Sunday, 29 October 2017

A repair person I'm not!

When it came to fixing things around the house, it's safe to say I was never a handy woman.

When we were growing up, my brother and I were never really good at building stuff. In fact the only time I rubbed shoulders with someone in overalls, was when our parents took us to a K.D. Lang concert, the only carpenters I knew were in my parents record collection and the only time I'd used Selley's Liquid Nails was when I found some under the sink once and tried to bake a cake with it.

For most of my life, I was the sort of person who was less DIY and more DIYTCAETRD (Do It Yourself Then Call An Expert To Repair Damage) type of person. Even Jesus had more luck around wood and nails than I did.

In the past, the only thing I was good at was picking up the phone to call 'hire-a-hubby'.  Shouldn't use the line 'is great doing odd-jobs around the house' and my name in the same sentence. I once got a flat tyre on my Holden Barina (hello young ladies), and when the RACV couldn't come for over an hour, I called my mum and she talked me through it. Yes as far as doing 'blokey' things I think I'm slightly behind Julie Bishop but way ahead of  Malcolm Turnbull.

I had to call a plumber because of a leaking tap.  As it's not my place I called a couple and the first one to arrive was getting the job. As it happens, they both arrived at the same time, or thereabouts. So I was stuck with one tap and two plumbers.

As somebody who chose air travel as a job because it's sort of indoors, and no heavy lifting (usually), I greatly admire people who actually work for a living. Plus, with plumbers, I feel we're kind of in the same line of work. It's just that I talk it, and they make sure it get's flushed away,

Anyway, at the end of a long day with them working in the rain and me lingering awkwardly, I decided to try to bond with the bonza blokes (Aussie lingo) by getting them a bloody beer. (Sorry. Again I learnt this Aussie bloke talk from watching Alf in Hone and Away).

So I went to the fridge looking for a good blokes beer like VB or Fosters, only to be greeted by a range of designer ales with names so complex they sounded like they were named after Angelina Jolie's kids.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, they didn't want to charge me because 'you're a visiting Aussie. I love Aussues.'

Yes, I'm Aussie. I love Australia. I couldn't be more Aussie if I was riding a kangaroo down the Main Street, eating a vegemite sandwich, drinking a VB and staring at a picture of Warnie.

I reckon most Aussies would say that in certain areas, we've always seen ourselves as superior to the Brits. Weather immediately spring to mind. Oh, and sport! Sometimes I suspect we'd be happy to come second last in the Olypics, as long as Great Britain came last. Well actually third last, as we have to beat New Zealand too

Remember when Britain beat us at the Olympics? It basically knocked  all other news off the front page. Suddenly no-one cared about terrorism. Forget the bombs, we were beaten by the Poms!

And beaten we were. Every mathematician in the country was pulled off important research to prove that we won more medals 'per capita' than Great Britain.

I'm depressed now. Back next month.


  1. Everyone knows Alf and Steve Irwin are exactly how we speak.
    Most blokes struggle with blokey stuff but we won’t tell you. First we’ll try to fix it stuff it up even more, then get a mate to have a look at it before calling a professional.

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