They think I jest ...

For anyone who has ever read any of my Australia: it'll kill ya posts and thought to themselves "Oh Brammers, you and your comedic exaggeration for effect ..." , I bring you this genuine news story from what passes for quality press in these parts. And you can have the link as is, since the untouched humour is immediately apparent.

http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/jogger-attacked-by-kangaroo/2008/09/01/1220121130240.html

You expect this sort of thing in the rural glades of Canberra (which is quite a nice city, so long as you either like roundabouts or are in no hurry), but not in Melbourne. tomatoe18 , your teacher told the truth!

It is the first day of spring here and Sydney turned on a splendid day of sun and blue skies. I still have influenza, because it's influenza. The chap at work, where I was vaguely functional for six hours, kept telling me that he'd had a really bad cold recently. "Yes," I said, "but I have flu, which is not the same."

"That's just a bad cold, isn't it? Are you on antibiotics?"

"Influenza is a different virus family to the set of viruses that cause colds, but both are viruses so neither respond to antibiotics," I told him, a little testily.

"Gosh, how do you know all this stuff?"

I resisted the urge to cough on him.

But I have to confess that is more than I did this morning on the train when a man decided that he could fit into the over-crowded carriage if he just leapt at my back and sent me careening into a (fortunately sturdy and understanding) young woman. I was fortunate to be pointing my face away from her, so my gasp of virus-laden air went over his outstretched hand, not any part of her. And then, I am ashamed to say, I sighed deeply over the side of his face. Be alive little viruses!

The train home made up for it, though. At Wynyard the sweet sound of a girlish soprano spilled pop ballad through the underground station, taking me back to one of my early Australian summers where I was on a train that stopped at St James to encounter a five-part harmony a cappella version of Like A Prayer. There is something very lovely about the sound of children singing (and the acoustics of underground stations are enough to tempt me, too).

I stopped to pay my Visa bill since I was at the nearby station rather than waiting for the train that stops across the road from my home. While I was in the bank I decided to change the PIN to something I can remember without having to look at the slip of paper hidden cunningly in one of the many books on my many shelves. I accomplished this, but not before the bank girl attempted to lend me half a million dollars and asked for my advice on successful relationships. That was an odd conversation, even by my standards.

They think I jest ...

For anyone who has ever read any of my Australia: it'll kill ya posts and thought to themselves "Oh Brammers, you and your comedic exaggeration for effect ..." , I bring you this genuine news story from what passes for quality press in these parts. And you can have the link as is, since the untouched humour is immediately apparent.

http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/jogger-attacked-by-kangaroo/2008/09/01/1220121130240.html

You expect this sort of thing in the rural glades of Canberra (which is quite a nice city, so long as you either like roundabouts or are in no hurry), but not in Melbourne. tomatoe18 , your teacher told the truth!

It is the first day of spring here and Sydney turned on a splendid day of sun and blue skies. I still have influenza, because it's influenza. The chap at work, where I was vaguely functional for six hours, kept telling me that he'd had a really bad cold recently. "Yes," I said, "but I have flu, which is not the same."

"That's just a bad cold, isn't it? Are you on antibiotics?"

"Influenza is a different virus family to the set of viruses that cause colds, but both are viruses so neither respond to antibiotics," I told him, a little testily.

"Gosh, how do you know all this stuff?"

I resisted the urge to cough on him.

But I have to confess that is more than I did this morning on the train when a man decided that he could fit into the over-crowded carriage if he just leapt at my back and sent me careening into a (fortunately sturdy and understanding) young woman. I was fortunate to be pointing my face away from her, so my gasp of virus-laden air went over his outstretched hand, not any part of her. And then, I am ashamed to say, I sighed deeply over the side of his face. Be alive little viruses!

The train home made up for it, though. At Wynyard the sweet sound of a girlish soprano spilled pop ballad through the underground station, taking me back to one of my early Australian summers where I was on a train that stopped at St James to encounter a five-part harmony a cappella version of Like A Prayer. There is something very lovely about the sound of children singing (and the acoustics of underground stations are enough to tempt me, too).

I stopped to pay my Visa bill since I was at the nearby station rather than waiting for the train that stops across the road from my home. While I was in the bank I decided to change the PIN to something I can remember without having to look at the slip of paper hidden cunningly in one of the many books on my many shelves. I accomplished this, but not before the bank girl attempted to lend me half a million dollars and asked for my advice on successful relationships. That was an odd conversation, even by my standards.