Week 1: Teeth and Trollop

So I’m a week down under and finally have tinternet access! A 22 hour flight complete with gorgeous Asian food, viewings of Valentines Day, There’s Something about Mary, and Invictus (well, half a viewing- bloody boring) and a short nap (kept doing that embarassing head nod thing where you land on the person next to you) later, and I’d landed in Sydney. Ready to start my research- how different from the “land of song” would it be to live in “the land down under”.
First observation- not very. It’s pissing it down. Apparently its the coldest and wettest winter here in 61 years. The joy. So its meant that rather than shimmying up and down the northern beaches in my newly bought summer wardrobe, courtesy of Topshop, scoping out the beautiful people from Home and Away who film up the road in Palm beach, I’ve spent my time dodging showers in (gag) a hoody. Daily routine- wake up (freezing), scoff bowl of Special K, leg it down humongous hill I live on top of, catch bus, acquire “essentials”, ie laptop, mobile, bedding, power walk (with many, many pauses to avoid heart attack) back up hill, then spend evening with housemates. An Englishman, an Aussie and a Kiwi. 3 men and a Welsh lady- (how early 90’s).
Initial conversation with my multi-national roomies suggest I’ll have a ball here. Whereas back in Wales, my accent is obviously much of muchness, out here it’s like a tool- a conversation starter, a bonding mechanism. I could be as insulting as I want, but say it in my strongest South-Walian (is that a word?) accent, accompanied with a large grin, and they’ll take it as a compliment! Theory put to test last Saturday night- first night clubbing in Sydney central. Went to club called Chinese Laundry, fabulous. First impression- girls clubbing dress sense= same as Wind St in Swansea on a Saturday night, ie, how much arse and boob can I show before I get arrested for being a street walker. To paraphrase a very good friend of mine – “knee deep in trollop”. Harsh, I know. But for the moment, I’m yet to see any evidence to the contrary. But as for communicating- once I’d slowed down from machine-gun speed so people could understand me, in the most part the accent was deemed as charming. I wonder how long it’ll take before friends I make run out of words to make me say and we’ll have to find proper stuff to talk about?
Sun’s just come out (thank god). So I’m off to Palm Beach (not to stalk hotties at all...).
Oh, ps- quote of the week: “I’m surprised you’re Welsh, with all those teeth.” Thank you, Aussie Simon; apparently all other Welsh folk he’s met have been significantly toothless. Charming.