Just Call Me Miss Australia

It’s a considerable insult to describe someone, or one’s actions as ‘UnAustralian’. At least in Australia. Or by an Australian somewhere other than Australia.
And after some considerable research into UnAustralianism I don’t have very much to share because unless you are Australian it bloody wouldn’t make sense and makes Australians look like a bunch of nutters.
Just a well I can also call myself a Kiwi. That’s my out clause.
Anyway, I was thinking about how I’ve been an Australian now for a year. At least officially according to the paperwork. But it would appear as if until you actually own a barbecue you really can’t call yourself a proper Australian.
So anyway I’m now unashamedly the owner of a barbecue.
I KNOW. It’s trippin me out too.
Now, before you go getting all excited, I have to point out that this isn’t one of those holy grails of grills that look like they came off the set of star wars (Ok, early star wars).
This new addition to our household is a simple, common or garden variety 4 burner bbq. The like of which you see everywhere… and actually often on the side of the road for council pickup (to the delight of kerb-surfers all over New South Wales – seriously, a car slowed down to peruse mine. If I’d been slower to get back to it from the alley to my house I’m sure it would have been history!) . They’re a dime a dozen.
So, this baby’s not new. Nope, I picked it up on that ‘ever so much less conspicuous’ kerb-surfing mecca “www.freecycle.org”.
A good, old fashioned Ozzie 4 burner for nothing?
Now THAT’S Australian.