent most of New Year’s Eve driving back to Auckland . Bonfires in people’s back and front yards seem to be the thing to do on New Year’s Eve in NZ. Hide your matches from any Kiwis you know around bushfire season.

Coromandels and Surrounds
- Spectacular scenery, winding coastal drives. Stayed one night with yet more of Sarah’s family’s friends. Went to Hahei (beach town that Sarah’s family used to frequent when Sarah was a wee’un), then Cathedral Cove and Stingray Bay (gorgeous) for a snorkel. Had a school of huge snapper following us around the point at arm’s length. Get that into ye, Attenborough!

Rotorua
- Stinky. Steam wafting out of gutters and storm drains. Copped a free look over a fence in a pub carpark at the geysers in the tourist park going crazy (apparently they’re more active now that the Rotorua Council’s banned the hotels from using the thermal energy for heating).

Huka Falls, Lake Taupo and The Desert
- Stopped at Huka Falls for lunch and watched Nature’s water cannon thumping gargantuan amounts of H20 through the gorge hard enough to ruin your whole day if you fell in. Spectacular. And loud.

- Drove through Lake Taupo (quite a large lake, yes) and, further south, The Desert. Eerie place, up on the central plateau there. Very desolate, no trees, empty undulating landscape, like being in another country. Perhaps an Eastern European one. Only without mullets and tracksuits. Hang on, that was back in Lake Taupo …………..

Wanganui River
- Did a 4 day-3 night canoe trip down the Wanganui with Sarah’s folks and a group of their friends. While it wasn’t too violent (grade 1 apparently), there were near-divorces a-plenty on the first day as the people in the rear of each boat fought to steer the damn things while the people in the front also fought to steer the damn things. John and Lynn came a cropper on a mid-stream tree and had their canoe folded in half, leading to a bit of mid-river Barrel Rescue from yours truly. Got treated to spectacular scenery all the way along, visited some truly interesting sites (The Bridge to Nowhere, film locations for The River Queen, old Maori battle sites etc etc), had great weather, got some solid exercise and didn’t get tipped out once. Bring on the Zambeze.

Tongariro Crossing
- Recently named as the best one-day trek in the world by Lonely Planet, the Crossing was one of the things we’d wanted to do prior to the canoe trip (bad weather shut the whole thing down the day before though). The New Zealand media was in a frenzy over such an honour being bestowed upon one of the local attractions, which naturally resulted in a mass of tourists starting the trek in the dawn light at the same time as us. Hoo-frickin’-ray. Still, that didn’t really detract from it. It’s an epic walk. Mt Doom (as the English tourists all insisted on calling Mt Ngauruhoe), the Emerald Lakes, Blue Lake, steaming vents, ice crystals in the shadows of boulders, mineral spring waterfalls, alien landscapes, multiple ecosystems – spectacular doesn’t begin to describe it all. It had some heavy-exertion climbs, but by far the toughest part was the 2-and-a-half-hour downward thump to the finish line, knees jarring every step of the way. Fantastic weather though, just perfect. I mean sensational perfect. Did I mention the weather was good? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

- Finished off the day by stopping for a spur-of-the-moment, ice-cold dip at a pebbly trout-fishing spot on the crystal clear Tongariro River (mainly to ice our feet and knees). Easily one of the highlights of the entire trip. We could see foot-long trout swimming lazily against the current metres away, the rapids upstream and downstream of us provided the soundtrack, the sun was shining, the pebbles of the ‘beach’ we were on were warm, and there wasn’t another soul around. Magical.

So there you have it. We were on a plane home to Bristanbul 14 hours after being knee-deep in trout, unpacked and, about 17 hours later, we were having brekky at the Chalk with Mum and Dad (to say thanks for the surprise pick-up at the airport – fantastic surprise!!). When all of the above is on offer that close to my front door, you bet I’m going back.

FOUR MONTHS???

Has it really been four months since I last wrote on this thing?? Outrageous! Let’s see, what’s been going on since the last time I plonked my musings on display…

Went For An Ekka Show Day Surf At Happy Valley, Caloundra - 12 August

Solo effort, and the surf was bigger than a big Big Thing...... well, for someone at my level, anyway. Anything taller than my shoulders and longer than a bus qualifies as big, right? Thought you’d agree. Paddled for 30 minutes+ to get out past the break, getting thumped all the way. Arms very nearly decided to stage a revolt against the madman giving the orders upstairs. Didn’t catch a single wave. Realised it was time to go in when the gun surfer next to me got utterly pole-axed by the same wave that angrily devoured me and his board popped up next to my head, snapped in two. Beat a tactical retreat to shore via cowardly “dump board and swim for it” manoeuvres. Photo of what it was like provided (Author's Note: size of wave may not be exact representation of actual proportions on the day).

Weekend of Snowboarding in New Zealand - 14 - 17 August
The great thing about discovering you’re completely physically incapable of something like snowboarding is that you can remove it from that annoying list of Things You Must Achieve Proficiency In Before Dying and avoid the stress of striving for yet another less-than-essential leisure skill. Went to Christchurch to ski Mt Hutt over a weekend with Matty P and his chum Andy. The lads had fun. I was utter rubbish. Two 1-hour+ lessons and I couldn’t make it down the green run in under an hour.

Good stopover in a tremendous country pub on the way back to Christchurch from the slopes though. Plus we got a superb racist diatribe from the first Kiwis we met in Christchurch (just wanted to congratulate us on the job we’d done on the Aborigines in Oz – you stay classy, Christchurch). Had a wee return flight debacle involving a bump-off, sleep deprivation, an overnight stay in Wellington (naturally), fantastic Cuban coffee, the stonking TePapa museum, a viewing of Peter Jackson's "District 9" at the local cinema, a severe conversation drought (caused by aforementioned sleep deprivation) and, finally, our bedraggled return to Brisbane.

My 35th Birthday - 28 August

Celebrated moving into a brand-new age bracket by walking into the new flat we’d just signed the lease on to find it filthier than a Formula One boss’s home videos. Birthday was spent scrubbing surfaces and quietly singing Yazz and the Plastic Population’s “The Only Way Is Up” to myself when no-one was around.

My Sister’s Wedding - 12 September
My beautiful sis Donna tied the proverbial with her beau Clinton in a charming little ceremony in Woolloongabba, followed by a spiffy reception at Mirra in the Valley while Riverfire got all sparkly’n’boisterous outside. Highlight (apart from the obvious things) was my wee neice Ava getting the gee-willikers scared out of her by the F-111 dump-n-burn and then earnestly telling everyone throughout the night that the plane had been “LOOOUUUD”. How good is it seeing memories that will last a lifetime created right in front of you, ey?! Ooo, and big plug coming up - Sharon Pappas (http://www.sharonpappas.com.au/) did the photography. Tremendous photies. Get on board. She rocks.

Went Camping at Caloundra - 18 - 20 September
Camped. Surfed. Was having a grand old time. Then my tailbone got a truly delightful thumping coming off my board in the shallows at speed. Stood there doubled over for a good 20 minutes wondering if anyone would notice me coming into work on Monday with a Zimmer frame and an inflatable donut ring. Came home to find bike stolen out of garage. Decided to remove this particular weekend from the calendar completely next year. Obviously doesn't suit me.

Boogied On Down At The Sounds of Spring Festival - 26 September

Wicked tunes playing from intimate, tree-shaded stages. Cops clustered around the big screens showing the live AFL Grand Final instead of working. Drunk punters vigorously scrounging for empty cans to cash in at the bar for a freebie. Brisbane's second dust storm making things look eerie and feel gritty. Not in that fashionable urban way either. But still kind of cool. Saw Root (with one of TISM's ex-band members as lead vocalist) plus bits of Shonen Knife, Butterfingers, Living End, Frenzal Rhomb, Children Collide and others. And the obligatory hilarious public transport trip home surrounded by fellow festival-goers in various states of inebriation, exhaustion, come-downs or plain ol’ tired’n’emotional funkage. Not a bad festival experience.

Mexican Party At Our New Place

Had another party at our new place, this time with an el Mexicano flavour. Somehow took it upon myself to perform magic tricks, like making a bottle of vodka's contents vanish into thin air without any conscious thought on my part. Am still meeting people who, when I introduce myself, give me "that" look and tell me they met me at my Mexican Party. Yeahhhhhhhh, haven't lost the touch, me.

Informal Longreach High School Reunion At The Ship Inn

Some looked the same, some looked different, some I wouldn’t have recognised if they’d rocked up with the exact same perm and/or short shorts they used to rock back in the day. Large amounts of loudmouth soup were consumed. Reminiscing was undertaken. Marvelling at the changes in each other completed. Slideshow of photos from high school days confirmed that the 80’s were, as suspected, the Decade That Style Forgot. Generation Y, pull your head in.

Straddie Weekend for Island Vibes Festival - 29 to 31 October

Got to Straddie and set up for long weekend at the big house Sarah’s friends had rented on the hill above Cylinder Beach. Relaxed. Munched. Drank. Surfed. Attended the blues / roots / ska / dub / reggae festival on Saturday (nice, chilled-out, funky, small enough to navigate and friendly – get there next year if you can). Avoided getting snacked by any lurking 5-metre white pointers with too much press coverage while surfing. Spotted numerous whales, and even more kombi vans. Not to mention white-collar architect types with carefully-maintained dreadlocks and tie-dyed weekend attire.

Tried surfing twice at Main Beach, only to be given The Big Whatever each time by King Neptune and his hired goons, Wavey McDumpalot and Mr. Rip. Managed to snap garage key off in garage rollerdoor lock prior to game of beach Frisbee football. Anger didn’t increase sand-sprinting stamina one iota. Luckily, the bodysurfing session after our exertions was tremendous. Apart from the drunk dude who infiltrated our group, demanding the Frisbee and splashing those who didn’t cough up the goods on demand. Less than tremendous. Good opportunity to work on my Dealing With Difficult People skills, though.

Les Claypool Concert, The Tivoli - 1 December

Rubber masks, strange instruments, eerie lighting and a bass guitar virtuoso…. but too short.

Yowza. First time I’ve seen the ex-Primus lead singer and mind-bogglingly talented bass guitar wunderkind live. Decked out in a natty Victorian-era-vest-and-bowler-hat combo, and with a backing band consisting of a cellist, drummer and a multi-percussionist/jazz xylophonist all clad in tuxedos and identical rubber masks, Claypool definitely brought the weird.

I’m not that au fait with Claypool’s solo stuff, but anyone in the average-sized crowd could tell the majority of the punters were there to see Claypool unleash some old-school Primus – the few times he teased the crowd with a few bars, or when he re-appeared on stage midway through the set wearing the Mr Kringle pig-mask and carrying his electic double bass, the crowd amped up like someone had just told them they were all getting free booze at the end of the show.

Alas, no Primus was forthcoming. And apart from one of the most amazing drum solo/two-drummers-call-and-repeat sessions I’ve ever seen and some wicked solos from each of the band members, the set never seemed to reach a crescendo. There were other exceptions – a few sing-along funky rhythm gems, and Claypool’s other “costume change” that saw him re-emerge from the shadows wearing an ape mask, loping about like a chimp, mugging to the audience and playing one blistering song on a single-string bass instrument with a pull-down handle at the top (no idea what it's called) was utterly bizarre and grinningly fantastic at the same time. But the set was too short, and ended after one encore, leaving everyone confused and milling about like gobies in a fish tank.

But the atmosphere Claypool created was just like that solitary monkey-mask song – weird, twisted, off-kilter, funky, rhythmic, dark yet very whimsical and tongue-in-cheek. It would’ve fit perfectly as the soundtrack on a film like 12 Monkeys or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Like my brother said, you won’t hear music like it anywhere else in the world. And when Claypool did decide to get his crazy-fingers on, the Tivoli seemed to shrink down to just the man and his instrument. Ridiculously, head-shakingly amazing.

Drew’s 21st - 7 November

My youngest cousin hit the Big 2-1 on the 7th of November. Hard to believe he’s now 21, but watching his mates turn up at the party was more of an eye-opener. Were my mates that beefy when we were 21? Does every high school in Australia now have a pro-quality gym for these elephantine young dudes to use free of charge between classes? Seriously, have a shufty at some photos of guys that age circa 1950 and it’s Rawbones Central – compare that to a photo of, say, Cavill Avenue on a Schoolies night and it appears that you’re looking at the same young guys after they’ve been pumped full of helium or something.

Tom Tom Crew, Judith Wright Centre - Dec 9
Once again, another reminder of how some people really did win the genetic lottery. Utter b*stards. Went to this show, (apparently billed in the States as a “hip-hop circus”), and basically tried to stay dry as Sarah and her friend Di drooled themselves dessicated next to me in our second row possies as a bunch of shockingly good-looking, athletic and multi-talented men gyrated and flexed their way through a circus tumbling / gymnastics / breakdancing / beatboxing / taiko drumming performance onstage before us.

The all-male troupe put on a good show for sure – the beatboxer was talented and comical, the drummer (despite having the ol’ kwazy eyes look) was a demon on the skins and the integration of all the different performances was tip-top. But having to wring my shoes out from the puddles of saliva forming on the floor from the ladies sitting around me was a tad icky. One lass in front of me even let out a little involuntary whimper as the spunkiest gymnast saluted the crowd with his abs within tackling distance of her seat. I swear she tensed her legs for the leap.

By the end of the show many of the women in the crowd looked a bit wild around the eyes, like a roomful of lionesses about to pounce on some tasty wildebeest. Many of those with attendant partners looked…ahem…. pent-up, shall we say? No idea why.

Excellently, I escaped being trampled in a frenzied she-stampede in the bar outside because we left before the lads made their promised post-show appearance (“Hi I’m Mandy, can I rub against you while I congratulate you on such a thought-provoking performance?”). Ahhhh, the glories of being a performer, ey?

There you go - the highlights from the last four months. Hope you all have a stonking Christmas and an arrest-free New Year's Eve.

10 Things You 10 THINGS YOU NOTICE WHEN YOU RETURN TO BRISBANE FROM OVERSEAS

1. The accent

Like being slapped around the moosh with a Vegemite-slathered dingo steak as you get to Passport Control at the airport. Maaaaaayt, somebody get this country some VapourDrops. You know it’s true.

2. The smell of greenery as you drive away from the airport

My favourite. If you’re lucky enough to arrive back in summer and have your windows down, that thick, raunchy, pungent smell of green plant life steaming in the heat assails the senses and triggers all sorts of wonderful olfactory memories. Just don’t drive off the edge of the Gateway Motorway while you’re in the grip of a reverie about picnics in New Farm Park or some such.

3. How quiet suburban streets are

Is it just me? Is it the countries I go to? Seriously, whenever I come back and walk the streets in Le ‘burbs during the day I feel like I’m in a post-Apocalyptic movie and that I have to keep an eye out for zombies creeping up on me. Or maybe that suburb everyone lived in at the bottom of the hill in Edward Sissorhands. There is NO-ONE on the streets here. Every now and then you’ll get a sleek new broom-broom gliding past, looking like a metallic-paint-finished road whale cruising through the de-populated landscape, to verify that the rest of the human race is still in attendance, but compared to most other countries I’ve been to, where daily life happens on the footpath, this place is spooky at times.

4. How much sunshine there is

Particularly relevant if you’ve returned from a northern hemisphere winter. The non-stop rays combine with that luxuriant heat Brisbane gets to make you feel like you’re wallowing in a daily golden air-bath. Or something. Ahem. Either way, for someone solar-powered like yours truly, it’s delish. I don’t care if we’re nicknamed Skin Cancer Island for a very good reason. At least we don’t get SADS like Londoners or Norwegians. Or Melbournians.

5. The sheer amount of space

Good, but bad. Good, because it feels, well, spacious. I suppose. Err. Yes. But bad because, chances are, if you’ve come back from, oh, just about anywhere else on the planet, you’ll be keenly aware of just how disgracefully corpulent we are in our consumption of physical space. We have road islands bigger than entire city blocks in most other cities!!! And is it written into the Brisbane charter that it’s the right of every citizen to own a four bedroom house with three bathrooms on a 600sqm block? Does every Brisbanite really need (not want, need, people) both a front and back yard (and don’t forget the grassy footpath thanks!!!), in case they go utterly berko one day from claustrophobia?

The average Brisbanite will often respond to such a slight on their locale with something along the lines of “Oh, but we need a yard for our rugrat/s to play in, it’s not healthy otherwise”. Right. So how have the populations of New York, Rome or London (as a short list of cities not exactly swamped by a tidle wave of detached houses contained within grassy yards) not been swiss-cheesed by infant and child mortality and mindless-violent zombie teenagers? Oh that’s right, they actually produce some of the most vibrant, creative and intelligent people on the planet. Might have something to do with fact that kiddies in those cities HAVE TO PLAY WITH OTHERS OUTSIDE THEIR OWN PRIVATE LITTLE CONTROLLED SPACE.

Just a thought. But hey, look at how spacious it feels here in Brisbane. Is that the nearest shop on the horizon over there?

Urban Planner Rant: Complete.

6. How aggressive the drivers are

For the love of Zeus, don’t p*ss them off – they’ll kill us all! If you have the temerity to change lanes in front of their Getz or work ute without indicating, Brisbane’s motorists will haul you out through the driver’s side window and set about you with their stilettos, their Blackberry, their third McMuffin, whatever’s to hand when the red mist descends. That, or tailgate you at 120km/h screaming and gibbering at you in your rearview mirror like an extra from 28 Days Later.

Yessir, Brisbanites can be nice as pie when ambulatory, but get most of us behind the wheel and suddenly you’ve got a potential call-out for the Men In White Coats. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Brisbane drivers are hands-down the narkiest, most fiery and most aggressive 2-tonne-weapon-steering citizens anywhere outside of perhaps the USA.

Cross against the lights at your peril, tough guy.

7. Public transport

Maybe this is why Point #6 is so prevalent. When you can use public transport to zip around more easily in the rural backwaters of the god-awful-poorest region on the planet than you can in Brisbane, you know there’s something a wee bit skewiff, no?

I’m not saying it’s absolutely atrocious here, or that our safety standards are comparable to clapped-out, bulging-at-the-seams Ghanaian mini-bus rides that begin with a local priest leading the passengers in a prayer for the upcoming journey, oh heavens to Betsy, no. Just that when you burn over three quarters of an hour of your life to travel from Mt Gravatt to Carindale by bus, for example, The Irrits start setting in and you start to grasp why tourists find this place……”difficult”. And don’t get me started on the half hour wait for busses.

Just on tourists; They could, and often do, take their chances on Brisbane’s roads in a hire car, of course, but to my knowledge, BCC hasn’t started funding What To Do In a Club-Lock Attack courses for said tourists (again, see Point #6). Needless to say those unsuspecting innocents who’ve rented a car in Brisbane are often seen pulled over on the side of the road wearing the frightened, bewildered look of a small animal that’s just escaped a large predator. Says it all, really.

Someone take Can-Do on a junket to Curitiba for god’s sake. Please.

8. The parochialism of the local media

Hutus versus Tutsis. Jews versus Muslims. Sudanese Muslims versus Sudanese Christians. Cuba versus the USA. Hell, even Irish Catholics versus the Orangemen.
The Queensland media apparently still think Queensland versus New South Wales is on par with these contenders for World’s Greatest Rivalries. Rightyo.

Okay, okay, I’ll admit that the Queensland media does contain more coverage of events in other parts of the country and the world than the media in other states, and more than most American media as well (CNN = newstainment, don’t start with me on that one).

But, to paraphrase Andrew Bolt (I feel dirty even mentioning The Man Who Can’t Spell Research’s name), it’s always horrifyingly mortifying to come back and be subjected to the coarsening of Queensland culture via the media, and with such a blatant pro-Queensland slant too. AND, if you’ll allow me my obligatory Class Snob moment (too bad, I’m taking it anyway) the opinions of people who seem like they either guzzle a slab and beat up their wives/husbands every weekend or who talk like a coal miner trussed up in a $2000 suit can be pretty disturbing for someone fresh off a QANTAS international flight home (We made it!! Thank you Jesus!!).

9. How soft we are in dealing with our climatic “extremes”

Honestly, boo-frickin-hoo. It’s dropped below 20 degrees so it’s time to dig out the scarves and polar fleeces?? Suck it up, you whingers – we live in paradise. Get out of the office a bit more and you might actually discover the Amazing Heating Qualities of Sunshine. Is there any other city on Earth so marshmallow (or so badly designed to cope) when it comes to changes in temperature?

10. The Range of Fresh Fruit and Vegetables.

Seems like a basic one, but shucks it makes a difference. Some cities have fruit and veg that’s as fresh as ours here, but if you’ve got a hankering for anything other than yam, cassava or beetroot you’re sh*t outta luck, Huey. Some cities have as big a range as us, but every goddam bit of it is waxed, sprayed, sealed in Styrofoam boxes, mummified in shrink wrap and generally looks like it could last through a nuclear holocaust……… yummy.

The food we can get here in Brisbane rocks. Pure and simple. We can grow almost anything AND get almost all of it without the dreaded High Food Miles black mark against it. Now, if only we could get back to growing more of it actually within the city…………