Foreigner in London column: Racial Purgatory

There is nothing more frustrating that dedicating your free time to taking the piss out of Londoners and the English (please note that these are different races), only to find that when you pop home for a visit you miss the bastards.

This week I find myself back in Australia, although it is obvious to everyone (especially to me,) that I have brought a little bit of London back with me. In attitude, beliefs, the rain and even my hairstyle...although I doubt any city will put up their hand to take credit for my latest follicle creation.

Most of my racial intolerance back home seems to be coming from what I will dub ‘speed issues’; everything seems to move a little bit slower here and ironically despite the two stone that my frame could do without, I am used to things moving a little faster.

I have rediscovered that friendliness is likely to impede speed of service. I am so unaccustomed to someone talking to me when they take my order (or speaking English for that matter,) that I feel almost uncomfortable by the pleasantries. All I can think of is that if the waiting staff persist on enquiring how I am, they will reduce the likelihood that I am going to get food before I chew off my arm…or someone’s ear.

The government has ensured that the pace of life remains somewhere between ‘coma’ and ‘dead’ by providing internet speeds that would make Bulgaria blush. Australia, as a result, is eleven hours ahead and yet ten years behind. It would be faster to do a global reconnaissance, than to type something into Google and get a response. That is if you can access the net in the first place; for some reason the phenomenon of wifi seems to have escaped an entire continent and most Australians believe that you have to be tied to a wall to use the net. I am happy to report that they do have microwaves…they are just waiting for electricity.

Hell, even the speed limits for motorists are slower than in London. This is probably for the best, as it is unlikely that the Asian cars that the locals here drive would survive another 20kms per hour.

I heard this morning on the news that over 300,000 people have been rescued off the coast of NSW since the introduction of surf life saving back in the 1940’s. I am tempted to joke that these poor bastards were just immigrants from London trying desperately to get back. Then I look at the mountain of Sydney souvenirs that I am going to try and cram into my suitcase for my flight home. I will do this maybe in an attempt to remind me of my roots and the country that I annoyingly love so very much…even if it does drive me insane. The locals will tell you it is a short drive anyway, even in an Asian compact.