#Australian Slang Vows

[ken-warren-marriage-celebrant]

The Australian Wedding

A typical Australian Wedding, G’day mates! Grab your tinnies and gather ’round because we’ve got an offer that’ll make your missus chuck a ripper of a smile! Ken Warren, the legendary marriage celebrant, is throwin’ the ultimate chance for you and your better half to tie the knot like true blue Aussies! Ken Warren’s Fair Dinkum Matrimonial Bonanza! G’day Lovebirds! Ya reckon it’s time to make it…

[maks-punchout-hyperfixtion]

World building part 1

The time trials

The time trials,also referred to as the super punch Branch, is based around the game super punch out

Lore

After an event the nes and nes arcade characters (expect sandman, bald bull, and super macho man) decided to take a few gap years to focus on their personal lives, however due to the suddenness the wvba needed a way to get boxing back in, they introduced the time trials and picked random assortments of boxers who applied or were suggested by the rookie leagues, even after the wii branch was made majority of the boxers still stay, with the only branch haveing a major turn over being the minor one, they are now considered the time trials due to the lack of rounds.

The roaster

Minor circuit

The French redemption 

Mechanical snap 

Kid quick 

Piston Hurricane

Major Circuit 

Bob Charlie 

Dragon Chan

Masked Muscle 

The black swan

World circuit 

Punch blade

Heike Kagero

Mad Clown

Shark Bite 

Special circuit

Narcis Prince 

Hoy Quarlow 

Rick Bruiser 

Nick Bruiser

Birdie mac

The new characters lore

The French redemption 

Jealous over his sister (Delilahs) boxing career at the fresh age of 20 he join the WVBA in order to top her and make France proud. Now he's 23 with 33 loses and still no wins.

Mechanical snap 

Created by a kid named alice, the mechanical snap was made to show that robots could eventually become human like in anything and was offered as a place holder for the wvba till they found a better 2nd place for the minor circuit, eventually they just gave up and mechy has been here ever since!

Kid quick 

He's back and in style! The infamous kid quick, who was thought to be retired after an incident, has come back read to box! And while he isn't used to the circuits yet he is very excited to catch up with old friends, and dish up some quick wins!

The black swan

Pissed at his cousin bringing shame to both their family and Italy, the black swan vowed to be better at boxing then him, combining a love for ballet and a grudge he was able to replace mr.sandman as the major circuit champion, and mark his words he'll hold the pride till the day his cousin apologizes, or dies, we don't know!

Punch blade

After a horrible accident involving a horseshoe, Punch blade we put on the time trails. We would have better information but uh nobody likes her at all expect Denis (the French redemption) sooo..

Shark Bite 

A Marine biologist who got board of research decided to leave his home in the outbacks one day and join boxing, with his favorite animal being his theme no less! This guys lay back attitude and good nature almost balances out the fact he bites you to stun you! Almost..

He does apologize tho so we have that going!

fun facts

Nick is still mad about not being champion anymore, the other champions include him and his brother because man ain't that impressive to have so many wins and only two losses.

Piston hurricane was going to retire shortly before kid quick joined, but was convinced out of it.

Narcis still does boxing and occasionally gives updates about Andrew ryan (spo aran) to the other boxers.

Narcis was offered to take the place of word champion since being 5th seemed harsh for him, but he declined.

Sharkbite typical speaks in Australia slang. Being the only Australian boxer is hard.

Birdie mac is the cousin of little mac. Both being the nephews of Texas Mac. This rarely gets brought up.

In "a sparklers introduction to the women's league" kid quick is referred to as "kevin". This however was just a name deedee quickly said because he was retired and didn't want his boxer name brought up, his actually name is tomas. Not to be confused with thomas (disco kid)

[neil-perrys-reincarnation]

7, 9, 19 & 20 please! :) (for the ask thing! I hope it’s not too many! :) /gen

not too many!! thank you so much <33

Show us some rocks:

here are some rocks ~

How do you listen to music?

I use Spotify primarily!! it’s expensive but I’m too much of a sucker for the stuff it gives you so it’s fineee. I used to have a record player but it broke :(

What are you currently watching?

oh, too many things. I’m watching Discovery season one for the first time whenever my father is free because he’s a big fan, I’m in the middle of ds9, a rewatch of tos, a few episodes of snw… I kind of just jump around. oh! oh! and I’m rewatching the search for Spock

Share with us a random fact of two?

you HAVE OPENED THE FLOODGATES IM AFRAID

did you know that you can get opalized fossils? so the actual gems form when silica-rich water seeps into cracks in the earth, usually around volcanic activity or near hot springs (that’s why there’s such a big mining industry around the Australian Great Basin area, because of all the sulphurous springs in that part of the country). The water eventually evaporates, leaving deposites of silica that eventually harden and become opal. it can take millions of years and requires really specific conditions, including the presence of specific minerals and the right temperature and pressure. Opalized fossils have undergone a process where their organic matter has degraded and been slowly replaced with opal, preserving the original organism as well as integrating the colours and structure of opal :)

some great pieces of old Victorian slang are the phrases “bitch the pot” meaning “pour the tea”, “tight as a boiled owl” meaning “drunk”, “Cupid’s kettle drums” meaning “breasts” and “got the morbs” meaning “temporary sadness”

the song Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard tells a story about two boys doing mysterious activities that lead to one of them getting arrested

there is no widely accepted past tense of the word “yeet”

“Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow” is a cool fucking pangram

the Great Winter of 1708 - 1709 is one of the coldest winters ever recorded in Europe. It affected a whole lot of Europe, including France, the Netherlands, Britain, Germany and Italy. The Thames froze over and in some areas the ground froze to a depth of more than a metre. It’s an example of an extreme weather event from the period known as the Little Ice Age, which lasted from roughly the 14th century to the 19th century. Both people and animals froze to death!! wahoo

anyway theres my daily dose of random shit <3 thanks for the ask!!

[for-gwaine]

my thoughts about bondi rescue all in one post

my favourite lines...so far

“the thief, overweight and unfit, runs out of stamina” 

“he’s got a porsche haircut with a v-dub motor”

"mate, these rips are fanging” 

i’m australian and aussie slang is so funny to me, i can’t imagine being a foreigner watching this.

i hate the beach but i will go to check out the lifeguards xx bondi’s literally like a 40min drive from me so i’m lucky i guess. i vowed never to go to bondi beach beach bc it’s way too busy and overrated but, the lifeguards <33 i wanted to start the new year off with the sunrise on bondi but i think it’s forecast to rain so next year </3

also on another another note: i’m pretty sure the last episode of bondi rescue ever was this week

my favourite lifeguard 

i have an insane crush on chappo pls i’m so embarrassed. seeing this bloke take charge and save people lives is,, hella attractive 

season 6 ep 4 was a great episode for him 👏he took charge on a resus which was great to watch, whistle with the two hand method which got me, and then ended the episode in a v-neck top 🤤

[sillyrabbit81]

So my wonderful Aussie friends @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed think no one will understand my Bonus: Boxing Day story. So here's a quick run down.

Below the cut, its pretty long sorry.

Boxing Day Sales

Carnage. Probably like Black Friday Sales in US.

The Ashes

The Ashes is a Test cricket series played between England and Australia. The term originated in a satirical obituary published in a British newspaper, The Sporting Times, immediately after Australia's 1882 victory at The Oval, its first Test win on English soil. The obituary stated that English cricket had died, and "the body will be cremated and the ashes taken to Australia". The mythical ashes immediately became associated with the 1882–83 series played in Australia, before which the English captain Ivo Bligh had vowed to "regain those ashes". The English media therefore dubbed the tour the quest to regain the Ashes.

From Wikipedia

Footy Shorts

Rugby Shorts.

Bintang Singlet

Bintang is a Beer from Bali. Bali is basically a cheap holiday destination for Australians. Getting a singlet from there is mandatory for all bogans.

Bludger

Lazy person

Bogan

Similar to red neck or white trash, but you don't have to be a white Australian to be a bogan. Can be derogatory but is usually just a sign of lacking sophistication, be rough around the edges, being from suburban/rural Australia, have a particular accent, particular tastes in sport/cars/drinking. It doesn't mean you are poor either. See Cashed up Bogan.

Cunt

https://outbackdictionary.com/cunt/

Many uses in Aussie slang. But in this case is used as a term of endearment.

Bugger off

Go away

Map o' Tassie

Need I say more?

Pommies or Poms

The English. Usually used when Australia plays England in a sporting event, especially Cricket.

Cricket Commentary Team

I like this video. Its the sounds of my summers growing up.

Dag

Dag is an Australian and New Zealand slang term, also daggy (adjective). In Australia, it is often used as an affectionate insult for someone who is, or is perceived to be, unfashionable, lacking self-consciousness about their appearance and/or with poor social skills yet affable and amusing. It is also used to describe an amusing, quirky and likeable person (as in, "He's a bit of a dag") and is non-pejorative.

Wikipedia

I hope you all enjoyed my explanation! Have a great Christmas, holidays, winter or summer break.

[sherlockxreader]

With Red Dirt On Our Hands

Title: With Red Dirt On Our Hands - Part 1: The Gift

Summary: John and Sherlock surprise the reader on Christmas, resulting in a long-awaited road-trip holiday in the middle of the Australian summertime where feelings would be uncovered and shenanigans will ensue. Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 2590 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x Australian!Reader, John x platonic!reader Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: Here it is!!! The self-indulgent Australian Reader fic I have been writing. I am going to make it my goal to update this weekly on Sundays at 1 pm Eastern Australian Time and hopefully, this will have many chapters, I don’t know how many but enough to have it go for a while. 

So when I got up on the day I started writing this which was ages and ages ago, I really wanted to write about my favourite ice-cream here in Australia, a Golden Gaytime, which is really hard to do in a British setting, cause it isn’t sold widely in England (to the extent of my limited knowledge and basic research. I may be wrong. Please tell me if so). Anyways, that is how Sherlock, John and the Australian reader (basing them on loosely on myself for this. Sorry not sorry) end up having a Christmas and New Year’s holiday in Australia! 

And be warned, this chapter is a bit of an info dump in order to establish all the relationships and pining that will get resolved in the later chapters. Enjoy and please, don’t hesitate to send in asks or comments about what you think of this! I could always use help in making ideas and figuring out where this’ll head.

—————————————————–

After three long years of living in the motherland, two of which had been spent running along rooftops and through alleyways with one Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, you longed to return to your home country of Australia. Yep, the Land Down Under as Greg continued to called it relentlessly. You had had a thick Aussie accent when you had first arrived in England and though your voice did become tainted with some of the posh London speech, you had maintained the deep timbre of the Riverina region you grew up in, causing your voice to be distinguished easily by Sherlock in a crowded street and particularly when you were emotional, which caused the sharp slang you had inherited to be used excessively.

Your tanned skin was shades darker than that of the average Londoner and, paired along with your unconventional footwear of a pair of thongs which no-one wore regularly in the cool temperatures of England, you had managed to catch the attention of Sherlock when you tackled a criminal he was chasing, running after him and even climbing a fire escape at great speeds in your thongs alone. You could still remember the astounded expression on Sherlock’s face when you had finally caught the criminal and, after he was handcuffed by Sherlock, introduced yourself and asked him out to the pub like you hadn’t just sprinted a block or two to help him.

After that day, you regularly visited 221B and helped Sherlock on his cases, though mostly you just lounged around in your ever-present thongs or a pair of socks and sweats when you weren’t working. You had made friends with John soon after meeting Sherlock and you two frequently visited the pubs in London, challenging each other to drinking games and having to keep a tally of who had won in each event as John realised you could hold your liquor as well as any other military man. Sherlock often had to put up with two drunk and slurring friends during these nights, though he wasn’t all that disappointed when he had found out that you became extremely truthful when intoxicated. He and John goaded you into talking all about yourself one night, at which you had admitted to Sherlock that from that first day, you had found him incredibly attractive. After saying so, you had passed out on the couch, not remembering your words the next morning and oblivious to the feelings that begun to develop in Sherlock’s heart.

It was winter in England, a few days until Christmas, and you were huddled on the couch in 221B wrapped in your warmest clothing with two blankets around you, your feet clad in fluffy socks and your muddy boots near the door, the weather too sludgy to wear thongs. You sighed as you drank some hot chocolate as you watched snow drift past the window and listened to Sherlock play his violin. You had always missed home a little bit since moving here, but winters were the worst, and this one was brutal on both your body and mind. At this time of year, you could remember days back home when the mercury rose to nearly 40 degrees Celsius in the shade.

You thought back to Christmases in Australia when you and your siblings would swim in the pool at your farmhouse whilst your Dad smoked the ham for Christmas dinner. Your Mum’s family would come around for lunch and you would eat prawns and fish under the pergola outside, smoke from mosquito curls repelling the pesky bugs and all of you covered in Aeroguard and sunscreen. Your Nan would walk around the garden with Mum and your Aunties whilst you tried to keep the flies away from the food. When dinner time came, Mum’s side of the family would have left and Dad’s would come. You’d eat the smoked ham together, fighting over the charred pineapple slices on top with your cousins before settling inside away from the growing mass of mosquitoes, drinking chilled beer and chatting happily until midnight had come and gone.

You wished you could’ve spent Christmas with your family again, but it didn’t matter too much. You had John, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson and everyone else now and you wouldn’t change that for the world, though you still missed the Australian sun beating down on your back. You were roused out of your musings by Sherlock sitting next to you, his arm brushing yours as he complained about criminals taking the holidays off as well and his impending boredom. You laughed lightly as you drained your mug and ruffled Sherlock’s hair, earning yourself an indignant whine from the petulant man and a faint blush upon his cheekbones. You were always more affectionate than the English. As you cleaned your mug out in the sink, soaking your hands unashamed under the hot water gathering it’s warmth, you heard Sherlock’s whiny voice turn snarky and footsteps enter the flat. “What do you want brother mine?”

You smiled at Sherlock’s greeting for his brother. You had met Mycroft soon after meeting Sherlock. He had tried to intimidate you by using the same tricks he had used on John, however, when you had refused to enter the black car, the bodyguard had tried to force you in so you had handed his arse to him, before strolling back to 221B like nothing had happened. When you had arrived, Mycroft had been there with Sherlock yelling at him about something, though you didn’t know it was him at the time. He had seemed a little surprised at seeing you there. He had planned to meet you in a warehouse after talking to his brother and was gobsmacked when you greeted him politely before ranting to Sherlock about some bastard trying to kidnap you just before.

Sherlock had looked to Mycroft, whose jaw was slack at your retelling of your beating up of the burly bodyguard before bursting into laughter. You were confused until he had explained that the man here, his brother, was most likely responsible for that. Your politeness towards Mycroft disappeared and you turned dark as you stormed up to him and pulled him down to your height by his tie, vowing that if he was to try that ever again, it was going to be his arse on the pavement. You had then made tea for the three of you, ignoring the fact that you had just successfully threatened one of the most powerful men in the country. Mycroft stood astounded at your audacity whilst Sherlock smirked at his brother. After that day, Mycroft regarded you with respect and you considered him a friend, even if he was a bit cold towards you still.

You dried your hands as you entered the living area again, moving to quickly hug Mycroft in greeting before he could protest, mostly because you knew it irked him a little. He huffed and straightened his suit before speaking. “Sherlock, we need you to look at this case. It’s imperative we find the people responsible.”

“Boring. I’m not your lackey Mycroft. Go get one of your pawns to do it.”

You furrowed your brows as you looked at the brothers. “Sherlock, you were just complaining about being bored. Isn’t this a good thing? At least until you get another case.”

“Probably but I’m not interested and I don’t have the time. Merry Christmas Mycroft, the door is behind you.”

“Honestly Sherlock, Y/N just said that you have nothing on. Look at the file.” Mycroft rolled his eyes as you chuckled at the sibling’s spat, thinking back to your own family shortly before you shook your head clear of the bleak thoughts.

“No, brother dear, I won’t be looking at the file.”

“Fine. But you’re coming to Christmas dinner with our parents.” This time Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mycroft you’ve only been harassing me with it for the past two weeks! Y/N and myself as well as John will be there.” You nodded enthusiastically and pictured the two brothers locked up at the countryside with no way to escape. Mycroft sighed and began to leave, muttering a goodbye to you and again telling Sherlock that he had better be there. You waved him goodbye and followed him to the door, shutting it behind him as he made his way down the stairs.

You turned back to Sherlock with your bottom lip trapped in your teeth, lips curled inwards as you tried, and failed, to keep your laughter to yourself. He began to mutter about his annoying brother and needing to tell John about the Christmas plans and you turned back to the kitchen to keep washing the dishes, keeping your falling smile away from his sights, lest he know of the sadness that filled you at the mention of another Christmas away from home. Little did you know that he had known since the sad stirrings began and that your melancholy was breaking his heart, bit by bit.

—————————————————–

Christmas Day soon arrived and you spent the majority of it with the Holmeses and John at the Holmes parent’s estate in the country, after having spent Christmas morning with Mrs. Hudson. You helped out in the kitchen with Mrs. Holmes for sometime before you settled yourself in the back room with John as Sherlock and Mycroft had gone outside into the chill of the English winter. You slumped in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea in your hands, and you watched the misty day through one of the large windows. You didn’t realise that John had been watching you until he spoke quietly, leaning in further towards you as he sat in the chair opposite you. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be.” You plastered a fake smile on your face that you hoped would appear sincere enough to John. He shook his head and your smile dropped.

“Y/N, you’ve not seemed like yourself for the past couple of weeks. You keep looking like you’re far away. What’s wrong?”

You fiddled with the cup in your hands as you felt tears sting your eyes. “It’s nothing, really, I’m just being silly.” You saw that John didn’t believe you and you huffed out a laugh as you placed your cup on the table beside you, looking up at John through watery eyes. “I’m just missing home a bit more at the moment. It’s fine. Just homesickness is all.” You smiled a little more sincerely and stood from your place. “I’m going to see if Mrs. Holmes needs some help cleaning up.” John sat for a few more seconds after you had left before he stood as well and made his way outside to find Sherlock, seeing him and his brother a bit up the road, wispy smoke surrounding them.

“Are you smoking!?”

“No!”

“It was Mycroft!” Both had turned, dominant hands behind their backs, at John’s approach. They had been tense but Mycroft relaxed when he recognised John.

“Oh Dr. Watson, apologies. We thought you were our Mother.” He took a long drag of the cigarette between his fingers as John rolled his eyes before snatching Sherlock’s cigarette from his fingers and stomping it out on the ground. Sherlock didn’t protest much as he watched John’s foot with an almost bored expression.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

“I don’t care, we need to give Y/N her present now.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed at John’s voice. “I thought we were waiting until we were back at Baker Street.”

“Nope, she needs it now, come on.”

“Sherlock bought a present for Y/N? He didn’t even get me one.” Mycroft blew out the smoke above him, turning his head to Sherlock and cocking his eyebrow.

“How did you not know already? Anyway, I’m enough of a gift to you Mycroft.” Sherlock called over his shoulder as John pulled him along back into the house.

You were in the kitchen with Mrs. Holmes drying up the dishes when John and Sherlock came through. You turned and greeted them as you finished drying the last pot, handing it back to Mrs. Holmes so she could put it away. “Hi Sherlock. Is Mycroft annoying you?” You giggled as teased him lightly before going to leave the kitchen, only to be stopped by a hand on your arm. “Sherl? What’s wrong?” John answered for him.

“Nothing, it’s just Sherlock and I thought we’d give you your gift now.” He peeked his head around Sherlock to give you a reassuring smile. You cocked your eyebrow at him before looking back at Sherlock with confusion in your eyes.

“Now? I thought we doing our own gifts at your place.”

“We were but John thought we should give you yours now.”

“Oh, okay um, where is it?” Sherlock reached into his coat to pull out a crisp white envelope which you took gently. You smirked a bit at the anti-climatic envelope but you opened with curiosity anyway. You pulled out three small pieces of paper. Your breath caught in your throat and tears once again clouded your vision as you read what was on them. “Sherlock? Are these-”

“Yes. John and I, mostly John, thought that we should go to where you grew up. We leave in three days and will be gone for all of next month. That’s why I haven’t taken any more cases. Is it good?” Sherlock twisted to direct his question to John, confused by your crying figure until you reached up and wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his cheek happily, doing the same to John after, not seeing the blush that erupted on Sherlock’s face.

“It’s good. It’s very good! This is just what I needed. Thank you guys so much!”

“No worries Y/N.” John smiled along with you as you hugged Sherlock once again, turning his blush into a deep crimson and getting him to squirm somewhat uncomfortably at your tight grip, happier than you had been in weeks.

—————————————————–

The three of you had left the Holmes’s place not long after your surprise and you had long since retired to your flat downstairs in 221C after having finished gifts above. You had gotten John a fancy new shaving kit meanwhile Sherlock had received an embroidered scarf, similar to his current one, but with his initials in the corner, the red thread matching his coat button perfectly. John and Sherlock now sat in their respective chairs, sipping at brandy as the snow fell outside. John looked up to see Sherlock staring into his glass, his eyes clouded with thought and his mind elsewhere. He had a hunch about what his friend was thinking about.

“You really should tell her, you know.” He took a sip as he waited for Sherlock to reply, a reply that never came. John drained his glass and set it down by his side, standing and giving Sherlock a pat on the shoulder before making his way to his room. “She won’t be here with us forever Sherlock, the least you could do is stop tormenting yourself over what could be and instead make it true.” His foot was poised over the first step when Sherlock spoke.

“It’s not that easy John. It’s never easy with her.”

“All I know is that every time I see you two together, you both look so happy. We are going to have at least three weeks together with no way for you to escape your feelings. They’ll be exposed to her one way or another. Just think about it, okay?” John sighed and left the room, leaving Sherlock alone in the dark with his mind storming and his heart beating with thoughts of you.

[sprob002-blog]

A Little About New Zealand

Like many other people, what intentionally made me interested in traveling to New Zealand was the breathtaking scenery and to visit the set of the Lord of the Rings. Just one minute into this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo4ueevKfdE), and I am ready to pack my bags and book the next flight. This beautiful country is split into the North Island and South Island, and its remoteness from the rest of the world has allowed the creation of some beautiful animals. I study marine biology, so it would be really amazing to experience evolution’s works and see things that you can not see anywhere else in the world. New Zealand is home to some unique creatures, like the kiwi, which has become the unofficial symbol for the country as well as a nickname for the native people. Another native species is the yellow-eyed penguin, which is one of the six types of penguins found around the country. 

My knowledge of New Zealand is quite limited, but I was aware that it once was under British rule until they gained independence in 1947. Even though they are now a sovereign nation, the countries flag still represents a time they were under the crown. The interactions with Great Britain and the native Maori people of New Zealand have shaped the culture of the society. An important day in history that is celebrated annually is when the Treaty of Waitangi was signed on February 6, 1880. The treaty was designed to determine who had authority over the land, but the natives and English had disagreements which subsequently led to The New Zealand Wars just five years later. One interesting fact is that New Zealand was the first self-governing nation to give women the right to vote in 1893. 

 English is the common language, but many natives can speak Maori which is the second popular language in the country. The English language in New Zealand is similar to that of Australian English in the way its pronounced, but there are some differences. They say you can tell an Australian accent from a New Zealand accent by the way they pronounce vows and by the slang that is used. Australians tend to draw out their vows more, and have their own unique slang for things such as sandals that they call thongs. Even if you have an ear for accents, I’m sure it would take a couple time visiting to truly be able to tell the difference between the two. 

Prior to searching and collecting images, I was not informed of the rich history that New Zealand has. Its culture is influence mainly by western culture, the isolation of the islands, and the indigenous Maori people. In present day, the majority of inhabitants are of European decent and the Maori have become a minority, but their influence is still strong. A big component of New Zealand culture is Kapa haka, which is the term for Maori performing arts, and is a cultural dance to express heritage through song. It has even been performed before sporting events by their national rugby team, the All Blacks. When traveling to any foreign country, it is a good idea to become familiar with traditions and cultures. This short video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NB3m5Nc1BzM) was a good start for me when brushing up on New Zealand traditions. 

The Maori have a traditional way of cooking that involves digging a deep hole in the ground and using hot stones to cook meat and vegetables that are wrapped in leaves. This method is called hangi, and lets you embrace the authentic experience of New Zealand cooking. I found it interesting that schools will have a hangi because this differs greatly from the food that is known to be served in US lunchrooms. 

Another popular dish is whitebait fritter, which is juvenile fish cooked in egg whites to create an omelet. This is considered a delicacy and alternative to fish and chips, and it is a must try when I visit. It’s no surprise that seafood is a big part of New Zealand diet consider the country is an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. 

Food gatherings are a popular and common social event in New Zealand. If a native says they are “shouting” it means that they are providing the meal at their cost. If you are invited over for dinner, the same social manners follow as in the US. It is proper to offer to bring a dish or something to drink, and to be sure if you can bring an additional guest. Also, the drinking age in NZ is 18! Some people follow Maori customs within the home by not having shoes on, not sitting on tables or pillows, and saying a karakia to bless the food before the meal. Do not be alarmed if someone greets you with a kiss on the cheek, as it is a friendly and common thing to do. After dinner a favorite New Zealand dessert is hokey pokey ice cream, vanilla ice cream with clumps of honeycomb toffee, and they apparently eat 23 liters per capita a year alone! New Zealanders also like their lolly, which is slang for candy. 

Despite having deep cultural roots, New Zealand is not immune to acts of racism. Unfortunately, they have been at the forefront of world news recently because of the terror attacked at various mosques that left over 50 dead and many others injured. (https://www.mprnews.org/story/2019/03/14/witness-many-dead-in-new-zealand-mosque-shooting)

It is incredibly sad that we must fear for our lives when we walk outside, but it is especially heinous to prey on innocent people at a place of worship. This incident is the worst attack in New Zealand history, and in this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sOKzcd0Uxg) the Prime Minister explains that she dose not plan to do nothing about it. She vows that the gun laws will change to prevent further incidents like this one. However, it is uplifting to see an article in the NZ Herald that schools in the country are stepping up and trying to help students with their mental health (https://www.nzherald.co.nz/health/news/article.cfm?c_id=204&objectid=12212778). Many schools, like ones in the US, believe teachers should not intervene in a student’s life, but perhaps if we took a more proactive action to help mental illnesses then maybe terrible acts like this recent one will no longer occur. 

New Zealand has been a constitutional monarchy since 1952, and this basically means that Queen Elizabeth II reigns, but it is the government and people who do the ruling. They do not have a formal constitution, but rather a collection of documents, such as the Treaty of Waitangi, that help lay the framework for their government. The country has their own form of currency, and one New Zealand dollar equals $0.66 US dollars. Their government functions in the same way as the United States by having three separate branches: the executive, the legislature, and the judiciary. However, unlike the US their legislature branch is only made out of the House of Representatives. Another notable difference in their government is that they are a unitary state and not a federation. Their central government limits the authority of the regions and even is in charge of police and education. I am not sure if I would like the idea of a more powerful central government, but it does seem that the country would be more uniform in their actions.  

There are many aspects about New Zealand life that remind me of the United States. For starters, the gender roles are about the same in each country. Men are supposed to be the breadwinners while women stay at home with the children. For New Zealand, this role began because back in 1840 the majority of Europeans were men that came for work, and the women slowly started to move to the islands to create permanent homes. These roles were fairly common and constant and woman did not really start joining the workforce until the late 1900′s. In today’s world, women in both United States and in New Zealand are working to break that stereotype and are taking on more unconventional roles. Another similarity between the two countries is that Christianity is the main religion, and in New Zealand almost 50% of people claim to be Christians. Even though Anglicanism is the religion of the monarch of New Zealand, the country does not have an established church. The country has had the basic right of freedom of religion since the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi.

Also, the mainstream music in New Zealand is not much different from music I hear in America. I looked up their top 100 popular songs, and I was not familiar with #1 which was a song called “Days Go By” by a welsh band called High Contrast (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9pUR1QV3yQ). However, I was familiar with many of the other songs I saw on the list. Before researching popular artist, I had no knowledge that Lorde, who is played on many radio stations in the US, is from New Zealand. One of her most popular songs, “Royals” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlcIKh6sBtc), has an astonishing 757 million views on Youtube. I enjoyed many of the artist that I came across, like Marlon Williams. The first video of him that I saw was on NPR Music’s channel, and I was familiar with the segment they do called Tiny Desk Concert (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ab8YnmHB6tE). I found it very interesting to learn that many of the artist I have come across I’ve had no idea they were from places such as New Zealand. 

Besides Lord of the Rings I did not know of any movies made in New Zealand or by a NZ company. The film industry is definitely smaller than in the US, and many of their films do not receive international credit. The highest grossing film in their country is called Hunt for the Wilderpeople and made almost 10 billion dollars in 2016. The movie is a comedy/drama about a boy and his foster father running through the NZ wilderness because there is a manhunt after them. I came across the site “NZ On Screen” (https://www.nzonscreen.com/explore) that broadcast all different types of TV shows, movies, music videos, and even cultural art performances that have been made in New Zealand. I found this site really useful in trying to explore popular media as well as a way to learn more about their society. 

Before traveling to New Zealand, I believe it is a good idea to look up some travel blogs to get an idea of what it might feel like to be a tourist in a foreign land. One I found very useful was “The Do’s and Dont’s of a New Zealand Road Trip” (https://youngadventuress.com/2014/08/new-zealand-road-trip.html). It covers everything from the perfect campervan to rent, a review of popular tourist sites, and even to driving in New Zealand because lets be honest driving in a foreign country can be a little scary. However, the most informative blog I came across was “How to Plan Your Ideal New Zealand Trip” (https://misstourist.com/how-to-plan-your-ideal-trip-to-new-zealand/). This blog has all the information you need in terms of the best time to visit, how much you can expect to spend, and even some tips on how to score the best deals because it can become rather expensive. 

After researching and collecting images about New Zealand, I have a better understanding of their cultural roots and some of the traditions that are popular. I plan to expand my knowledge by keeping up with current news and exploring more of their popular movies and music. The collection I have so far will help me be more respectful when I travel to New Zealand, and it has made me more comfortable when I travel abroad. 

[odyssey-of-a-human-being]

Konta vs Ostapenko - a Saga in Three Parts Lemonade, Two Parts Vodka, One Part Pimm’s

It’s June 29th at time of writing and I am sober. As an unemployed, unemployable man it always feels quite natural to watch the television. As circumstance would have it, I happened upon a tennis match on BBC2. “This will have to do,” I lamented to my warm can of comfort (beer). Fate had thrust me into a match between two female women’s-tennis players: the teenaged Latvian wunderkind Ostapenko, a spunky, highly aggressive player whose meteoric rise to tennis fame put me in mind of a meteor (ascending, rather than crumbling to nothing in the atmosphere), and whose endearing frustrations translate in sporting terms to not just personality, but a personality, the highest accolade any woman sportsman can hope to achieve. She was battling against her opponent, Konta, who was quite tall and wore pink.

It was obvious who the home favourite was, particularly after John Inverdale remarked that she was “the home favourite here at Eastbourne.” As it transpired, Konta – Jo Konta – was in fact the British number one women’s-tennis player and number five women’s-tennis female player worldwide. And then I pitied her – I could see the weight of expectation that had been imposed upon her. Every broken microwave, every smashed up toaster from every penalty shootout in the modern era dangled over her like the Sword of Damocles. Because it’s always been a source of deep shame and secret regret to the English that the greatest tennis player in the world - perhaps in the entire universe - our national hero, our homegrown British champion is not in fact English, and soon will cease even to be British. Moreover, Murray, busy with training, never developed his personality, let alone a personality.

Sponsors, event organisers, broadcasters, journalists, content distributors...they can make him juggle cantaloupes, trim his neckline, play instead with a squash racket for Sports Relief (for money); they can tee him up with softball questions desperate for some kind of humorous aside, but it’s symptomatic of our denial: not only is Andy Murray - our national Hero - a foreigner, he doesn’t even possess a personality. Off court, he may as well walk into his airing cupboard and power down until morning practice. Observe the relationship with his wife and you’ll see there’s about as much chemistry in it as a North Korean chemistry GCSE – which is to say there’s some but that it’s essentially false, with some rather telling errors and glaring omissions betraying a blatant misunderstanding of the basics of chemistry. Long have I wondered what she sees in Sir Andy Murray. I suppose I pity her, too. 

The days of Henmania – days of hope for our nation’s greatest semifinalist – are long over, and soon history shall forget him, as indeed it has forgotten multiple Doctor Who episodes, charity wristbands and custom ringtones. Or perhaps he shall instead be vilified? Which would he prefer? Shall we judge him for demoralising the British spirit, for that time he got disqualified in 1995 – thankfully in the doubles – for hitting a ballgirl in the face. Will we happily forget that it was with a tennis ball? Shall instead it be his racket, or his Scottish fists?

Jo Konta - the Heroine of the Hardcourt, The Queen of Clay, The Grass Goddess - is she doomed to a similar fate? Doomed to the mercy of our damaged hopes, a victim to our scorn, the goat to our damaged scapes, the nationally despised national hero, shall She die for our sins? We accept we cannot have an Englishman champion but we have a Scottish one, so who is to say we are not ready for a female woman one? Surely we’ve moved past all that. Can we not welcome her likewise into our needy arms, as we did indeed Mo Farah? Is this our new prime candidate…is this Henwomania?

And then, out of frenzied panic, I googled her: that was when my hope crumbled like so much vintage cheddar, for ‘Jo’ was a deception. Perhaps you thought it was short for Joanna? Nein. It’s Johanna. And Konta – Mr. Konta isn’t drinking Carling down at the Red Lion and moaning about the surnames of the senior England football squad. Mr. Konta isn’t tagging the Kontas of this world into anonymous hateposts. Yes, you’ve got it – her parents are South African and she played for Australia – quite naturally, having lived there until she was 14. I can understand a Scottish champion, but surely it is beyond our pale to root for a South African Austro-Anglian woman’s-tennis player. I pondered on all this, and having found it to be profoundly sobering I poured myself a Pimm’s (& vodka) and lemonade.

After the first set (Konta nudged out Ostapenko in a deciding game) I decided to invest fully and totally into the match - and it was only then that I noticed an ugly tension in the atmosphere. And I understood it immediately. The crowd…old, white, crusty Tories, they were not rooting for the South African Austro-Anglian, they were rather wishing failure upon the Latvian Latvian. And then it took on an altogether political tone. The Old Tory Brexiteers, upper middle class, upper middle-aged men, perving on women they despise – men mercifully unaware of private browsers, let alone Google Chrome. The top 2%, the only people worse than the 1%: in this sense, Eastbourne is considerably worse than Wimbledon – ask any self-respecting tennis-hating tennis fan. Look at them, in their brown brogues and authentic Ray Ban’s, enjoying a perv and a Pimm’s – “It’s Perv o’Clock!” I overhear one of them say, rubbing his hands together – wrinkled with time, not toil. Unwittingly rooting for their immigrant. An Australian, no less. But shall we forgive them for they know not what they do?

I poured myself another vodka (& Pimm’s) & lemonade, no ice or fruit or anything, and I knew then, for sure, what I thought I knew before. “This,” I said to myself, “is war. Plain and simple.” And it was that dreaded Brexit. Our minds have become enspoiled with its putrid filth, like a dangerous dangly dirty politoctopus, whose slimy tentacles invade the sanctity of our personal space, encroaching it, squirming through it, past through our eyes and our tears and our ears and into our tiny little brains, fidgeting down through to the small of our backs, its tendrils gathering like polyfiller through to our corpus callosa – the brain: an organ as predictable and as knowable as the spleen. Look at it: a great grey meaty bolus. And it was then that I vowed to be a soldier in this war: fighting the good fight. Henceforth, all my meals are to be made with non-locally sourced ingredients – my sausage shall be German, my mash shall be mashed up French fries (also German, Dr Oetker – oh yes, it will be complicated). I shall master every cuisine of the world, learn every other language, cram my brain full with enough knowledge of the vocabulary and grammatical nuance of every language, every dialect, every patois, in the hope that I will eventually expunge all existing knowledge of my mother tongue, expunge every pub-factoid, every pop-cultural frame of reference, all my slang, all my friends, my childhood memories, everything that ever happened to take place in this scuppered Isle, to get rid of all of it! Replace it with knowledge of Scandinavian politics, the etiquette of Japanese cuisine, re-learn how to cycle, but along the frigid canals of Amsterdam, spliff in hand - smoke and steam in the winter air - French cheese and Polish cold-cuts in my wicker basket, trring-trring!, with a great big massive baguette, and I’ll learn to love Finnish melodic death metal, appreciate German architecture, practice Persian poetry, study Chinese history, explore Norse Mythology and eat those little paprika crisps you sometimes find in Lidl. I consummated this noble decision - and to me it felt like a good start in the brain-damaging process – with yet another vodka & lemonade (and a dash of Pimm’s).

As I sobered up after a small nap and after a small period of time, my allegiance toward Europe and the promises I had splurted at a mirror I had mistaken for my own face, now moist with spittle, had somewhat waned. My unshakable hatred toward the wind-power couple – Murray and Murray wife – had now settled into amused bemusement. My anger towards the audience was now little more than a mild vexation – a mere frustration, a puzzling perturberance – nothing more, nothing less. And probably not even that. And the words ‘Ostapenko’ and ‘Konta’ suddenly evoked within me as much emotion as the words ‘limestone’ and ‘velcro’ do. The episode was finally over: I had drunk myself into contention and slept it off.  The match finished, Ostapenko having lost, and I was at peace. As an 18-24 year old educated to master’s degree level I am naturally quite accustomed to failure, and tennis. I lost in 2010. I lost in Brexit. I lost in 2015. I lost against Konta. As indeed we all did. But I did not lose Andy Murray. That’s right – I won the Independence referendum. Which is to say I didn’t lose it. Murray’s ours, for now at least. But we should be prepared. For we shall lose him. And that’s why we need, now, a man like Joe Konta, to step into his red, blue and white sneakers (except at Wimbledon where they’re not allowed) should he no longer need them. Because Murray won’t be here forever. Look at that stony-faced expression, gazing outward in press conferences waiting for his questions to be translated, desperate to think of nothing. Desperate not to be there. There is more in that glazed expression than Murray could express in a million words. Look at him. Dare to countenance him. 

Murray himself has begun to lose Murray. And losing is not an option.