If the world is my oyster, then England is the pearl
Just writing about you now, makes my stomach swirl
I love my life, the freedom, but there is one major issue
Whenever I see you on TV, I really start to miss you
I
But oh how I wish to be back in the Green and Pleasant Land
Give me a decent pork pie or maybe cheese on toast
Actually, forget all that, where
They do it in Australia, yes, but it
A fry-up is serious business, yet Aussies treat it like a game
From the white cliffs of Dover, up to Hadrian
How can so much greatness, be in a land so small?
I miss proper English pubs and a kick-about down the park
Without you I am naked, like a tree stripped of it
I miss your sense of humour, I miss a good old moan
Please don
This poem comes from how I feel about the motherland every now and again. This home sickness usually strikes when you least suspect it and is usually triggered by something ridiculously minor. The TV is the main antagonist for this feeling. I got it the other day when an Australian news reporter was standing outside the Houses of Parliament. All of a sudden, this sinking feeling hit my stomach. It was heart breaking. Home sweet home. F*ck I miss you. And just to get rid of any shadows of uncertainty that it was England in the background. The sky was grey and cloudy and a massive Carlsberg lorry full of lager drove by in the background. Yep, that’s Ol’ Blighty alright.
The most ridiculous time my homesickness fuse was ignited though, was when some really, really obscure English show was on TV. I have no idea what it was, it was f*cking awful though. Anyway, there was a scene when a man was going through some woods, in England. There was no dialogue or music, the only noise that could be heard was the cooing of a wood pigeon. This noise instantly took me back to a very young Sam Goymer in English summertime, early Sunday morning, looking out the back window of the house I grew up in. The sun is gleaming, lawnmowers are mowing, my neighbours tall green trees are swaying in cool summer breeze and the pigeons are cooing. How the f*ck this picture found it’s way into my head God only knows. I probably spent the rest of that hot summers day in my back garden; either digging up old 18th and 19th artefacts scattered in the soil, like the Indiana Jones wannabe I was/am. Or I was starting a war between red and black ants. Trying my hardest to aid the kind black ants against the bastard red ones who would bite you so much. The reds always won though, wankers. It gave me a warm feeling inside to think of this, along with sadness that I’m so far away from home.
Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t mean I start acting like a whiney little bitch, crying into my pillow that I want to go home. I really don’t want to go home, yet. But every now and again, you remember who you are and where you come from. No matter where you’re from, home is home. Me and an Englishmen spent 20 minutes yesterday discussing different sweets, biscuits and ice creams from England. It’s when you’re so far away from home, you think of things like this. On that note, do you remember those ice creams with the bubble gum ball in the bottom? It came with a small plastic spoon, we couldn’t think of the name for toffee. So if someone can tell me, then I can sleep easy tonight.
Anyway, enough of that. Let’s talk about Australia. Me and Australia had a bit of a falling out the other week. But we have since kissed and made up. We both said and done things we both regret, but that’s all over now. Now the dust has settled and my eye is beautiful again, the hate has diminished. I can‘t let one town change my judgement of all Australia. I have since left that inbred shit hole and am now in a different place with a different job. I’m living in a nice little cabin with 3 English lads (A Scouser, Yorkshireman and a lad from Wolves) and an Italian girl. We’re like a happy little family and there’s guaranteed, well paid work for the next few months which will get me my 2nd working holiday visa. There’s not a lot to do out here, which is good as I need to save money!
So tomorrow we move town again, to a place called Swan Hill, which is also on the Murray River. The Murray River can only be described as: F*CKING MASSIVE! It’s huge. I don’t know how far it goes for, but it makes most of the Victorian/NSW border. It’s swarmed with, the all Australian, eucalyptus trees. People outside of Australia don’t realise just how many trees there are in this country, especially in the East. That’s why you hear about so many bush fires in Oz, it’s just one massive tinder box. Despite the dangers of bush fires and poisonous creatures, it does make for great hiking.
I’m reading a book by a man called Paul Theroux, he’s a travel writer. The book I’m reading now is called Dark Star Safari. Bored of the monotony of life at home, working, getting home, eating dinner, waking up, working, getting home, eating dinner etc. he decides to throw himself into the big bad world for some adventure. I can relate 100%. In this book, he travels from Egypt all the way down to South Africa. This book has reignited my lust for adventure. As much as I love Oz, for an Englishman, it’s really not anything new or exciting. There’s not a lot of bravery involved in coming here as an Englishman. The culture and language is pretty much the same as home. So this book has got me thinking, f*ck a career or emigrating to Oz permanently right now. I’m 22, single and handsome. The world is mine to conquer. All the settling down nonsense can wait. This book has got me wanting to travel to some random countries again, like when I went to Israel. South East Asia doesn’t appeal to me. As beautiful as it may be, it’s just going to be full of backpackers. I have nothing against that, but, for me personally, I don’t think it would teach me anything new or improve me as a human being.
So, I’m looking at my options right now. I’m not going to say what or when yet, as the travelling man doesn’t know where he will be tomorrow, let alone in a few months time. All I know is, I’m so happy I was born to travel. The scariest thought in my head is if me and my ex hadn’t of broken up 2 years ago. I would probably be living in Newquay, working, eating dinner, waking up, drinking alcohol, working, eating dinner, waking up, working etc. There’s nothing wrong with living a settled down life. I will one day settle down with a wife, family etc. And I‘ll be the dogs danglys at that life. But right now, it’s not for me. Like I said before about travelling, you either have it in you to do it, or don’t. So thank f*ck I do!
P.s.
I would like a moment to thank all my readers for the words of support regarding my blog. I never expected it to get such a popular reaction. The number of times this blog has been read is deep into the thousands (blogspot lets me check the stats). Thanks to you lot, I have re-found my passion for writing. I stopped writing this blog, then I met with one of my Aussie mates: Bec, who said I need to start writing it again. So thanks for that Bec! I got lazy, but now I’m back on it. Who knows, maybe one day when I finally finish my travels and settle down, I may just write a novel. That has been a secret dream of mine since school; when writing was the only thing I was shit hot at. I will have to hire an editor though, because my commas, semi-colons etc. are all over the shop (as I’m sure you grammar Nazis have noticed!). But until then, I hope you enjoy reading the absolute bullshit I write!
Toda raba. Nitra’e bekarov bitches!
No comments:
Post a Comment