The secret to oatmeal and poems

The sweetest raisins won't disguise lumpy oatmeal.

Allow me to explain.

This weekend, I had something like an epiphany. That is, I'd known this concept for a long time; indeed, it's something I think we all know. But now, suddenly, it was clear, sharp and blazing: instead of knowing it, I felt it.

The idea is this: Poems often (usually?) have particular lines or turns of phrase that stand out, that particularly impress themselves upon the reader. Different readers may find different gems in the same poem, but that's not the point.

What hit me is that, when a poem is great, there isn't any bad line. Even if a word or phrase doesn't stand out in a good way, it doesn't stand out in a bad way either. A great poem doesn't have any distractions or specific flaws. Nothing gets in the way, no imperfection distracts the reader.

That may seem obvious (or it may not; for that matter, it may not even seem correct). But it changed how I view the writing process. To me, this idea means that every piece of the poem must be right. It's not enough to have one brilliant line, then not bother too much with the rest.

I think I pay attention to all sections, but there are always parts of the poem on which I focus more attention - maybe because they need it. But often, it's the parts that are already working well that I work on most.

It's not enough for the poem to fit technically; the effect has to be right. The crystal might look perfect on the shelf, but it's only when we hold it up to the light that we know how it splinters and scatters the daylight.

Just a thought - but one that makes me think that nearly every poem I've written could use more work.

By the way, this thought came to me as I was reading 80 Great Poems from Chaucer to Now, by Geoff Page - it's a collection of, well, eighty great poems - not necessarily The Best poems, but all great. He discusses each poem in technical, artistic, and historical contexts. But the poems all impress with their lack of obvious flaws, which is what lit the bulb for me.

Political Poetry Corner: "Primary Colors"

With apologies to the redoubtable William Haskins - this poem is a topical adaptation of his poem, Colors. (password is 'citrus')


We watch
the vote in States of red
to end the scourge of
Tax and Spend,
to keep the guns
upon their shelves --

and pray we don't get shot ourselves.

We watch
the vote in States of blue
to boost the Poor and
Middle Class,
to pay for doctors everywhere --

at home in castles in the air.

We watch
the cars bedecked in yellow
ribbons to proclaim
support,
as soldiers risk their lives in toil --

those cars, they burn a lot of oil.

We watch
campaigns in Black and White
with tales of preachers'
God-Damn gaffes,
or sniper fire in Serbia

no worse than in suburbia.

We feel
the words congeal to grey,
the bungles bundled
end to end,
they summarize America --

we drown in esoterica.

One Hundred Things I Love about Australia: Part 5

Ahem. Well, it's been a while. But I still love Australia, and here, I finish off - after a ridiculous hiatus - the first half of the Hundred.

Last over before lunch:

41. Roundabouts. If you're in Massachusetts, they're giant, and they're called 'rotaries'. They're circular intersections that obviate the need for stop signs or traffic lights. Just yield to the right, and cruise on through. They're efficient, and if you try hard enough, you can pretend they're something like an ess; if you go straight through, you get the small frisson of a tight set of turns. Well, it's not much, really - but there is no fantasy about a four-way stop sign.

If no one's around, you can drive straight over the hump in the middle.

42. Year-Round Golf... with ocean views. The golf clubs have been in the cellar for a couple years - the weekends belong to the tin lids* now, which is better than any oceanside links course. When the sticks come back out, though, I'll relish getting back onto Long Reef, St Michaels, Mona Vale, and any number of public or private courses accessible to the general public (at least during certain times).

I grew up in Ohio, where the golf season is, oh, maybe six months of the year. I've never been an avid golfer, and have never shot lower than the mid-90's, but I do enjoy playing. Hitting off on a coastline of gorgeous cliffs separated by perfect beaches is, well, divine.

The sea breezes, and my Ginsu-like slice, mean I lose X golf balls per round, where X > 4. The good news is that I usually find X-1 golf balls. Aussie golf is a sharing community.

I particularly love playing at Long Reef, where Long Reef and Dee Why beaches are just off to the south, and the golf course slopes up from the road to the sea, culminating in a hundred-plus metre cliff. The view up and down the coast is extraordinary, and the golfers share the cliff edge with wedding parties, photographers, and hang gliders.

*kids. I have that annoying expat affliction to be fascinated with colourful local slang terms. What a nong.

43. Paterson's Curse. It's a spectacular flower - a column of lush, purple blooms atop a thistle-like stalk, found along country roads and in paddocks (what they call fields or pastures back in the States) - and a noxious weed. Amid the muted greens and browns of gum trees and tussocks, Paterson's Curse splashes a bit of Monet across the Arthur Streeton countryside. The trouble with it is that livestock won't - or can't - eat it. Hence the second half of the name.

The first half is a tribute to the great Australian poet A.B. "Banjo" Paterson, author of Waltzing Matilda, The Man from Snowy River, and The Geebung Polo Club, among others. He wrote about Australian bush characters the way Robert Service did the men of the Klondike gold rush.

It's ironic, and hilarious to me, that some of the most colourful foliage in the Australian bush is also a great nuisance. Aussies don't wear a lot of purple.

44. Comedy films that are actually funny without trying too hard. Let's overlook everything Paul Hogan did after Crocodile Dundee. And let's forget Yahoo Serious (whose films, in all fairness, I've never seen). Australian humor can be raucous, make no mistake. But few can be laconic the way Aussies can. In large part, it's because they're only too happy to take a poke at themselves without either getting moralistic or putting on the hairshirt.

The following are some of my great favorites - have a look at them; I'll guarantee you'll see what I mean; they couldn't have been made anywhere else.

The Castle - A man and his family, and their pride in the blue-collar house in which they live. It's off the end of the airport runway ("close to transport!"). Some reviewers thought the film was unkind to blue-collar Aussies; not at all, say the rest of us. It's an affectionate send-up that needed to be low-key and low-budget. It's rife with classic one-liners, which - unlike lines more self-conscious films - never sound contrived. Think of "You had me at 'hello'", for example, from Jerry Maguire. That was written to be a catchphrase. "Tell 'im he's dreamin'!" - well, you'll see.

Gettin' Square - Small-time Gold Coast crook gets one back. David Wenham, normally a heartthrob, does a brilliant heroin addict no-hoper. His court testimony scene is utterly priceless.

Crackerjack - Mick Molloy as the yob who keeps his membership in the bowls club just for the parking space. Good, sappy happy ending, and affectionate, funny look at a mainstay - albeit one that's fading - of Aussie culture.

45. The Piss-Take rite of passage. You've only just met these folks, and they're needling you. What gives? How dare they?

Calm down, son. It means you're all right. They don't bother taking the piss if they don't think you're worth the time. I mistook the ribbing at first; apparently, Yanks are popular targets for razzing, because they fall for it. I reinforced the stereotype, but I worked things out eventually.

I like the needling better than the awkwardness and feigned congeniality that usually accompanies first meetings. Aussies get right into it.

46. Lemon, Lime & Bitters. I don't drink booze. Australia is a drinking country. Drinks pervade Australian culture - they're everywhere.

So what does a non-drinker order?

I have never been a cola fan. And you try matching your mates' six rounds of beers with six Cokes. Urgh and gurgle.

One alternative? Lemon, Lime & Bitters. It comes premixed now - doesn't everything? - but the from-scratch method is to line a glass with a few drops of Angostura bitters, then add a dash of lime cordial (or Rose's lime juice). Fill the glass with lemonade (aka Sprite or the like) and ice, and there you go. It's tangy, refreshing, drinkable, and a little bitter.

No, I won't drink six of those, either, but it's very good and eminently serviceable for staying the course over a few hours.

47. Front Seat of the Cab. Where I come from, passengers always ride in the back - behind the partition, giving directions through the cash slot.

Not here. People get in the front seat, and they talk with the driver.

Really.

48. Bodysurfing. Okay, this is not particularly Australian. Except that, well, beaches were always a rare, holiday treat for me. I'd never been to a beach with waves you could ride.

Now, I'm spoilt for choice when I want to go to the beach. And though my surfing skills are still between wishful and rudimentary, I can throw myself on a wave and sail along for a few metres on my belly - over and over again, with the breathless elation of a kid on the roller-coasters.

Once I work out how to keep a board under me, and stand on it for a length of time, that'll be it. Endless summer.

49. Sea Change.

I enjoy a bit of television - really. But I pick my spots. I don't have the Reality TV gene; cannot stand to be in the same room with it. I have never seen Desperate Housewives, The O.C., or any of a long list of Essential Shows (though I'm mighty partial to The Simpsons, Law & Order, and Boston Legal).

Sea Change was an Australian series a few years back; to my mind, it's the best non-comedy television series I've ever seen. It centred around a city lawyer, played by Sigrid Thornton, who chucked it all to move to become the judge in a sleepy coastal town. Some of the story involved the obvious clash between her initial big-city anxiety and rush, but most of it about the local characters: the cop who's a surfie, the dim single dad with the heart of gold, the overbearing, empire-building local real estate agent and his Stepford-by-the-sea wife (or so it seemed), and the rest.

It added gentle drama and clever intrigue to the good-natured self-ribbing I mention in Thing I Love #44 above. It lasted only three years and ended at the peak of its popularity. An unpopular decision at the time, but the series remains perfect in memory.

See it if you can.

50. "The Same, But Different". Australian life is, in many ways, similar to the American life I left; the differences are sometimes subtle, but just different enough to seem like a parallel universe.

But despite the unstoppable march of cultural imperialism across The Sunburnt Country, none of the standards come through unaltered. Nothing deep about this, but it's there. Burger King is Hungry Jack’s; Dunkin' Donuts? Nope - Donut King. Mars bars are like American Milky Way bars. Milky Way? Three Musketeers.

I love the rectangular ashtrays often found outside public buildings and pubs, just because they say "Smokers Please" on them. A passing touch of civility.

Coming Up: ANZAC Day, Rock-Star Politicians, Utes, and more.

One Hundred Things I Love about Australia: Part 4

Welcome back to One Hundred Things. I lost my train of thought, but a bus came along eventually. I didn't have exact change for the fare, and the driver's a bit surly, so I'm sitting in the back.

And away we go:

31. Place names. From redundant to melodious, all the way to silly, Australian place names are particularly memorable. Ben Elton, in his novel Stark, muses on the obvious, plain nature of Aussie place names: the Great Sandy Desert, Shark Bay (where a man was, well, taken by a shark). The Great Australian Bight. Everyone hears about places like Kalgoorlie and Woy Woy (occasional home of Spike Milligan), and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert brought silver-screen glitter to the rough-and-ready outback towns of Broken Hill and Coober Pedy.

Some of the favorites I've actually encountered:
Black Bob's Creek - who was he?

Three Legs o'Man bridge - the flag of the Isle of Man looks like this. Must've been discovered by a Manxman, I suppose.

Bumbalong Road - I just like it.
Dry Farm Road - no prizes for guessing what you'll find here.
Tumbledowndick Hill - surely, there must be a Jane nearby, and they must be related to Jack and Jill.
Remarkable Rocks - A natural formation on South Australia's Kangaroo Island; they are, in fact, remarkable.
Curl Curl - My favorite Sydney beach, along with Narrabeen and Collaroy.

I could go on, and perhaps I will, a bit later.

32. The Sydney Opera House. It is one building that very much speaks for itself. While it might resemble the inside of a dishwasher, or a queue of turtles, it's a striking edifice. Its position of prominence on Bennelong Point - central both to Sydney Harbour and to the CBD (central business district, or "downtown" to the Yanks) - is fitting; it's an extraordinary sight from a distance, and just as much from up close. It's a well-used complex as well; opera, symphony, drama, and all sorts of public events take place there. A cocktail party on the balcony, overlooking the Harbour, is a grand and quintessentially Sydney experience. It's ironic, in a way, that an opera house is so beloved in such an un-stuffy country, but the SOH is. She's a beauty.

33. Mambo. Funniest, most wacky t-shirts and gear around. The best of their gear is the Reg Mombassa art (Reg is also a member of iconic Aussie band Mental As Anything). You might know his art from the cover of Public Image Ltd's greatest hits album. My favorite of his is the "Australian Jesus at the Footy" image, taken from the Book of Reg, wherein Jesus feeds the 5,000 with only a couple of meat pies and a warm tin of VB. Also, the series of Mambo Dog shirts are great; the best-known are the dog farting (musical note) and, er, showing affection to a leg. Funny, funny stuff. (I'll leave you to search for these, rather than transgress on image copyright.)

34. Christmas in Summer. What could be better? Prawns on the barbie, or sausages, cold beer, and beach cricket. With my in-laws, we usually have a picnic out in the bush and some fly-fishing on Christmas Day. There's a big traditional Christmas dinner in the evening, with turkey, mashed potatoes and the lot -- as is the case with many people, us still being in the Commonwealth and all -- but by then we're all sunburnt. Oh, that reminds me: don't kid yourself with the sun when you get here. It's hot, and sunburn comes fast and strong. Lather up with the sunblock, and wear a hat and sunnies (AKA "slip, slop, slap").

I finally discovered the Bucko & Champs Christmas CD's last year; they're classic. If anything, they're over-the-top ocker, but good over-the-top. A sample of their Christmas spirit:

Dashing through the bush
In a rusty Holden ute
Kicking up the dust
Esky in the boot
Kelpie by my side
Singing Christmas songs
It's summertime and I am in
My singlet, shorts and thongs
(c) 1994 Colin Buchanan & Greg Champion

35. Rocket. You may know it as arugula. It's a salad green -- thickish stem, oblong sort of leaf, about six inches long. It has a somewhat spicy taste, like radishes. Baby rocket is less than half the size, less pungent, and more tender. Both are fantastic with a bit of balsamic, or just olive oil and parmesan shavings. Plus, the name 'rocket' is great. "I'll have a rocket salad." *chuckle* Right-o, Buck Rogers.

36. Tin Roofs. Corrugated tin is commonly used here as a roofing material (that and ceramic tiles; I don't miss seeing tarpaper at all). Rain sounds fantastic on it. Like a canvas snare drum.

37. Flavoured Milk. In the US, nobody above the age of about ten drinks chocolate milk. Here, it comes in all sorts of flavours -- chocolate, vanilla, malt, coffee, strawberry. Adults and kids alike drink it -- it goes an absolute treat with meat pies (see earlier post).

38. Multiculturalism. It's just the way things are. Indians, Chinese, Vietnamese, Croatians, Italians, Greeks, Irish, South Africans, Lebanese, even Americans. They're all here, and it's not even worth noticing. But there's no reason to pretend one doesn't notice, or to pretend that nobody's different. Look, we are different. It's good that we are.

There certainly are, er, troubles here over differences -- big ones, sometimes. The Cronulla riots, the rise of One Nation, and the debate over the Government's refusal to apologise to the 'Stolen Generation' (aboriginal children taken from their families and placed in white Australian homes) are a few recent examples. But what I observe here is, by and large, an extremely heterogeneous community interacting peaceably -- no, cordially -- and appreciating what everyone brings to the community.

It does seem that, to a large extent, aborigines exist separately, and the balance between supporting their autonomy and including them in mainstream society appears extremely difficult; I don't claim even to begin to understand all the issues there.

But the existence here of a broad range of cultures is a wonderful thing, and it's an enriching aspect of life here.

39. Clever Everyday Things. It's amazing that some of these things aren't used everywhere; they make so much sense, and they seem so obvious here. Like:
- Half-flush toilets. Most toilets here have two flush buttons: half-flush and full-flush -- I guess you could call them the #1 and #2 buttons. The half-flush button only pushes the valve down half as far, so it uses half the water. Completely sufficient for 'lighter' applications.
- Power-point switches. All power points (electrical sockets) have switches. So the socket doesn't have to be live all the time. It makes things just that much safer; now that my not-quite-two-year-old son's learning new tricks every day, the power-point switch is a necessity.

40. State of Origin (thanks, JJ Cooper for the suggestion). Every year, during the middle of rugby league season (see earlier post), there's a two-out-of-three All-Star series between New South Wales and Queensland -- Blues vs. Maroons (why is it pronounced 'Marones' up there?), the Cockroaches and the Canetoads. Sure, the grand final's good and all. But if you're only going to watch one match all year, you'll want it to be Origin. Play goes up a couple notches, and the hits are harder. Guys who play on the same team all year belt the living daylights out of each other, all for their states. There's nearly always a punch-up; one year, the biff started eight seconds after the opening kickoff. Pulsating stuff, without fail. Even - maybe even especially - the 'dead rubber' matches, like this year, when Queensland won the first two matches, clinching the series. The third match was the best of a great series; no way the Blues wanted to go down three-nil. And they beat Queensland at Queensland, meaning that the Maroons got to collect the trophy, but a bit of the pop went out of the celebration.

Coming up: Roundabouts, year-round golf, Paterson's curse, comedy films that are funny, and more.

Part 3 - postscript

Er, my comment about 'balance' was more curt than it ought to have been. Poorly considered, in fact. My apologies, abjectly, to my two friends who suggested a balance.

I'm coming around on the idea. I'm indebted to you even for reading. Thank you.

One Hundred Things I Love About Australia: Part 3

Back again!

First, a couple of people have asked whether I'll do a list of One Hundred Things I Don't Like About Australia - for balance. Answer: I don't know. Balance? *shrug* Meh.

In any case, I'll think about it. But for now, here is the third installment:

21. Fishing. It's all around. Australians love to fish, whether it's perching a rod on the pier, casting out into the waves on the beach, chasing marlin offshore, or -- where I come in -- fly-fishing the streams of the mountains and tablelands. Now, I'm not anything like an avid fisherman. I've caught one fish -- that's right, ONE -- a smallish rainbow trout -- in my thirteen years here. But I appreciate the skill and craft involved, especially of fly fishing. Figuring out what the fish are hungry for, presenting a fly that looks right and delivering it in a convincing manner for the circumstances at that moment, impress me. I always enjoy it when I go. And it's an excellent excuse for a walk in the countryside.

22. Sports News. I remember from The Old Days in the US that the local news gets half an hour, then it's the national news. Here, at least on Channel Ten, it's half an hour of News, then half an hour of sports news. Every night. All the football codes are covered: rugby union and league, Aussie Rules, and football (or TSFKAS - The Sport Formerly Known As Soccer). Then there's cricket, swimming, auto racing, motorcycle racing, horse racing, netball, golf, hockey (if you mean NHL, better say "ice hockey"), basketball, on and on.

The acclimatisation from American sports to others takes some time, but it happens. It's helped by the fact that the commentators are very good; you can actually learn about the sports as you watch. Which is something else; after a lifetime of watching gridiron football, I still don't know what a 'nickel' defense or a nose tackle really is, or why a lineman is more suited to guard than tackle. (I like football well enough, but I don't understand the jargon.)

23. Blundstones. Work boots - ankle-high, brown, clunky but light. A U of elastic on each side, and pull straps front and back. Classic workwear. They're comfortable, and they're uniquely Australian. They work.

24. Roo Bars. I first saw these monsters on the fronts of semi-trailers in Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, back in the US in the Eighties. At the time, I figured they'd been invented for the film -- rough-and-ready highway armor. But no -- they're real, and they're here. Big, heavy-gauge metal frames hung on the noses of trucks, utes, and cars, they protect the vehicle from damage caused by hitting a kangaroo at speed.
It's pretty tough on the 'roo as well.

25. Touch Footy. The social version of rugby league -- backward passes, six touches to score, same-sex or coed. It's great fun - a very good game. Also an excellent pretext for Sunday brunch at, say, a cafe on Bondi Beach, or a Tuesday evening 'cleansing ale' before heading home.

26. Crosswalk Signs. Disembodied legs - pants and shoes - almost Mod-looking. Simple, effective, stylish, amusing.


27. Small-time big-time dramas. In real life and in TV, the scale of sensationalism is lower here. It's crept upward, and the difference may no longer be what I imagine. But, well, too bad. This is my list. My impression is this: Things that might not make US local news still manage to make national news here; a robbery in Melbourne might get reported in Sydney. Imagine a holdup in Chicago appearing in the New York news; no chance.

The great afternoon soaps here are Neighbours and Home and Away. When I arrived in 1993, I got a kick out of watching them, because the big event on a day's show might be that, oh, Shane wagged school that day. How novel, how reassuring, that truancy would be the biggest problem!

28. Handmade chocolates. One doesn't usually think of Australia as a leader in chocolates, but, in my corner of Oz, I do. Within, say, ten minutes' drive of where I live, there are perhaps half a dozen shops that make their own, utterly exquisite, chocolates. The flavours are imaginative, and the pieces themselves are beautiful to behold. One of my favorites is Belle Fleur, which was four blocks from our previous house. They always have a large window display, made entirely of chocolate. This one, from Father's Day several years ago, is one of the classics. It's nearly life-size. Love the white chocolate propane tank.


29. Spitting the Dummy. I'm not a fan of the act, mind you, but "spitting the dummy" is one of the greatest idioms I've ever encountered. Dummy is what Australians call a pacifier; that key bit of knowledge tells you exactly why the phrase is an apt description of a tantrum or rant. It's perfect, and I'll admit to a smirk every time I hear the expression... even when I'm the subject in the sentence.

30. Gum Trees. Wonderful, stark, twisted trees are the eucalypts. There are, I'm given to understand, hundreds of varieties of gum tree in Australia. The dusty green of their long, slender, pointed leaves, and the stripes of bleached grey and cedary red on their trunks, and the dangling bark-strips found on some types, typify the muted range of colours in the general Australian landscape. The wild colours of birds - the parrot-green and purple of the rainbow lorikeet, the rosella's blaring scarlet, and even the snowy white of the sulphur-crested cockatoo - are startling in comparison.

But it's the gum-tree's gnarled, contorted shapes and shadows that make it so haunting and beautiful, even in its vast abundance.


Coming up: Place names, the Sydney Opera House, Mambo, Christmas in Summer, Rocket, Tin roofs, and more.

One Hundred Things I Love About Australia: Part 2

Right. Now, where were we? Ah, yes:

11. Tim Tams. Just another chocolate biscuit? Nah. Not even. Two chocolate wafers - not too wafery - stuck together with a layer of soft, almost vapory chocolate frosting as thick as the wafers (not that lardboard stuff in Oreos, though I'll eat a sleeve of Oreos from time to time). Coated in chocolate. Descriptions, though, are useless. If you haven't tried 'em, DO IT. The legends are true. Some aficionados like to nibble off opposing corners and sip their coffee through a Tim Tam, which then gets melty. I've tried it -- it's not quite for me, but I'll try it again. There really ought to be a Kama Sutra of Tim Tam eating.

12. Question Time. Just as ugly as any reality TV, except that it's the government in action! Parliament Question time is the real stuff -- hideous to watch, embarrassing, and biting. It's the MPs in debate, taking turns on the floor. They have to address all remarks to the Speaker, even though they're clearly directed to various members of the opposite party. The Prime Minister, the cabinet, and the Opposition members are all involved; imagine President Bush having to roll up his sleeves and argue his points in the pits with Congress, while they shout him down. That's the stuff. I can't stand watching this, but at the same time, I love it.

13. Cricket. Sure, a Test match can go five days and result in a draw. But, let me tell you -- as a lifelong baseball fan -- it's great theatre. No "three strikes and you're out"; the batsmen (two at a time) are in until the defending team can get them out. And it's not a sissy's game: you've got to catch the ball - it's much like a baseball - with your bare hands, and bowling at the body is fair game. How the pitch wears over time, and how the ball wears, are all part of the strategy. And sportsmanship rules. Get too stroppy with the umpire, and you might lose your match payment (if you're pro, that is). Sure, it takes getting used to as a spectator, but it's a fine, fine sport. Plus, any sport where the Aussies can wallop the Poms on a regular basis is great fun.

14. Pubs. One of the things I noticed when I first arrived is that everybody goes to pubs. Sure, there are nightclubs and such, but what I like about pubs is that they're inclusive. All ages. My now-fading memory is of bars targeted to age groups -- most everyone in the place would be within five or ten years' age of everyone else. Or that's how it seemed. It doesn't seem that way here; at a pub, you'll see people from eighteen to whatever. And they're more social, in a broader sense: you could take a family to a pub for a meal, although the kids might not be allowed in the bar area. And (this might be a recent development) the food's likely to be decent or better. The footy and the races will always be on the TV, of course. If you find one with a bandstand instead of a roomful of pokies, so much the better!

15. Meat Pies. Fantastic. The standard stadium-fare 'meat' pie may not have much in the way of meat, but otherwise, they're brilliant. Warm, with a flaky crust and savoury filling, with tomato sauce (it's not "ketchup" here) on top, they're a joy. And, to be honest, the hot dogs you find at stands outside the pubs late at night are definitely best avoided. Good hot dogs are as scarce here as good Mexican food; fortunately, they're redundant, thanks to pies and chips (and kebabs -- another story altogether). There's a French bakery across from where I work, and it sells the most wondrous concoctions under the banner of Meat Pies: chicken forestiere, steak and mushroom, boeuf bourguignonne, lamb and black pepper, standard mince. Sounds chi-chi, but you just get here, and I'll take you there for a pie. You'll see.

16. Butchers. We get so used to supermarkets. Everything's all wrapped up in neat packages. But here, in many places, you'll still find the small shops: the fruit-and-veg shop, the bakery, and the butcher. In my suburb -- one main street, less than half a kilometer -- we have four or five butchers, two or three bakers, and a fruit-and-veg shop. That's in addition to the supermarket and the two seafood shops. Getting meat that's been fresh-cut, and recommended by the butcher who cut it -- often to your order -- is fun, and it's vastly superior to the shrink-wrapped supermarket fare.

17. Parks. Cities in Australia have a lot of open space. They protect their parks and invest in them. The playground equipment is modern and innovative, the jogging and bike tracks get used, and the playing fields attract all kinds of activity. Kids, dogs, joggers, touch footy games, ibises and cockatoos. And even in the city, grassy places to have lunch. Sydney's urban planning problems are bad now -- the roads and public transport can't cope with the burgeoning population, and we're running out of water -- but, fortunately, the parks are already there. And the local councils fiercely defend them. Quality of life gets top priority here; Australians know how lucky they are to have what they do.

18. Bluesfest. Every year at Easter, there's this wonderful festival at Byron Bay, in northern New South Wales -- the East Coast Blues & Roots Festival. We've been five times, and when my youngest is older (maybe next year), we'll go again. It's four-and-a-half days. Byron's historically sort of a laid-back, tie-dye and surfing town, but it's become hugely popular. Still, though, it's wonderful. And the Festival is brilliant; the headline acts range from ZZ Top to R.E.M. to James Brown to Parliament/Funkadelic to Dave Matthews to The Wailers, but it's almost always the lesser-known acts that wow me. Lots of blues, and a touch of everything else. I could rattle on for hours. The music starts every day at 1PM and goes to 11PM, with four stages going. So, in the morning, there's the beach -- the place is known for good surfing, and we've seen pods of dolphins on more than one occasion -- and the rest of the day there's food and music. And as big as it's gotten (not Woodstock-big; they limit the ticket sales, and the festival sells out every year), I've never seen or experienced the slightest aggro. People take their kids (we did); kids go on their own. We rent a place on the beach, with friends, and take the week. It's bliss. The only hard part is having to leave.

19. Vegemite. As with Tim Tams, the legends are true. It's dark-brown, salty gunk. It's fermented yeast. Whether it is actually a byproduct of the brewing process, I don't know. But, strangely, it's good on toast, and it's full of Vitamin B (a very good thing to have in the morning when you're 'not feeling the best'; Aussies know a little something about next-day recovery). I have mine on a toasted bagel with Tasty cheese (something like sharp cheddar). Kids grow up with it and actually ask for it; if you try it for the first time as an adult, you won't believe me. But it's true; ask my kids!

20. Seafood. Seriously wonderful. All kinds of fresh fish and seafood -- king prawns, crab, yabbies, scallops, calamari, octopus, mussels, the lot. The restaurant eating is divine, and reasonable. (Remember, no tipping!) If you enjoy wine, Australia does very, very well at that too. But one of the greatest archetypal Australian experiences is fish and chips on the beach. Fresh fish and hot chips, with a lemon squash or a cold beer, with your feet in the sand, is a once-in-a-lifetime experience you can have every weekend. There's always an option to order specific fish -- "John Dory and chips" or "Barramundi and chips" -- and that's great -- but, when I'm taking it out in a cardboard box and sitting in the sand, the regular "fish and chips" (usually flathead or something like it) suits me very well. Fried or grilled. I love it.

Coming up: Fishing, sports news, Blundstones, roo bars, touch footy, crosswalk signs, and more.