Australians whine

November 25, 2010

tags: Brisbane, Currencies Direct, Living In France, Moving To France, The Ashes, The Ashes 2010, Valbonne

Poms whinge and Australians wine. Australian wine has become well known over the past 20 years, and even I have been known to partake occasionally when no proper real French wine is available. They also make champagne although of course they are not allowed to call it that, and in any event it is of such quality that they often feel the need to disguise its natural charm with the addition of peach nectar or something similar, anything to mask the original taste.

So First Day of the Test is upon me today, the raison d’etre which I expect my ill educated fridge magnet salesman friend Paul North thinks is some kind of pastry.

I dreamed we won the toss, batted and were 330 for 2 at the end of he day and life could scarcely be better, or did they win the toss and its all started badly? its difficult to write factually when you are writing a few days before the event for logistical reasons.

The scale of this country is hard to grasp. As the pilot said we are over Northern Australia, the blond nearby started buckling her seatbelt, but we still had six hours more flying to reach Sydney.

It did not take me long to find some kangaroos, these were below a large Christmas tree that was being erected in the centre of Brisbane but I still have not figured out the connection.

Skippy and friend Christmas shopping in Brisbane

As we arrived into Sydney airport early on Wednesday morning we suffered what all visitors to Australia have to suffer, we were all sprayed to ensure that no bugs could be introduced into the country unknowingly. The tannoy announcement said they were spraying for pests, but they were not to know that the nice lady decorator did not accompany me on this trip.

This evening, which of course is now 12 hours ahead of most of you, I shall go and fraternise at the Pig ‘n Whistle pub nearby which has been deemed the headquarters of the barmy army for the next week, they army being the travelling (dis)organised English supporters club. I shall expect no less than singing in anticipation of the start of the game tomorrow.

By now my regular readers will realise that a cliché to me is like a red rag to a bull so I never use them. Mac Mackay gets in touch to ensure that whilst in Australia I should try to see some sport, I suggest surfing but he says they don’t have the internet, but I am sure people sleeping with their sisters also happens down under.

The trip down under was eventful, I was initially refused boarding at Nice airport due to not having an Australian visa. I asked “don’t you know who I am?” To which I got a curt “non!” But it transpires one can buy a visa at the airport, also, local currency, but at terrible exchange rates.

Then, having overcome that hurdle I boarded and awaiting the upgrade, that never came. “Don’t you know who I am” I shouted, but clearly they stewardess did not, nor as it seems, did any of my 4 BA pilot captain friends.

Chris France

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