As anyone who knows me well can attest, I don’t like Australia. My hostility towards that Godforsaken sandpit, a dry, crusty scab on the ass of planet Earth, knows no bounds. Or, more accurately, my intense dislike for the occupiers of Her Majesty’s colony of Australia - let’s not forget that only around 1% of the continent’s population (yes, one percent) are native Aboriginal. The European invaders successfully wiped out most of the aboriginal populace, and the “White Australia Policy” restricted non-European immigration - and successfully persecuted the remaining black inhabitants (including forcibly removing newborn babies from black mothers, who weren’t considered fit to care for them) - until it’s abolition in 1975. Yes, that’s right, racism was officially sanctioned in Australia until 1975.
I had the misfortune to live in Australia from 1990, when I was ten years old, until 2002, and my experiences in that country were largely negative. Australians have successfully marketed themselves as happy-go-lucky, honest, fair-minded, non-discriminatory folk, but in truth are exactly the opposite of that. Xenophobia and racism, dressed up in an obsessive national patriotism that’s drummed into school children Nazi-style, is the order of the day. As an immigrant child I suffered racist bullying - taunted about my accent, my nationality (oh, the jokes about stupid Irish people and the IRA had me rolling in the aisles), and even my skin colour (I’m Irish, so too white for the perfectly tanned Aussies). Teachers were too busy singing the national anthem, or waving the Aussie flag to notice, and the truth is that in Australia, anyone who doesn’t look or sound “true blue Aussie” is ripe for victimisation. When I was seventeen, I started dating boys; my first boyfriend was Aboriginal, and simply being at his side I was given the dubious honour of seeing how our true blue Aussies view the black population - with suspicion, fear and disgust. The racism that Sean endured was, in turns, blatant and subtle, but always present.
I recall one occasion when a group of drunk Aussie Blokes threw a drunk Aboriginal woman off the last train of the night in Perth, whilst various authority figures turned a blind eye. On another occasion, an Asian woman with a toddler, having the gall to speak in her own language, provoked a fellow (Aussie) traveller, who was seething with anger, to remark spitefully as he left the train that she should “use English, [she] doesn’t know what country she’s in.” The woman didn’t bat an eyelid, suggesting that incidents of this kind were frequent enough.
Since I’ve lived in London, I haven’t managed to escape the Aussie curse. They’re everywhere. Despite proclaiming at every opportunity that Australia is the best country in the world, they can’t seem to spend enough time elsewhere. London’s a particular draw for the Aussie pest - in parts of West London you’re more likely to hear an Australian accent than any other - that, or be forced to step over an inebriated Aussie backpacker vomiting into the gutter. They even have their own pubs in the capital, where all the Aussies who flock to London congregate with other Aussies, or white South Africans (another subject in itself). Despite insisting that immigrants assimilate and take on the Aussie way of life in their own country, they stick to their own kind when overseas.
On 11th December 2005, the racial tensions bubbling away under the carefully crafted façade of tolerance in Australia, finally erupted into race riots. White Australian men attacked and assaulted two Middle Eastern men in separate incidents. At least three far-right organisations were involved, with slogans like “We Grew Here, You Flew Here", "Wog Free Zone", "Aussie Pride", and "Ethnic Clensing Unit". Towards the end of the year, drive-by shootings were occurring and a church next to an Islamic centre was set on fire.
As an aside, one only has to look to popular culture for proof of Australia’s dislike of the unlike. Despite Australia claiming to be a racial melting pot, the nation’s two long-running national soaps,
Neighbours and
Home And Away, both of which have been on since the mid-1980s, have never had a non-white face as a series regular. That’s right, in twenty years the country’s telenovellas haven’t notched up one single Aboriginal or Asian face. From my own experience, non-white faces on Australian television were rare. But it isn’t all doom and gloom, with broadcaster SBS devoted to “the multicultural voice of Australia” - and a good job it does too. I discovered the work of Tsai Ming Liang through the network, a sitcom from Singapore and
Glenroe, a telenovella from Ireland, and films from every corner of the globe. But no one in Australia watches SBS - viewing figures are so low they often can‘t be measured.
I never could find a job in Australia. I guess my face, or voice, appearance didn’t fit. I never had a friend or lover who was Australian. Chinese? Tick. Malaysian? Tick. Korean? Tick. Visiting African-Americans? Tick (a marine and someone touring with Mariah Carey, for the record).
The Australian Big Brother incident might have been blown out of proportion, but it’s absolutely indicative of Australia: it’s an ugly place. I’m glad I managed to get out.
Tyrese was once in my Sexiest Men list (it's a long list) along with Tyson Beckford. My Tyson-love waned when I happened to catch his appearance on the US version of I'm A Celebrity..., and I realised he apparently has no personality - which really isn't very attractive.
Let us return now to Brian-Watch. Our excitable Essex boy has been packed off on a traditional British caravan holiday (circa 1950) with our other 
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