Pommy Rants

It’s not easy being a “pom” in Australia, and yes quite frankly even the word “pom” sends us in to a blind rage. Here we discuss the things that piss us off about being a Brit Downunder.

Ok, so we all know that the British have a bit of a stigma across the globe- with the majority of nations thinking of us as a country full of people with incredibly bad teeth and a stuck up, pompous demeanour. And yes of course – the fact that we love to whinge.

I like to think of myself as a non-conformist to this illusion of a Brit; I am not normally one to whinge, I have a cracking set of gnashers and you couldn’t meet anyone less stuck up than myself. I like to think I break the mould of a typical whinging pom. Going against stereotypes and preconceptions as I trot around the globe on my travels showering love and light over every country and its people that I meet. However…then I came to Australia.

Now don’t get me wrong the place is unreal – amazing beaches, friendly people, awesome deserts in the outback and the sun shines a shit load more than back in Blighty. So what could I possibly have to moan about? Well quite a lot actually.

Enough to write this column and voice the little annoyances that I am faced with on a day-to-day basis being a pom down under. If you find yourself in Oz I guarantee you will be faced with the same and can relate to every word I write.

The first thing I have to address is just the sheer expense of the place. I still can’t quite get over it. Now the jobs out here do pay more, so I am told it is all relative but it’s still hard to justify some of the daily expenditures you face living life upside down in Australia. I didn’t come here completely in the dark though, I had been informed that it was a little hard on the wallet at times, but I guess my naïve traveller mind hadn’t quite thought about how this would relate to life’s little pleasures. I had come to terms with the fact that my accommodation would cost more than in Thailand or Indonesia, and that eating out would be more like London prices, but I cannot express the shock and disbelief I experienced when purchasing my first chocolate bar. A Mars bar. I had been sat in my Melbourne hostel when an advert for Mars bars flashed up on the screen, images of oozing caramel and creamy nougat filtered through my eyes and into my mind forcing me to desperately need the heavenly delight. I grabbed my wallet and raced down the stairs to the nearest shop. I had a dollar ready in my hand to purchase my chocolate fix. I slapped the Mars on the counter with the biggest smile and the shop keeper smiled back and calmly said “$2.50 please mate.” I could not disguise my horror. I re-lifted the mars and placed it back on said counter and said “only this one please.” He looked at me the way you look at the creepy weirdo who sits far too close to your face on the train and said “Yes. $2.50.”

Amidst my blatant shock and disgust I scrambled around in my bag for my increasingly shrinking wallet to pay for the no longer desirable chocolate. As I walked out with my Mars bar feeling like I had just had my pants pulled down and my arse slapped in public, I felt so angry that I couldn’t even enjoy the treat. Every bite felt like I was just chewing my money away. Now the last time I was back home in England a Mars bar was 45 pence. $2.50- get fucked. God bless the UK and its more accessible road to obesity.

By Kayleigh McCue

Want to read a guide on travelling Australia… click HERE.