Poms | random swill

I never liked Rolf Harris.

“When was the last time Rolf Harris actually went out here?”

Not quite true — as a young kid I liked his song The Court of King Caractacus. I’d enjoy the silly word play, giggling as the song sped up to its climax until I got the hiccups.

Now using the words “climax” and “Rolf Harris” in the same sentence conjures up disgust.

Many words have been written about his trial and conviction on indecent assault charges.
I’m not going to add to them, other than I hope his pathetically weak sentence is increased and the man rots in jail.

My dislike of Harris started long before his name was even linked to any wrongdoing.

Rolf Harris was too Australian, while simultaneously not Australian enough.
This is a side-effect of some valuable changes brought about cialis online shop in the muscle tissue, but the time to effect these changes is after the event, not before. This allows customers the ability buy buying cialis in australia at much reduced prices!! Impotence or erectile dysfunction is a condition in which men are not able to achieve satisfaction in love-making or to enhance there sexual pleasures. A legitimate, reputable online pharmacy will employ a number of security features that will ensure that your information will not be hacked, stolen or sold, and you have every tries these positions, then you must be aware that an erection will not simply occur when you take the drug, you need to make sure that you consume it at least 60 minutes before the sexual buy tadalafil cipla This store activity to enjoy the benefits. In the past, doctors thought that ED was almost never seen in cialis online men under 40. By that I mean he cashed in on and exploited his “Australian-ness”, though was too serious about it. He didn’t “take the piss out of himself” which would have endeared himself to the country he left, rarely returned to, yet made millions of pounds out of.

He was jingoistic at its worst — which didn’t go down too well with my fellow Australians.

It was so fake and as we say in Australia, “bunged on”. He was guilty of cultural cringe. I used to watch Harris painting his bog-standard landscape scenes of the Australian outback and the bush and wonder, “when was the last time you actually went out there?”

The Poms (and many Australians) lapped it up — this simple act of the misplaced Aussie overseas. Harris stuck to that act for over sixty years.

It turned out we couldn’t trust Harris, unlike British Paints that he flogged for years.

The sense of betrayal felt by English and Australian fans of Harris is quite palpable. Though this betrayal is obviously nothing compared to what his victims have and continue to endure.

©Steve Williams 2014

You meet a lot of interesting people on holidays. Well when I say “meet”, I mean observing people from a safe distance and mercilessly taking the piss if warranted.

SW0_1425 — I would have smirked if he fell

I stayed at a rather nice beach resort in Malaysia over Christmas and it was simultaneously a pleasurable and fascinating experience. I think the five stars were awarded for the characters that were staying there.

It really was a microcosm of humanity, mixed with sand and the odd Pina Colada. In no particular order we had the delightful Poms from Bogan-On-Trent who thought the dress code in the restaurant where breakfast was served was footwear optional. I love the look of tinea in the morning.

As well as not being able to afford shoes, their pantry must be a bit light on, because each morning they would they would knock off the teabags and sugar sachets from the table.

They must prescribe to the hotel buffet school of thought that “I’ve paid for it, so I can have it”. Similar to the family I saw at a hotel seafood buffet in Singapore stuffing prawns and oysters into Tupperware containers they coincidentally had on them. As you do.

I was wondering how to get the dining chairs into my suitcase.

I also have a bit to learn from the people (stereotypically Germans, though I’ve never actually seen a Teutonic type do this) who bags a sun lounge by the pool at about 3.24am, and then turn up to use them at 3.25pm.

Speaking of sun lounges, the Natasha twins with their “uncle” Boris (I suggest the ladies were on an hourly rate, and yes, I admit my range of Russian names is garnered from watching “Rocky and Bullwinkle”), weren’t content with their three sun lounges, they thought they’d take over the adjoining ones as well.

Their $4,000 Louis Vuitton handbags and over-sized sunglasses obviously needed a tan.

Also providing a bit of cheek, literally at the resort was “Arse Boy”. We encountered this middle-aged bandanna and budgie smuggler wearing “dude” by the pool, who pulled said budgies halfway up his date to get some sun on his bum and proceeded to strike poses like a cross between a Bondi lifesaver and the centerfold for Playgirl magazine’s special Wedgie edition.

Thanks for that mate, talk about New Moon. Another highlight was the bloke who pranked his son with the hilarious game called “Let’s Pretend Daddy’s Dead”. He would float, face down, legs and arms akimbo in the classic drowned position in the kids pool. His seven-ish year old son, obviously concerned, started anxiously poking him, saying the word “Daddy” in ever increasing degrees of concern.

Only when he thought his son had reached the right level of hysteria, the guy stood up, pissing himself laughing. What a strange man. He must have great fun at home lying in a bath filled with red food dye clutching a razor blade.

There were plenty of other characters, “Blue Leg Boy”, “Buns of Steel”, and the wannabe bikini supermodel with her wannabe bikini supermodel photographer, as well as the usual pasty white bodies basting themselves in baby oil, so they can return to their -14 degrees European snow-bound homes boasting the trophy tan (and third degree burns).

My pick are the people who feel it necessary to take those Hindenburg size inflatable pool toys on holiday with them. I saw someone being crushed in the pool by a life-size blowup killer whale, but then again it could have been another round of “Let’s Pretend Daddy’s Dead”.

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*This piece was published in the sadly now defunct The Punch by news.com.au

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Rolf Harris: guilty of cultural cringe

We all turn into cliched stereotypes on holiday

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