My Midnight Interview, And How I Nearly Broke Into 2DayFM

Yesterday I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Iain Dale, of UK radio station LBC. It was a challenging interview, mainly because it began at 6am (to correspond with 9pm British time) and I had to get up at 4.45 in the morning to be there on time. Now, not only do I object to being awake at 4.45 in the morning, I object to the very concept of 4.45 in the morning. 4.45 is not 'morning'. 4.45 is 'night time'. Quite frankly, nothing before the hour of 6am is 'morning' in my book. If it is dark, it is not day. End of story.














The interview was held in Iain's temporary digs at the 2DayFM studios in Sydney's World Square. Having knocked back two black coffees just to get myself out of the house, by the time I arrived I I was desperate to use the... er.... facilities. Iain was on air and his male assistant had no idea where the bathroom was (clearly these British men have Bladders of Steel) so I was handed a security pass and allowed to roam the building in search of the elusive loo.

I ended up on the deserted top floor, dazed and busting. With no toilet in sight, I tried to open the door that looked most like a potential bathroom. It didn't open. I leaned against it, heavily. I pushed, hard. Still nothing. In my desperation, I considered knocking it down, until a passing cleaner informed me that it was Kyle and Jackie O's studio. I contemplating pounding on the door pleading for help (surely Jackie would occasionally need to use a toilet?) until the cleaner told me they were on hiatus and sent me to the bathroom downstairs.

Back on the ground floor, and feeling much lighter, I was ushered into the studio with Mark Dapin, my fellow author and interviewee. To my horror, the walls of the studio were painted in lurid shades of fluroscent pink, which at that unspeakable hour, literally made my eyes bleed. (Okay, so not literally, as that would have required hospitalisation, but certainly metaphorically). Mark and I sat there, blinking in the candy radiance, desperately  trying to retrieve our brains. I clutched a Berocca, in the pathetic hope of being energised. Mark, a non-coffee drinker, sipped from a bottle of Vanilla Diet Coke. At 6 in the morning. As you do.

The interview went well, despite Mark and I being half asleep, and Iain - who had been awake for the past 24 hours - being three-quarters asleep. At one point Mark knocked his Vanilla Coke onto the floor, which bothered no-one, as it was not our studio. At several points Iain began coughing uncontrollably, but as he managed to locate the Mute button on his microphone this bothered no-one either. At another point I found a couple of pairs of Christmas reindeer ears, which Mark and I donned just as the conversation turned to Australia's native marsupials. We felt this carried a message of support for our animal friends, but probably baffled Iain's assitant when he came to peek through the window.

At 7am, it was all over and we stumbled out into the gloom. It was lovely to meet Iain, and to connect with my British fans (none of whom have actually heard of me, as my book is not yet available in the UK), but I never want to see that hour of the 'day' again.

Those reindeer ears, however.... I miss them already.

I Was Unsettled In Hobart. Read Why....

This past weekend I had a lovely surprise trip to Hobart. The Architect wanted to visit MONA (not a whinging woman, as one might have thought, but an amazing museum built a few months ago), and he wanted me to accompany him, firstly because I am excellent company, and secondly to ensure he didn't have to sit next to a stranger on the plane. The Architect hates sitting next to strangers.

Hobart is a gorgeous city, but teeny tiny small. Seriously. They claim to have 250,000 people, but out of the four random people I exchanged small talk with on the Saturday, I bumped into all of them - yes ALL - at vaious locations the next day. And they weren't hotel staff. The place is weeny. Either that or people are magnetically drawn to me. Which is possible too.

But Hobart is truly beautiful. The food was great, the service was incredible, Salamanca markets were terrific value, and MONA was outstanding. Still, I did feel a little unsettled during my stay, and I'll tell you why:

1. Hobart does not have a Westfield. I know, it's unbelievable. I mean, what do people DO on a rainy day? Read? Talk to each other? Just knowing I was thousands of kilometres away from the familiar comfort of a mall made me feel out of sorts. It was Australia, but not as I knew it. Without a Westfield, we might as well have been in Uganda.

2. All the girls wore teeny tiny dresses to go out in the evening - possibly to match their teeny tiny city. Now, I have no problem with skimpy outfits. I'd wear them myself if I had skimpy legs. But it was FREEZING in Tasmania. I mean, single digit, three-layers-including-wool-and-leather freezing. And they were wearing boob tubes and mini-skirts. It bothered me. I wanted to take off my jacket and wrap it around their shoulders and put them in front of a nice warm fire. Only I didnt, because I needed my jacket myself. And besides, they'd think I was nuts.

3. There was rabbit on every single menu. 'Spunky with poached figs'. Braised Spunky with cream sauce'. 'Spunky ragout with lentils'. Now, I don't want to be a hypocrite. Obviously there are times I want to kill my bunny. But that doesn't mean other people should be killing theirs.

4. MONA had an art installation called 'C*** And Other Conversations'. It was a series of dozens of plaster casts of the female body part my daughter always refers to as her 'shiny'. I looked at them all. Very closely. And there were none that perfectly matched mine. Which made me feel good for being unique, but bad for being....well... unrepresented. Still, perhaps the conversation just hadn't gone on long enough.

5. Another art installation was a wall of TV screens, featuring fervent Madonna fans singing the lyrics to every song from her Immaculate Collection album. It was supposed to be an ironic social commentary on the nature of celebrity culture. But I just wanted to sing along.

Hey Minister! Don't Take My Mobile Phone

Transport ministers around Australia want to ban mobile phones in cars, even when used hands-free or on Bluetooth.

And I am not impressed.

Okay, so talking whilst driving is distracting. This is true. And when I first got my license about 150 years ago, I couldn’t talk to anyone whilst at the wheel, so scared was I that it would disturb my concentration. (Sadly, even in complete silence I kept backing into other people's cars.) These days I still turn off the radio and tell the kids to be quiet when attempting a tricky reverse park.

But in regular circumstances, I am perfectly able to drive my car whilst conducting a conversation, which is convenient, as I usually have three children in the car with me. In fact, not only do I have to talk to my kids whilst driving, I have to moderate disputes, pass out food, ensure seatbelts remain securely fastened, and provide regular updates on our Estimated Time of Arrival.

Believe me, if I can do all this, I can conduct a hands-free telephone conversation. After all, at least I can be certain the person on the other end of the line isn’t going to reach out and pull my hair when I refuse to pull over for an ice-cream.

The whole idea of banning conversations – any conversations - seems to me to be completely nonsensical. Think about it. Under the proposed laws, I would be permitted to engage in a heated debate with my husband whilst driving, provided that he is sitting in the seat next to me. I would not, however, be allowed to have a brief conversation with him via Bluetooth about what to eat for dinner.

I would be allowed to do my makeup whilst driving. I would be allowed to smoke a cigarette whilst driving (except that I’d become dizzy and run my car off the road, but I’m talking theoretically here). I would be allowed to take my hands off the wheel and adjust my undies. I would be allowed, if I was deaf, to have an animated discussion in sign language whilst driving (and, having been a passenger in a car driven by a very chatty deaf driver, I can assure you this is a very perilous activity). And yet I would not be allowed to have a hands-free conversation.

So why is this a problem? Why can’t I just give up my phone privileges whilst I’m in my car? Well, I live in Sydney, and the traffic is an absolute killer. I spend upwards of two hours in my car every single day just driving the kids to and from school, a mere four suburbs from my house. It kills me to have to waste so much precious time out of my short, short working day; for gods sake at least let me get some of my calls out of the way whilst sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic in suburban streets.

Besides, legislating against mobile phone use isn’t going to solve every driving issue. Nor is legislating against make-up application whilst driving, or eating whilst driving, or arguing whilst driving, or singing along to the radio whilst driving, or looking around frantically for a bathroom stop whilst driving. Ultimately, safe driving comes down to common sense and good judgement, and unfortunately no government can legislate that.

So in the meantime, let me make my calls in traffic. And who knows? If I’m distracted from the agonising frustration of 150 cars stretched out in front of me, perhaps you might even prevent a road rage incident or two.

Australia Day Confessions

So yesterday was Australia Day. I had a lovely day, hanging with friends, swimming with the kids, and eating smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches (but only because we've had about 17,000 barbecues lately, and I couldn't bear the thought of another slab of charred beef).

I truly love this country of ours. For me, living in Sydney, it's Bondi. The harbour. The Opera House. The cafes. The parks. The restaurants.

On a macro level, it's universal health care. Our welfare system. The abundance of food. Strict gun laws. Excellent public schools. Multiculturalism. Our entrenched sense of fairness.

I love Australia. And yet, in many ways I am unAustralian. And today, with 364 days to go till the next Australia day, I shall confess all the reasons why:

• I don't like pavlova. This is partly because I don't like meringe, partly because I don't like passionfruit, and partly because of a deeply entrenched belief that dessert is not dessert unless it is chocolate. 
• I don't use the term 'mate'. Ever. (Except in reference to Prince's ex-wife, and I'm not even sure I got the pronunciation right.) I've tried to call people 'mate' - it just seems like the culturally appropriate thing to do - but it comes out all forced and twisted, like when you bump into an ex-teacher and try to call them by their first name. So I generally use people's real names, and if I forget them, I just stammer and look anxiously for the nearest exit.  
• I've never said G'day. Again, just doesn't roll off my tongue. I say 'Hello', 'Hi', 'Hey', 'Shalom' and 'Bonjour' (I am nothing if not multi-lingual), but never, ever G'day. I should probably expand my repetoire, though. Ni Hao, anyone?
• I don't drink beer. In fact, I think beer tastes like carbonated wee wee. Of course, I've never actually tasted carbonated wee wee - in fact, I've never tasted wee wee at all* - but I believe that if I did, it would taste exactly like beer.
• I have never owned a Hills Hoist and I never plan to. I think they're ugly. Still, this is better than my friend Cate, who once owned a Hills hoist and took it down. Better to have never owned, I say, than to own and throw away.
• I have never watched 'Home And Away'. I've never even watched a commercial for it. Does Kate Ritchie play a policewoman?
• I didn't like 'Strictly Ballroom'. I know I was supposed to, and I was very glad that other people did, and I fully support the Australian film industry...but I just thought it was boring.
• I don't own tracksuit pants. Never have. Never will.

Still, all is not lost. I have some redeeming Australian qualities:

• I love Vegemite. I eat it every day. I love it with butter. I love it with cheese. I love it with peanut butter. I love it on toast. I love it in sandwiches. And I love it on a knife, or a spoon, or licked from my fingers when no-one is watching. I think Vegemite deserves its own place on the Healthy Foods Pyramid. Best food invention EVER.
• I call people 'luv'. It's not 'mate', but I can't see people in Italy or Pakistan using it, so I will claim it as a purely Australian term.
• I wear thongs on my feet. The little slip of fabric under my jeans is called a 'G-string'. And the thing I carry around with me is a 'mobile phone'. A cell is something you're locked in in prison.
• I watched the early years of Neighbours religiously. Scott and Charlene's wedding was one of the highlights of my television viewing life. And my earliest ambition was to be one of the Young Talent Team. This was hindered by the fact that I couldn't sing or dance, but hey, you've got to have a dream.
• My favourite film as a teen was 'Puberty Blues'. It reflected my life exactly (except that I was a flat-chested virgin who'd never been in a panel van).
• I own Ugg boots. I wear them all the time. They make me feel like I am walking on a cloud of fluff. Probably because they make me walk on a cloud of fluff.
• I love Simon Baker. He's Australian. Enough said. 

*My mum, however, tasted wee wee, when my son was a few months old and wee'd straight up into her mouth during a nappy change, and she says it tastes just like beer. Or I'm pretty sure she would if I asked her.