I did the most cliche thing any Aussie in London could do - celebrate Australia Day at a Walkabout pub. The familiar sounds of the Aussie accent and flashes of green and gold greet you as I entered the packed bar. I squeezed through the swarm of people with my Uggs on and then gritted my teeth as I struggled to lift them off the sticky floorboard. Three quarters of the way in, an Aussie guy wearing a bright pink shirt, obviously intoxicated turns to me slurring: “Goooo hoooome”. Already annoyed, I immediately rebutted: ‘F**k you, you go home!“
The words of John Farnham’s "You’re the Voice” blared in the background. Followed by a brief pause for Aussie war cry: “Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi! Oi! Oi!” I cannot help but cringe. But a few ciders, snakebites and house wine later, everyone is your best friend and it’s all good. I am as merry as can be. A proud Australian who doesn’t even know that Australia Day commemorates the first white settlement in 1788 (and NOT, as I thought, the commemoration of the Federation in 1901). Oh well… happy straylia day!
Snakebites!