Diary of a Pom in Western Australia

I got forwarded this a while back and thought it was too funny (and close to the truth) not to post.

August 31

Just got transferred with work from Leeds UK to our new home in Karratha, Western Australia. Now this is a town that knows how to live! Beautiful, sunny days and warm, balmy evenings. I watched the sunset from a deckchair by our pool yesterday. It was beautiful. I’ve finally found my new home. I love it here.

September 13

Really heating up now. It got to 31 today. No problem though. Living in air-conditioned home, driving air-conditioned car. What a pleasure to see the sun every day like this. I’m turning into a sun-worshipper – no blasted rain like back in Leeds!!

September 30

Had the back yard landscaped with tropical plants today. Lots of palms and rocks. No more mowing lawns for me! Another scorcher today, but I love it here. It’s Paradise!

October 10
The temperature hasn’t been below 35 all week. How do people get used to this kind of heat? At least today it’s windy though. Keeps the flies off a bit. Acclimatizing is taking longer than we expected.

yutiyr

October 15
Fell asleep by the pool yesterday. Got third degree burns over 60% of my body. Missed three days off work. What a dumb thing to do. Got to respect the old sun in a climate like this!

yutiyr

October 20
Didn’t notice Kitty (our cat) sneaking into the car before I left for work this morning. By the time I got back to the car after work, Kitty had died and swollen up to the size of a shopping bag and stuck to the upholstery. The car now smells like Whiskettes and cat shit. I’ve learned my lesson though: no more pets in this heat.

October 25
This wind is a bastard. It feels like a giant fucking blow dryer. And it’s hot as hell! The home air conditioner is on the blink and the repair man charged $200 just to drive over and tell me he needs to order parts from fucking Perth ….The wife & the kids are complaining.

October 30
The temperature’s up around 40 and the parts still haven’t arrived for the fucking air conditioner. House is an oven so we’ve all been sleeping outside by the pool for 3 nights now. Bloody $600,000 house and we can’t even go inside. Why the hell did I ever come here?

November 4
Finally got the fucking air-conditioner fixed. It cost $1,500 and gets the temperature down to around 25 degrees, but the humidity makes it feel about 35. Stupid repairman. Fucking thief.

November 8
If one more smart bastard says ‘Hot enough for you today?’ I’m going to fucking throttle him. Fucking heat! By the time I get to work, the car radiator is boiling over, my fucking clothes are soaking fucking wet and I smell like baked cat. Fucking place is the end of the Earth.

November 9
Tried to run some errands after work, wore shorts, and sat on the black leather upholstery in my car. I thought my fucking arse was on fire. I lost 2 layers of flesh, all the hair on the backs of my legs and off my fucking arse. Now the car smells like burnt hair, fried arse and baked cat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

November 10
The Weather report might as well be a fucking recording. Hot and sunny. Hot and sunny, Hot and fucking sunny. It never fucking changes! It’s been too hot to do anything for 2 fucking months and the weatherman says it might really warm up next week. Fuck!

November 15
Doesn’t it ever rain in this damn fucking place? Water restrictions will be next, so my $5,000 worth of palms might just dry up and blow into the fucking pool. The only things that thrive in this fucking hell-hole are the fucking flies. You don’t dare open your mouth for fear of swallowing half a dozen of the little bastards!

November 20
Welcome to HELL! It got to 45 fuckin’ degrees today. Now the air conditioner’s gone in my car. The repair man came to fix it and said, ‘Hot enough for you today?’ I wanted to shove the fucking car up his fucking arse. Anyway, had to spend the $2,500 mortgage payment to bail me out of jail for assaulting the stupid prick. Fucking Karratha! What kind of sick, demented fucking idiot would want to live here!

December 1
WHAT!!!! The FIRST day of Summer!!!! You are fucking kidding me!

tyutiyr

‘Courtesy’ my arse

I don’t know if I’m getting more impatient with age, but I have never experienced such bad customer service as I have in Perth. Maybe it’s because WA works on a completely different level of urgency to the rest of the world, or because the ‘Wait Awhile’ attitude is all people have grown to expect. Whatever the reason, when it comes to getting anything done, it’s bloody irritating.

Restaurants can often take 30 minutes to serve you coffee, and by then it’s stone cold. Or, as happened to me recently, they nuke your apple pie in the microwave and leave you with a burnt oesophagus and large medical bills to repair the damage. In any other country that would be a lawsuit waiting to happen, here the manager just laughed it off and told me I need to be more careful what I eat.

It’s common for telephone companies to try rounding your bills up to whatever prime number springs into their head, and then take months of arguing before they eventually pay the money back. And dare ask a question in a shop, and you can sometimes be made to feel like you’re inconveniencing the assistant.

The latest establishment to have my eyes rolling back in annoyance is the Kia dealership in Wangara.

My Rio – a car which bears a remarkable resemblance to a Dinky toy – is broken again. Having already had new parts fitted back last June to correct a faint knocking noise in the engine, it recently started to do the same thing again. This time the knocking noise was so loud it sounded like something was about to drop out of the engine.

So I drove my sickly car into Kia and asked the head mechanic to come out for a little spin. Of course he had absolutely no idea what the noise was, which, while very predictable, seemed a little odd as they’d already fixed it once before. I was just glad he heard the noise at all. I was fully expecting sods law to intervene and to be left looking like a neurotic woman driver making a fuss about nothing.

Two days later the car was dropped off and I asked to be provided with a replacement car while I was waiting for the repairs to be made. Pretty normal request I would have thought, especially considering the car was only 2-years-old and had its service just the week before.

Sorry, there were no cars available for me to use I was told, Kia don’t cover this in their warranty. Even if the fault is as a result of the rather flimsy design. If I would like I could hire a ‘courtesy car’ from them however, I could pay $33 a day. Plus an additional 25 cents for each km I drove.

Seriously? Since when is it a ‘courtesy car’ if you have to pay for it.

The last time I looked in a dictionary, the word ‘courtesy’ meant to provide something out of generosity -  a polite gesture. Preferably free of charge. The word doesn’t mean to fleece a stranded customer and then, to add insult to injury, try to charge them $13 more than the local car rental company would.

“So how long do you reckon the work is going to take then?” I asked.
“We don’t know” they helpfully replied.

Marvelous. Judging on the last time they tried to fix it, it took nearly 3 weeks. So that would be $630 dollars plus mileage (plus the month’s motor finance payment) out of my pocket, to pay for a car that shouldn’t be broken in the first place.

Surely that can’t be right?

The gear box was eventually taken apart and half-a-dozen new parts ordered from the East coast. I think the parts had to cross the country by train, because obviously the warranty wouldn’t cover anything as costly as DHL.

After waiting several weeks for any news I’ve finally been told the car might actually be ready to collect tomorrow. Although more likely next Tuesday. Or possibly towards the end of that week. Sometime anyway, depending on the mood of the person fitting the parts and whether they need to knock off early each day to watch the footy.

No rush guys, really. We love being left high, dry and car less. It makes life so much more interesting, especially when Mother Nature has a strop on.

uglg

There’s no such place as perfection

Lots of people heading over to live from the UK want to know, what’s life in Perth really like? Is it all blue skies, suntan cream and sandy beaches? Is it better than the UK in every way? Is everyone as ‘happy as Bruce’ and do the kangaroos all smile and wave you on your way as you speed off to work your 5 hour day?

In a word, and a very short one at that, NO.

Despite popular misconception, it does get cold here as well – Perth has long winters with not much sun and a lot of rain. Just like the UK, everyone isn’t happy all of the time, and kangaroos don’t really smile. I’d say if anything they smirk.

Some people, understandably, given how many burning hoops they have to leap through to get a visa, want to believe that Perth is the answer to all problems on earth – and the very opposite of evil old England. Yes, without a doubt it’s a lovely place to live and the lifestyle is so laid back that many have trouble getting upright again. But like every country it’s far from perfect.

Houses are still expensive and the cost of living high. Jobs are often hard to come by, and the working hours and commutes long. Older kids are often tempted by the huge drug scene on offer. Gang crime, knife crime and gun crime still fills up the news. Politicians still fail to deliver and continue to talk out of their backsides… So Perth may be many things to many people, but if you’ve built it up in your mind to be ‘perfection’,  then you might just be shocked to find it’s not the answer to all of your prayers.

Those migrants fresh from the plane and still marveling at the vastness of the sky, the millions of stars on view at night and the wide open beaches will tell you that ‘Perth is as good as it gets’. And that, I think can be very misleading to those trying to decide whether to make the move over. Firstly because the reality of life overseas (once the initial excitement has worn off, whether that takes a week, a month or ever a year) can sometimes be very different to what people expect, and secondly peoples idea of ‘as good as it gets’ can vary greatly.

Many people move over from the UK for a better lifestyle and a house in the sun, a chance to escape a country that is spinning out of control. But despite this, a massive 40% of those who move over from the UK still decide to go back again. That’s an awful lot of people making an extremely costly and difficult decision to return – a decision no one would ever take lightly, or do without good reason. Moving your life around the world is a big enough upheaval in the first place, moving back and starting again is an even bigger one.

Everyone has their own different reasons for not wanting to stay. Some find the distance from friends and family too great. Some feel too cut off from the rest of the world. Some realise that problems faced in the UK are also faced over here. Perhaps some just didn’t want to spend their weekends surfing, hiking, fishing, camping and drinking beer around a BBQ. Or maybe once they’d had a year of cooking sausages in Kings Park, eating fish & chips at Hillarys and trying to spot animals at Perth Zoo the novelty of it all simply wore off. Who knows, maybe the reality of life here simply never lived up to the hype.

So if you’re leaving England and heading south in search of perfection, then it might be wise to really get the lay of the land before your feet touch down on the dusty ground. This way you cut then risk of being surprised, disappointed or disillusioned  by what you find. Because if you arrive ready to start your new life Down Under with your eyes wide open, then you will probably love it all and never look back.

To quickly go back to the original question of what’s it like to live in Perth, here’s my answer:

Today I got woken up early by the radio. It was grey, wet and cold outside and the drone of irritating DJ’s put me back to sleep – until the dog barked millimetres away from my ear. I dragged two children from their beds and fed them breakfast. I made my own breakfast and then watched it conceal into concrete as I hunted for last nights homework sheet. I stepped on the dogs tail as he rushed past me to the backdoor. It was still pouring with rain, so as the school bell went in the distance I threw the kids into the car.

I returned from the school run, cleared up breakfast, emptied the dishwasher, put on the washing machine, swept half the garden off the kitchen floor. I then rounded up my son, his water cup and potty and headed out to the supermarket. We navigated the aisles with a renegade trolley while I fed him pancakes to keep him quiet and contained. I loaded the car, filled up with petrol and unloaded the car – all in the rain.

Next came lunch, as requested by my son. I watched him push it around his plate for so long that I gave up, ate it myself and then cleared up. He got all his toys out just to see what would take his fancy – we played with Lego, blocks and trains. The school bell sounded, so we set off with the dog in tow. We ran to the park so the dog could wear himself out while we all stood under a tree in the downpour. I supervised homework, cleared up the house, cooked dinner for the kids and remembered the washing in the machine from this morning. I shoved it all in the tumble drier as it was still raining.

Fed both kids their dinner – felt my blood pressure rise. Cleared up the mess. Supervised their bath time – felt my blood pressure rise further. Overcame a toddler meltdown when Tellytubbies said ‘Goodbye’. Shoehorned two kids into bed and then cleared up the house. Again. Started dinner. Again. Husband arrived home. We both collapsed in front of TV – exhausted. The dog barked at next doors cat and woke me up at 1am. I lay there staring at the clock and waiting to go back to sleep again. I started to panic when I couldn’t fall asleep. Then I suddenly remembered I’d forgotten to turn the tumble drier on. I went to sleep convinced I could already smell the washing going mouldy.

I got woken up early by the radio….

Point made? Living in Perth is like living in many other countries around the world – 5% sunshine and light, 95% reality of your day-to-day life. So whether you choose to live at the top of the world or down here at the bottom, your bills will still mount up and your funds sometimes run low, your children will still squabble, bicker and sulk, and the contents of your ironing basket will still have doubled in size everytime you walk past.

That, as they say, is life.

Another Shark Attack in Perth

On Saturday (9th May) a 35 year-old man had a very lucky escape when he came nose to nose with a 4.5 m pointer (great white), and survived to live another day.

When out in his boat around three nautical miles off Point Peron, he turned around to see most peoples worst nightmare coming true – a shark having an early morning snack and nibbling away at his engine.

As he tried to push the shark away with his oar, he ended up dropping it overboard. And then fell in himself. As they say, when it rains it really pours.

As his boat drifted away from him, he knew he had to keep as still as possible, so as to prevent the shark from attacking. Not an easy task this, given that he was bobbing around in choppy waters and being eyed up by a killer.

Eventually the shark got bored and went off in search off his next meal. With the coast clear, the man was able to make a bid for freedom and was picked up by a passing boat.

I have to say it’s hard to imagine what goes through the mind of someone being circled in the water by a man eating shark, I’m guessing your life flashes before you.

According to the Rockingham Sea Rescue, the man was ‘frightened and shaking’ when he was picked up. Do you think? Never mind frightened, I’d say he was probably in a heightened state of shock.

For a refreshing change, particularly in this incredibly publicity led world, the man has refused to be named or to speak publicly about his ordeal. So I think it’s safe to say we won’t be seeing him and his pearly whites appearing on the next McLean’s ad.

Who ever this lucky individual is, I’m sure he’ll be looking over his shoulder the next time he goes out in his boat, and remembering to wear his life jacket.

I think I can safely say, given my Jaws related phobia, I would certainly never even put myself in the vicinity of a such a shark. Unless of course it was being displayed in a museum or behind 3 foot of glass.

Other Shark attack posts>

Playtime

An Aussie influenced playground..

Posted From My iPhone

Hunting Skippy

One of the things that Australia is best known for, (apart from killer spiders) is its lean, mean, hopping machine. AKA the kangaroo.

When you first arrive in Australia, driving past the ‘Watch out, watch out there’s a kangaroo about’ road signs can be something a novelty.

They certainly beat the more mundane signs for cows, hedgehogs or ‘Men at work’.

My daughter to this day believes that whenever she sees such a sign, a kangaroo must surely be sitting nearby. Possibly filing it’s nails and waiting to leap out at the next car that comes past.

I’ve lost count of the number of times she has squealed “Kangaroo” at me from the backseat. “Where?” I yelp, slamming my foot on the break. “On the sign over there.” she offers up helpfully.

Roo spotting is indeed an excellent way to keep seat-belt bound children occupied for hours. The chances of them actually seeing one can be slim to none, but it is a golden opportunity to train up their eyesight, and stopping them asking “Are we nearly there yet?”

Now as far as that particular question goes, in my experience, as both an adult and a child, there is only 1 answer – “No, we only left the garage 5 minutes ago and we still have hours to go. Sit still, shut up and look out of the window.”

Oh, the power of parenthood.

If you live in suburbia, like we do, the likelihood of actually coming nose to nose with a kangaroo when you pop out to check your mailbox is nil. It is probably as unlikely as coming home to find one relaxing in a bubble bath, sipping a Baileys and listening to Norah Jones. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be found.

Up in the northern suburbs for instance, the bushland that runs along Burns Beach is home to quite a few. They can often be seen out and about on the hills, normally kicking back, having their tea and watching the sun go down. Connolly Drive is also meant to be a great place to spot them – so we keep being told.

So far, despite keeping my eyes peeled back up to my eyebrows and driving at a speed that would put my age at about 80, I have seen only 2. One was disappearing at a rather brisk pace behind a bush, and if I’m honest, could have just been a figment of my imagination. The other one was dead.

Poor thing, it was rather unsettling to see. Partly because it had most likely gone into battle with a bumper (and obviously lost), and partly because rigamortis must have kicked in with lightening speed. It was laying there on the edge of the road, rolled over on its side, but still in an upright seated position.

Granted this wasn’t the best example of wildlife to shows the kids, but hey, you have to take it where you can get it. Of course kids being kids, they weren’t at all fazed. My son, who was only 1 at the time, ignored Exhibit A, and carried on eating his rice wheels. My daughter, who was 7, was fascinated by the whole idea of it actually being real and dead.

I, on the other hand was deeply disturbed – all the way to the end of the road and up the next hill.

Another close kangaroo encounter came about on Lakeside Drive. We were driving back from Joondalup hospital in the middle of the night, (that would be night my husband tried to die on me) when a rather large kangaroo shot out from the bush and straight in front of the car. Luckily I wasn’t traveling quite as fast as I normally would, or we would have had a freezer full of Skippy steaks to keep our dog going for several years.

Of course there are many other places you can say ‘hello’,  if you don’t feel like patrolling the roads at night. Or if you already have a permanent crick in your neck, from trying to distinguish what is living, breathing mammal, and what is only a piece of drift wood by the side of the road.

Whiteman Park has a kangaroo enclosure which allows you to get up, close and very personal with a whole mob of them. Yes, ‘mob’ is the collective noun for kangaroos. I know, it sounds like they should be wearing football shirts, chanting stupid songs and drinking in the streets.

This is an ideal photo opportunity – a chance to stick Junior as close as he can go without being bitten, and then jump back as you tell him to smile. Yes, I admit, this is coming from personal experience. This hopefully adorable image can then be sent home, as your ‘Look where we live’ photo. Now, if you could somehow manage to pop a Santa hat on the kangaroo, think of the potential for your next family Christmas card…

Yanchep National Park is another great hot-spot. Here the kangaroos are just wandering around, without a fence or an entry ticket insight. Not so easy to get close enough to pat these, but a lovely setting to see them hopping around. The downside of this place is you are effectively walking on a carpet of Roo poo, but it’s a small price to pay for getting so close to nature.

It was on a visit here that my daughter asked one of those question’s. “What is that, hanging down from all those big kangaroos?”

“That would be their balls,” answered my ever so helpful, smirking husband. Great, thanks for that. How to open up a whole avenue of questions that I have absolutely no wish to answer yet.

There is one more place where you can be certain to literally lay your hand on a kangaroos leg. The supermarket. Or any good pet food supply outlet. OK, so maybe it’s not how you imagined wildlife to be – culled, chopped and cellophane wrapped – but it’s still a genuine kangaroo encounter nevertheless.

If you would still rather opt for those with a pulse, then happy hunting. But remember to wash your hands afterward, they can be more than a little whiffy.

zfsdfsd

sdsa

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Bring on the Spring

Yeah, the cold weather is finally on the way out. After a chilly and incredibly wet winter (we were on the brink of building an ark in the garage) Spring is finally making it’s way around to Perth. After months of huddling around the fire and looking pale and pasty, the sun is trying to make a come back and I can already feel my blood slowly starting to defrost.

Without doubt this has to be the nicest time of year. The sky is bright blue, the sun is out and the temperature is hot enough to warm creaking bones without the risk of flambaying your brain at the same time. The UGGS and scarfs have been packed away and the multiple pairs of Crocs brought out and brushed down. The dog no longer tries to dry his wet paws on the couch and has instead gone back to sunbathing in the corner of the garden. Noise levels in the house have dropped as children can once again be peeled off the walls and herded back out into the street to play on their bikes.

Soon my complexion will lose its Adams Family shade of pale and I will be able to expose those parts of my body to the sun that have been covered up and increasing in girth from the ‘eating to keep warm’ diet. Nothing makes a body look thinner than a little colour, though I hasten to add that while the aim will be to achieve ‘bronzed v sickly’, I have learnt well enough from one summer here, that any fanatical sunbathing without protection will leave you looking as appetising as a burnt sausage.

The return of the warm weather does of course mean that the flies will soon be back and the spiders will be going into overdrive. I must now crank myself back into gear and back into the gym if the stitching on my bikini is to have any chance of holding. My slipper soft heels will go back to being as dry and cracked as a desert floor within a week and in the interests of staying alive, it will now take an extra 10 minutes to get ready to go out, as one by one the whole family is dipped in factor 30 suncream. Worst of all, I really will have to do something about my legs. After months of hibernating under the cover of denim they have taken on the characteristics of a Yeti. Quite simply they will not be ready to go back on public show until they have been taken to task with the garden strimmer and a good pair of secateurs.

Those few issues aside, it’s great to see the sun again. The best bit being that my laptop and I are back out in the garden and the view from where I am typing away makes writing even easier to do…

Zoom Zoom Zoom

You could be forgiven for thinking that buying a car is a simple 3 step process – you choose your make and model, you get offered a fabulous deal and you drive away – with free floor mats, a tank of fuel and a hamper of inedible food. Sadly this is not so. It’s not even close.

There is nothing simple about buying a car in this day and age. It’s a stressful event and one that should be avoided like the plague by anyone with a weak heart, on blood pressure pills or likely to buckle easily under pressure.

Simply trying to choose between the small cars, sports cars, saloon cars and 4WD’s can bring on a migraine. Trying to decide what colour and ‘package’ you want on your car can leave you dazed. Making sure that the amounts on the final contract tally with the amount you verbally agreed can leave you completely confused – and often massively out of pocket.

Of course if you were to believe the advertising hype, then every new car on the market can and will make heads turn in the street. They can cross a mountain range without getting dirty and house an entire happy smiling family – with children who never bicker, scatter crumbs like confetti or throw up all over the shiny leather upholstery.

Putting aside this ever so slightly rose tinted image of those who drive cars, it is the ridiculous selling spiel of car ads that can make you shake your head in disbelief. For example, in a safety mad world full of test dummies and statistics it would surely stand to reason that an airbag would come as fairly standard in every car. Yet here some manufacturers still advertise them as a ‘feature’, along with the tyres, handbrake, engine and wheels nuts… Surely an integrated sat nav system and heated seats would be considered ‘features’, not those parts of a car designed to actually save your life.

Before going out on the great car hunt it is important to realise that the rules of the game over here are very different to the UK. For starters it is hard to find anywhere to go to actually get yourself a bargain. Dealers seem to close ranks to protect themselves from buyers trying to play one off one against the other and salesmen appear to be immune to any form of negotiating. A ‘deal’ is what is already written on the car’s windscreen, anything else is apparently an insult. Even when searching on the Internet, the countless websites offering to secure you the ‘lowest price possible’ only charge you for the privilege and then lead you straight back to the local dealer you have already visited.

One of the biggest differences in the car industry here is that it can be just as cheap, if not cheaper to buy a brand spanking new car as it is to buy a used one. Whether out on the dealers forecourt, advertised in the Quokka or parked on the kerb of every roundabout at the weekend, used cars can be expensive to buy. This would of course give the illusion that cars hold their value well – a claim that is certainly made by every salesman about the particular brand they are trying to flog you. The only trouble is, that as far as the owner of the car is concerned, this is only partly true.

If you buy a car from a dealer and then decide to take that very same car back to trade in just 6 months later you might be in for a shock. Suddenly the ‘value’ of your car has dropped by $1000′s. Countless excuses will be given as to why this car (the one in exactly the same condition as when you brought it) is suddenly no longer  worth what you paid. You will even be made to feel unrealistic, greedy and naive for expecting more back than they are offering. Yet drive by the forecourt a week later and you will no doubt see your car has miraculously regained it’s value and is once again worth pretty much what you paid for it in the first place.

No one is disputing that every dealer needs to make some money, but why do car salesmen have to use every known underhand method from the ‘How to screw your customer over’ guide to selling a motor. Of course everyone knows that it’s  going to happen, it’s part of the game in a very cut throat industry – but why does it have to be so unsubtle that it becomes down right insulting. Hard sell takes on a whole different meaning, they may as well just pin you down and hold a crow bar to your jugular until you offer to pay them to take your heap of a worthless car back off you.

Of course it is undoubtedly harder for dealers to make as much off your trade in here, with an automatic fixed fee to be paid by the dealer on a car before they can even hike up the price and try to resell it. But it’s even harder to feel sorry for them, when they instantly try to claw this money straight back off you through overpriced paint protection products, tinted windows and extended warranties. A warranty that incidentally then ties you to a twice yearly service with the dealer in order to keep it valid.

There is a great list of all the tricks and cons used by car salesmen on the Web, one that is definitely worth a read. We did, and when we put the theory to the test unsurprisingly 9/10 of those who rushed out to meet us were true to the list and passed with flying colours.

Of all of the lines that we were fed, the most jaw dropping of all was that we would only be given a trade in price on our car when we had signed a contract to buy another car. Why? Because in her words ‘the price they would offer changed from day to day’. As if. Did we look like we just fell off a passing banana boat with half a brain between us? To really add insult to the attempted day light robbery, when we said that we weren’t ready to ‘commit’ to her there and then, she basically threw a business card at us and walked straight out of the door to the next unsuspecting customer.

To say that the whole experience was more doom than Zoom Zoom Zoom would be a massive understatement. We hot footed it immediately and left her offending and definitely unwanted business card propped up in the branches of the nearest tree.

Yes I know that not all salespeople are the same. My husband worked in the industry for years and he certainly didn’t work that way. But as is often the case (think double glazing salesmen and dodgy builders) it only takes one bad experience and a shifty individual to make you wary of anyone bearing down on you with an insincere smile and monthly targets to meet.

I’m glad to say that we did eventually find something of a rarity in the industry – a salesperson who was not only genuine, but also went out of her way to help us. She proved that it is possible to be nice without being smarmy, that you can sell without using thumb screws and that when it comes down to the customer, people will always be happier to buy from people. The sort of people that they like and respect, not those that try to patronise or bully them into buying something they can’t really afford.

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Winter blues

The one thing that surprised me the most about Perth is that the winters here can get cold. Very cold.

When I arrived in June last year, I was completely unprepared for what the following months would be like. Thinking I was heading for 365 days of sunshine a year, before leaving the UK I sold off the majority of our winter clothing on Ebay and stocked up instead on shorts, swimwear and all things summery. A bad move as I was to later find out.

Within weeks of arriving the temperatures dropped considerably. A few weeks on from that and we decided that there was no way we were tough enough to withstand the Arctic conditions in our damp and depressing rental property. So out to the shops we went, to stock up on more winter clothes, furry lined slippers, portable radiators for each bedroom and a (hideously expensive) gas heater.

Of course many people aren’t bothered by this weather and will be thinking what sort of a lightweight are you. A cold one, would be the answer to that. In my defense, I think that as a result of having lived in hot countries most of my life, my blood obviously now runs thinner than green tea and I simply don’t cope well under 25 degrees.

While it luckily never gets cold enough here for frost or snow, this is the 3rd windiest city in the world. And this wind, whilst cooling in the summer can freeze through to your bones in the winter. Judging by the amount of rainfall last year, it can also be very wet for days on end. This is of course great for the garden and the Australian countryside as a whole, but not so great if you have a dog to walk, washing to dry or small children climbing up your walls.

In addition to Mother Nature, houses here just aren’t built to deal with cold weather. Well, if the truth be told houses here just aren’t built well, full stop. The walls are thin, there is little or no insulation and the windows are of a quality even the ’3 Little Pigs’ wouldn’t have settled for. While this questionable style of build may keep you cool in the summer, it does bugger all to warm you up in the winter.

Mornings and night time are the coldest. Taking a shower can become something you only brave when absolutely necessary – once in, you find you would rather par boil yourself and lose a layer of skin, rather than bring yourself to leave the hot water. During the course of a day you can both put on and shed multiple layers of clothing. I’ve worn a thermal vest, 3 tops and scarf to brave the morning school run, and then had to peel myself like an onion when out in heat of the midday sun.

Evenings are spent under a blanket, in front of the log fire and with my feet so firmly tucked under the dog that I’m practically wearing him as a slipper. Last night was particularly chilly. I got into bed wearing my PJ’s, fleece (with the hood up around my ears), dressing gown and socks. At this point I was told in no uncertain terms that this was taking it one step too far and I was to at least put the hood down. I of course appreciate that having your wife dressed as a rapper in the bedroom may not scream ‘sexy’, but if it’s a choice between that or frostbite, then I’m afraid keeping all of my limbs intact will win hands down every time.

So a word to the wise. If you are heading to Perth to live, make sure you stick all your woolies, boots and your electric fires into your container. Also accept that for a good 4 months of the year it is a tad on the cool side. If you are renting a house over the winter, don’t waste your money paying for a pool, heated or otherwise. It will be about as practical as an ice pick in Africa, and no matter how ‘tough’ you reckon you are, the likelihood of you ever taking a dip is on a par with that of me removing my UGG’s – it’s just never going to happen.

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Ho Ho Ho

Christmas came early to sunny Perth today.

Well when I say Christmas, I should probably clarify. After all, it is only July and many of us are still trying to shed the weight gained from the last time we dived head first into the festive trough.

I’m not actually referring to any of the good bits of the most expensive day of the year. There were no presents being opened at 3am, no roast dinners on the go since 7am and no empty mince pies cases scattered across every surface in the house. The dog wasn’t subjected to wearing antlers and there was certainly no flopping in front of the TV while eating an entire box of chocolates – it’s a known fact that unless all Christmas bought confectionery is eaten in one sitting, it will almost certainly be stale by Boxing day.

No. The part of Christmas that crept up and bit me on the credit card today was the mind blowing, hive inducing stress of shopping.

Upon hearing that the Toy Sale of the year had started in Kmart this morning and the store was being stripped of all bargains with every passing minute, I found myself shoe-horning a very unreceptive toddler into his car seat and heading off with my wallet in tow. Now, I like to think I am a fairly organised person. I often start the great ‘stocking filler hunt’ months before and have everything wrapped up and ready to go by November. But buying ‘tree’ presents already? It seems like madness. The fact that I also voluntarily subjected myself to the crowds of manic mothers with prams, and the panic comes with trying to decide what our little angels will be wanting in 6 months time – now that is certifiable.

And the reason why so many people were bulk buying for Santa in July? That would be Layby. A concept that makes you buy and spend far more than you ever intended to. Items are then put to one side, paid off slowly throughout the year and collected in a few days before Christmas. The downside of Layby (as experienced by yours truly this morning) is that by the time you have your 3 tonnes of brightly coloured plastic and the 10 AA batteries that each item inevitably required, the Layby que has stretched all the way back around the store to the entrance.

Having already narrowly missed death, by what can only be described as a stampede of highly strung wildebeast, I was faced with two choices. Wait at least another hour with a strapped in and loudly protesting toddler who, like Hansel, had already left a trail of biscuit crumbs throughout the store. Or, head straight for the empty checkout and pay for the whole lot in one go. So defeating the very point in buying early, using Layby and spreading out the pain of the payment.

Seeing as I am already home and the said toys are now crammed into the shed (later to be somehow hoisted into the loft away from the very prying eyes of a 7 year old) I obviously went for the easy option. My flexible friend may not like me much anymore, but at least I am in the safety of my own home and avoided cultivating another wrinkle.

Layby is without a shadow of a doubt a very clever marketing ploy, used by stores to brainwash parents into buying presents early. But, to be fair, it is also a great way to spread the cost of an otherwise bank account draining time of the year.

But be warned. If you are going to shop on the first day of the sales and make the most of all the great discounts – leave your kids at home, take a stool and pack a picnic.

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