Idiots

Who doesn't enjoy a James Bond movie? Fast cars and faster women, larger than life villains and a catchy theme song.
In an effort to improve our Australian general knowledge we sourced the 1969 Bond movie which starred the Australian actor George Lazenby.  It was every bit as improbable as some of the later movies, incorporating ski chase sequences, brainwashed beautiful women and my favorite Bond movie motif  - the glamorous casino scene.

I have watched many more Bond movies, than I have visited casinos, but have yet to encounter a similarly glamorous location. Where are the chandeliers, impossibly beautiful women and men wearing Savile Row suits? Perhaps they exist in Monaco or Macao but in my experience they do not exist in Australasia.
Once, while visiting a casino on Queensland's Gold Coast, I thought that I might have found 'my people.' Glamorous, scantily dressed women were conspicuous in the casino lobby, but on closer inspection their true purpose became apparent - they were simply attempting some 'self-merchandising.' On another occasion I was invited to the high rollers floor in the Sky City casino.  Stupidly, I worried that I would be hopelessly under dressed, only to discover that the high rollers looked like they had just stepped out of LynnMall.

Clubs and Casinos play a large part in the lives of your average Australian. Both gambling venues provide plenty of poker machines ('pokies') however only casinos provide 'casino games' (with their attendant croupiers). Clubs are far more numerous and have a reputation for providing cheap meals and drinks.  I was not expecting to encounter glamour when we ventured into the nearest club, but once again X - town revealed a hidden surprise.  Perhaps the presence of a doorman should have provided a clue as to what lay inside; the vast foyer was every bit as grand as a James Bond movie set.  There were glittering lights, polished marble surfaces and pots overflowing with lush orchids.  Twin streams flowed down either side of  the wide entrance staircase.  We sat beside a trickling water course and enjoyed a very nice two course Thai meal and a bottle of Riesling; the bill came to $41.

Feeling rather pleased with ourselves, we explored and encountered a crowd who had gathered to watch a contest.  Competitors were pounding, slapping and thumping away at a row of pokie machines, the rules were simple; the person who could hit the button fastest and score the most 'hits' in a three minute period was the winner.  The contest was strangely popular, several dozen people were happily watching mindless machine bashing; one of the spectators informed me that competitors had signed up hours in advance for the chance to win prizes.  What a clever attempt to glamorize an otherwise mind numbing repetitive action! Push a button and you might win a prize - but wait...... wasn't it possible to do this by playing the machines in the normal manner?

It had been years since I had 'played the pokies.' The machines still had flashing lights and strange names (Amazon Queen, Enchanted Unicorn etc), but everything else was unfamiliar.  The happy tinkle of coins that signaled a win had been replaced with a chirpy little electronic noise and it was no longer necessary to insert individual coins and pull a handle, instead, the machine simply devoured bank notes.  We gave it a go.  The Amazon Queen promised 1 cent bets and smoothly ingested a ten dollar note.  We pushed the button, the machine whirred once and then............nothing! No tinkles or pings, the machine was simply dead.  Eventually, a weary boy was summoned.  We explained that the machine had eaten our money.  He patiently explained that before starting it was necessary to stipulate the size of each individual bet.  In the absence of any such instruction the Amazon Queen had simply taken the lot.  With one push of a button, we had bet (and immediately lost) a thousand times more money than we had intended to.  We had always believed the old adage, and now we had proved it - only idiots play the pokies.

The Bird League

My Father was born and raised in Australia and despite spending most of his adult life in Godzone, was always labelled as an 'Aussie.' During a recent visit, my Aussie Aunty mentioned that she had recently unearthed a certificate that identified my father as a member of the Gould League of Bird Lovers. A tiny amount of research revealed that this environmental education organisation still functions and actively recruited members from Australian schools during the 1930's.

I wondered whether it was peer pressure or simply the attraction of the collectible badges that made my Father sign up. Whatever his motives might have been, I was certain that his conscience must have bothered him as he made his joining pledge.  The membership drive was intended to protect native bird species by discouraging a very popular boys pastime during the 1930's; my Aunt reported that despite his enrollment, my father and his elder brother were not dissuaded from climbing trees and raiding nests in order to enlarge their extensive collection of birds eggs.

It is easy for a New Zealander to understand how the mania could have taken hold.  Australian native birds are inescapable, they are numerous, large, colorful and noisy (often all at the same time).
The majority are utterly charming; who couldn't love a multicolored parrot? Flocks of pink and grey Galahs' forage  along the roadsides while smaller green and red Lorikeets feed in the tree tops.
Other species are more boisterous than conspicuous: Cockatoos cluster and screech, Magpies warble and the ever present Crows obscenely caw "Fa-ark, Fa-ark."
Away from the urban centers the bird life gets even better; Pelicans, Ibis and even the occasional magnificent Sea Eagle can be seen in rural areas.

The inevitable comparisons between New Zealand and Australian bird life must be drawn.  Australian native birds are an inescapable feature of urban life.  Sadly the same thing cannot be said of New Zealand.
It is perfectly possible to go about your daily activities in any major New Zealand city without encountering any native birds whatsoever.  The common urban bird species that you will encounter were introduced from Britain during the nineteenth century; competition and predation has forced many of our native birds species to retreat to pockets of native bush and predator free sanctuaries.
While  most New Zealanders will have encountered Fantails, Wood Pigeons, Tui and perhaps the occasional Bell bird - how many native species could the average Aussie name?

While barefoot Australian boys in the 1930's were being persuaded to protect bird life, fifty years earlier, New Zealand boys were being recruited into 'Sparrow clubs' which rewarded the collection of  Sparrow eggs in an attempt to curb a damaging population explosion of this introduced species.
 
As a consequence of the smell generated by rotting partially 'blown' eggs, my father's precious egg collection was stored beneath the house. One day my Grandmother (who was born in New Zealand) amused herself by dipping one half of a very large hen's egg in cold tea.  She presented this strange specimen to her sons, telling them that it was a Kiwi egg.  They never thought to question its authenticity and carefully (and boastfully) placed it among their collection.  Within days the precious 'Kiwi egg' was stolen by a rival gang of boys from a neighboring suburb.

The lesson learned?  - its the scarcity of New Zealand's native birds that makes them so precious.

Roadkill

It doesn't pay to try and compare New Zealand and Australia, there are just too many contrasts.

While New Zealand is small (but perfectly formed), Australia is 'lucky' and vast.  

There are approximately 900,000 kilometers of roads in Australia; New Zealand has 90,000. 

Where there are roads, there are cars and where there are cars there is roadkill.  Here the similarity ends.

The last time I returned to Godzone, I was struck by the sheer number of squashed animals that ornament our rural roads. Being small, they are simply left there.  When fresh, they feed hawks, and eventually the combined effects of decomposition and compression by passing traffic reduces their sad little bodies to nothing more than a furry pancake or red smear on the tarmac.

And NOBODY CARES.  

Each animal versus car fatality is considered to be a small victory in the fight to protect our native species.  

It is not a nice thing to run over an animal on a rural road in the darkness.  A small thud, a sick feeling then a glance in the rear view mirror.  But would you stop, get out and check that the animal was dead? or render emergency medical assistance if it was mortally wounded? - HELL NO.  

Why not? There is almost a 100% chance that the animal you had just struck was an invasive introduced pest.  In New Zealand the only good possum is a dead possum, ditto rabbits and hares, and weasels and stoats (stoatally different and weasily distinguished).  Hedgehogs carry horrible fungal diseases and decimate our native invertebrates, while magpies and myna birds aggressively defend territory to the detriment of our native bird life.  

I once worked with a young English teacher who wrote his car off swerving to avoid a magpie. "Why would you DO that?" I asked.  "They're only Australians." Quietly, I wondered why he had never noticed that Magpies are almost impossible to run over.  They 'play chicken' by standing right at the edge of the road, and take a single swift sideways step, right at the very last moment, as if daring you to swerve.

The attitude to roadkill on this side of the ditch is completely different.
With the exception of Koalas, most animals that you are likely to hit are large enough to cause significant structural damage to your car. 'Roo-bars' serve a practical purpose, and striking an Echidna necessitates tire replacement.  Australian roadkill is  never subtle.  Large dead marsupials are a hazard to motorists and in many cases collisions with cars threaten the survival of local animal populations. 

As a new immigrant, I admired the numerous yellow road signs that notify travelers of the presence of Australian native species.  I thought that it was very helpful of the Australian roading authorities to advise watchful animal lovers of the possibility of observing these species in their natural environment.  Other signs are equally subtle. Some provide an emergency number that can be rung if you should encounter an injured marsupial, others simply warn of unfenced roads. 

In the absence of emergency assistance, there is an Australian protocol that should be followed if you should discover (or create) fresh road kill.  It involves determination, a strong stomach and a fair amount of prior preparation.

1. Take your 'Roadkill rescue kit' from the boot. It should contain a 'joey bag', sharp knife, gloves and a large sack with a drawstring neck.

2. Check for signs of life 

3. Determine the sex of the injured marsupial (kangaroo 'man-bits' are mercifully fairly obvious)

4. If female check the pouch for a joey

5. Try not to think of the Simpsons episode set in Australia.  Bart - (in pouch) "Ew its not like in cartoons." Homer - "Yeah, there's a lot more mucus."

6.  If the joey has fur, take it out, place it in the joey pouch, put it in the sack and drive hell for leather to the nearest vet

7. If the joey has no fur, settle your stomach.  Take the knife and surgically remove the teat it will be clinging to (do not attempt to pull it off the teat, this will kill it by pulling its mouth apart). Make sure the piece of flesh that the teat is attached to is too large for the joey to swallow and choke on. 

8. Place the joey in the joey bag, put this down your shirt, next to your skin to keep it warm and drive hell for leather to the nearest vet. 

Sometimes ignorance is bliss.  One day when we were happily driving aimlessly through the rural outskirts of Melbourne, we happened to notice a very large dead kangaroo by the roadside.  No big deal, we saw a few others on the same day and felt no particular sense of responsibility or urgency.  On the return journey, we noticed the same dead roo - but noticed that its tail was MOVING! What to do? the thing was huge! should we attempt to manhandle it into the back seat and drive it to a vets? What was that damn injured marsupial emergency number? Do you dig in the pouch if the thing is in its death throes? 

We slowed for a closer look, and witnessed.......... an enormous black crow exiting from beneath the kangaroos tail, a length of blood stained lower bowel clutched in its beak.  We drove on, nausea competing with a guilty sense of relief. Give me a hawk feeding on a dead rabbit any day.