Don’t take anything seriously.

This year is NOT about you, it’s about them.

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 On Teenagers, ATAR Results And Young People

I got 51% for HSC English. These days my writing is used on year 12 exams.  I also run Gunnas Writing Masterclass all over Australia and have had 6000 people attend since 2014. Yes we do vouchers. Love to see you.

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IT’S 9.45am and I’m drinking champagne, eating muesli and crying alone in my house. Big, fat, salty, wet tears rise up from a place in my belly. I feel another wave of emotion envelop me. Embrace me. Slowly. Will I dive under this one or will I ride it? Can’t stop the waves. Better try surfing. Where’s my emotional Boogie board? Pass me that champagne and I’ll hang on for dear life. Now I’m elated. Like I’ve just run through a crepe paper banner. Some weird sense of achievement about something I didn’t achieve. It’s just a scientific experiment I’ve been observing for what seemed, at the time, to be a hundred years. But what now feels like a blink of an eye.

I feel lighter. But kind of emptier too. A burden lifted. A milestone reached. A millstone lifted. “I’ll probably be a bit emotional today,” I said as I cut fruit, wrapped cheese and slapped together sandwiches. “What do you mean emotional?” asked the 10-year-old. “Not sad, not happy, just open. Your heart’s open and your emotions are going in and out at the same time. Don’t be surprised if I cry.” “Don’t be such a wuss, Mum.”

My dear little Charlie, six years old, the monkey in a boy suit, started school an hour ago. And I can’t stop crying. The youngest of my three boys is now one of them. A member of Club School. Where things are gross or fully sick. Three kids, three lunch boxes, one drop off. Almost 11 years it’s taken, but we made it.

Dear little Charlie. Our third, just for spare parts we’d say. More like a pet than a child. Our mascot. The boy who once told me when he grew up he wanted to be flour. “A flower do you mean?” “No,” he said, “Flour, so you can make me into a cake.” The boy who wore a Spiderman suit for an entire year when he was three. He didn’t walk to school, he ran the first bit, got piggy-backed for the middle and ran the last bit. He’s not here covering the cat in stickers, digging worms out of the ground with a fork or asking me for more “staple ammo” to finish stapling the extension cord. Long story.

All at school. They’re all at school. I thought it’d never happen. The elders would say, “They grow up so fast, just enjoy them” but how can you when it’s so intense at times. So relentless. It doesn’t seem like a part of your life, when you’re in it, it is your life. It goes so slowly, at times you feel as if you are standing still, going backwards almost. But you are moving. In the tiniest increments. Invisible to the naked eye.

I realised this when I saw a mum down at the school yesterday with her newborn. The youngest of three boys. Yes, we should, but no, we can’t always enjoy it because we’re more than our children. But that shouldn’t stop us from trying.

I didn’t burst open when I expected. Parents and grandparents bumped up against each other in the prep room and bystanders wafted in for a gawk at the emotional roadkill. But everything was cool. No clinging kids. Just shaky parents.

“This is your last one isn’t it?” they’d ask, “How are you feeling?” I was pretty stoic. “OK actually. Maybe it’ll hit me later.”

We got to the staff room and the champagne was brown, warm and served in tea cups with milk and sugar so I decided to mark the occasion on my front deck with my friend spumante.

I thought it would be a big bang. But the sound of emotional tectonic plates shifting is quiet. It’s not the way I expected but when is it ever?

I never understood these “Oh God, my baby started school and I can’t stop crying” rants. I would think, “Get over yourself, read a book, get a job or go help migrants learn to read.” I’d tell people: “Cry when the last one starts school? Are you serious? Mate I’ll be dropping them off at the pick up-zone the night before and heading to the pub to celebrate.” Now I get it. But I still can’t explain.

We’ve made it. Where? I’m not sure. But somewhere. It’s not success or achievement but a rite of passage I am privileged to have experienced. I’m mindful of those who didn’t. The disabled kids who’ll never start school. The parents who died before tearing up at the sight of their child in an oversized uniform, carrying a gigantic backpack. And the ones, like my niece, who never made it to school age.

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Charlie’s last day at primary school

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When diarising anything in September you first consult the footy fixture.

You were shocked when you found out not all street directories are called Melway.

When everyone knows where a bar, cafe or restaurant is you no longer want to go there.

You’ve read The Slap and you hate all the characters despite the fact they remind you of all your friends. And you would have slapped the kid too.

You know Sunshine, Rosebud and the Caribbean Gardens are not as good as they sound.

You consider yourself a socialist yet you drive a European car and have a cleaner.

You’d rather sit next to Guy Rundle on a plane than Guy Pearce.

You’ve attended a children’s party that had rice-paper rolls, cous cous salad, croquembouche and a pinata.

You or someone you know has received a grant.

It’s not Noosa, it’s Noysa. And it’s not snow it’s the snoy. And it’s Malvern now, not Chadstone, thanks to rezoning.

You refer to rococo furniture as ‘Very Franco Cozzo’.

You felt betrayed when you discovered Melbourne was not the only place in the world with trams.

If I say Jennifer Kyte and Johnny Diesel you know exactly what I’m talking about.

You think the slogan on our licence plates should be ‘Melbourne. The Coffee Is Shit Anywhere Else’, ‘Melbourne. Go To Sydney. We Hate Tourists’ or ‘Melbourne. What School Did You Go To?’

You know the word “Moomba” means Up Your Bum, White Man.

You’re not happy Melbourne has been voted the World’s Most Liveable City. You’d prefer it was voted ‘Most Enigmatic, Tortured And Slightly Dangerous City’.

You think the only person who looks good with a moustache is Ron Barassi.

You’ve looked out the window of Puffing Billy and waved like an idiot at the cars at the railway crossing. And you’ve watched Puffing Billy pass as you sat in a car at the railway crossing, and waved like an idiot.

You think beyondblue does great work but you hate the way it makes Jeff Kennett look good. Which is depressing.

Any music by Paul Kelly makes you suddenly think of the Nylex sign and something about making gravy.

When you meet someone from Kew, you always ask ‘Near Kew?’

Jon Faine shits you but you can’t switch him off.

You’ve been to the Royal Melbourne Show and the scariest ride is the train home.

You don’t get the jokes about the Yarra. Or Melbourne weather.

When you hear the word “Bougainville” you think of Northland.

You don’t judge people on their looks, wealth or status but on the bread they buy, the coffee they serve and the newspaper they read.

You know a kid with two mummies. Both called Roz.  Who live in Northcote.

You pretend the Sydney-Melbourne rivalry doesn’t exist. Which it doesn’t. Because Sydney doesn’t care. And that really shits you.

You brag Melbourne is the creative capital of Australia, but your walls are full of signed football jumpers.

When someone says thanks you say, ‘No Dromanas.’

When you hear the word “Easter” the first thing you think of is the Royal Children’s Hospital Appeal and Zig and Zag. And then you quickly think of something else.

If someone is referred to as a “showbag” you know it means they’re cheap and full of shit.

Your kid’s favourite foods are sushi, spanakopita and felafel. Which are also the names of the three kids they sit next to at school.

If a friend gets a new boyfriend or girlfriend, your first question is, “Who do they barrack for?”

You think if we all ignore Federation Square, Docklands and Robert Doyle they’ll go away.

You can list all the ingredients in pesto. And you’re three years old.

Cup Day. Gambling at 9am. Drunk by noon. Broke at 3.20pm. Asleep by 4pm. Hungover at 5pm. All while at work.

You think Aberfeldie is a tartan, Coonan’s Hill is a wine and South Wharf is in Sydney.

Chopper Read, Ned Kelly, Squizzy Taylor, the Morans and the Williamses. Sure they’re crims, but we all agree they’ve given the place colour.

You lose respect for friends if they move over the other side of the river.

When holding a dinner party, you know the point is to serve food no one has ever heard of, from a country people didn’t know existed, bought from a little shop they’ll never be able to find.

You were against the casino but, you have to admit, it does keep the bogans out of the city.

Pot, cantaloupe, potato cake and hook turn. Build a bridge and get over it.

… you really know you’re if Melbourne if….

You’ve never been to Adelaide yet you make jokes about their tap water, serial killers and Rundle Mall.

You think the Queen Vic Market opening hours are normal.

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You assume flavoured milk is called BIG M everywhere.

You know what the words apropos, gentrification and barista mean. 

You or someone you know has been to or plans to go to a concert of a washed out Rock Legend at a winery in the Yarra Valley.

You feel sorry for Geelong

You think nothing of calling your son Hugo, Elliot or Atticus. Or your daughter Scout, Joss or Maeve. 

You’ve stepped on an emo walking into Flinders Street station.

At some point you have enlisted the services of The Tint Professor, The Dashboard Doctor or The Swagman  been to Car City, Pick a Part or Doors Galore  and consider Whelan the Wrecker, Harry The Hirer and Peter the Possom Man members of the family.

You grow the hair under your arms but wax your growler.

You think a CBD street map laid out like tartan and lanes full of people eating breakfast while sitting on milk crates at 3pm is normal.

The sight of drunk women staggering around the city wearing short strappy dresses  and facinators with their shoes slung over their shoulder at 5pm means only one thing. It’s Oaks Day.

You claim to have lived in one of the houses from Helen Garner’s Monkey Grip, next to Frank Thring or across the road from the guy who made Harvey Crumpet.

You know blondes don’t have more fun, because Shane Warne dyes his hair.

You’ve lived in London, been to conferences in Paris, holidayed in Rome and know New York like the back of your hand but you’ve never seen the penguins at Phillip Island.

 A suburb is defined as cool when it has junkies and Pilates.  And the appearance of a juice bar means the real estate is out of your budget.

You love that Nick Cave, Barry Humphres and Rachel Griffiths are ours but you don’t like owning up to Kylie Minogue or Daryl Somers.

You think a massage with a happy ending means when you’re finished they give you a café latte and a Readings voucher.

Unless you have cousins who live there it’s only because of the Trading Post that you know where Diggers Rest, Chirnside Park and Niddrie are. 

You only have two colours in your wardrobe black and the new black.

You hope the Eureka Tower loses it’s claim as the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere and that the Southern Star Wheel never gets fixed because we don’t want Melbourne showing off like Sydney.  And if it stays broken we can call it an installation.

You don’t think there’s anything strange about the fact there’s a South Morang but no Morang, Moonee Ponds with no ponds and that Bayswater has no bay and no water.

You take Japanese students to the Coburg Drive-in for the cultural experience.

You don’t mind graffiti as long as it’s spelt correctly and uses appropriate grammar while sticking it to the man and written by a woman.

Bacchus Marsh Lion Safari, Kryal Castle, Soveriegn Hill, Wobbies World, Gumbaya Park; ah, school holidays in the 70s. 

Your husband wears a sarong, is in a book group and you think nothing of buying him moisturizer. But you call him your partner, not your husband. Either because you’re not married or because you don’t want people to think you are.

South Melbourne Market means only one thing. Giant chicken dim sims.

The only street you know in Richmond is Bendigo Street. And you know the postcode is 3121

You hate it when they’ve shot a car chase in Melbourne and Sydney and the editing jumps between the two cities.  Like we won’t notice.

You’ve never solved the mystery of how WEG always correctly predicted who would win the Grand Final when he drew his Grand Final souvenir poster.

You have a friend in a band. Or says they’re in a band.

You know the difference between Carlton and North Carlton, Heidleberg and West Heidleberg and Mallvern and East Malvern is about $120,000.

You don’t think it at all strange that you know where all your friends went to school and you still refer to it even though you’re 60.

Your favorite joke is Pakenham upper.

You’re proud the Melbourne word bogan has finanally officially taken over as the Australian definaition of bevans, westies, yobbos and white trash. 

You only buy The Big Issue if other people are watching.

You love that only Melbourne people will get this quiz.

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Australian Citizen Test

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You can shove your citizenship test up your poxy date. No one has the right to decide what being Australian is. I was born here and I have no idea. But I do know what it isn’t, and what being Australian isn’t is testing people on what they know about some white pen-pusher’s idea of Australia. This is the country whose citizens pride themselves on not knowing the words to their own country’s anthem.

Here’s my citizenship test, my Bill Of She’ll Be Rights if you will.  And if you don’t like it, you can rack off and go back to your own country. You know what the most un-Australian thing in the world is? Migrants. And we don’t want them coming here with their fancy food, classy culture, rich traditions and willingness to contribute.

LANGUAGE

. Do you understand the meaning, but are unable to explain the origin of, the term ‘died in the arse’ ‘cracked the shits’ and ‘yeah, na’?

. What is a mole?

. Have you ever ‘suffered in your jocks’?

. Are these terms related: chuck a sickie; chuck a wobbly; chuck a U-ey?

. Explain the following passage: “In the arvo last Chrissy the relos rocked up for a barbie, some bevvies and a few snags. After a bit of a Bex and a lie-down we opened the pressies, scoffed all the chockies, bickies and lollies. Then we drained a few tinnies and Mum did her block after Dad and Steve had a barney and a bit of biffo.”

CUSTOMS

. Macca, Chooka and Wanger are driving to Surfers in their Torana. If they are travelling at 160 km/h while listening to Barnsey, Farnsey and Acca Dacca, how many slabs will each person consume on average between flashing a brown eye and having a slash?

. Complete the following sentences: a) If the van’s rockin’ don’t bother … b) You’re going home in the back of a … c) Fair suck of the …

. I’ve had a gutfull and I can’t be fagged. Discuss.

. Have you ever been on the giving or receiving end of a wedgie?

. Am I every going to see your face again?

MATHS

. How long is a smoko?

. What is a larger, a shit load or  a fuck tonne?

. Your mate needs you to do them a favour that’s a piece of piss  Will it take two tics, a jiffy or fuck nose?

.  If you are pushing shit up hill flat knacker and some cunt is gawking at you something shocking do you eyeball them, give em a spray or glass them?

FOOD

. Does your family regularly eat a dish involving mincemeat, cabbage, curry powder and a packet of chicken noodle soup called either chow mein, chop suey or kai see ming?

. What are the ingredients in a rissole?

. Demonstrate the correct procedure for eating a Tim Tam.

. Do you have an Aunty Myrna who is famous for her tuna mornay and other dishes involving a can of cream of celery soup?

. In any two-hour period have you ever eaten three-bean salad, a chop and two serves of pav washed down with someone else’s beer that has been nicked from a bath full of ice?

. When you go to a bring-your-own-meat Barbie, can you eat other people’s meat or are you only allowed to eat your own?

. What purple root vegetable beginning with the letter “b” is required by law to be included in a hamburger with the lot?

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CULTURE

. Do you own or have you ever owned a lawn mower, a pair of thongs, an Esky or Ugg boots?

. Is it possible to “prang a car” while doing “circle work”?

. Who would you like to crack on to? Have you already ‘copped a feel’?

. Who is the most Australian: Kevin “Bloody” Wilson, John “True Blue” Williamson, Warnie or Damo?

. If the response is ‘fuck me dead’ what has just been said?

RELATIONSHIPS

. Do you have an old homophobic relation who constantly says they are ‘buggered’?

. Would you love to have a beer with Duncan?

. Is there someone you are only mates with because they own a trailer or have a pool?

. Do you have a friend or relative who has a car in their front yard “up on blocks”? Is his name Keith and does he have a wife called Cheryl?

. Who is Ron and why are you saving it for him?

. What is the highest form of endearment, shit hanging or piss taking?

TRUE OR FALSE

. We are not here to fuck spiders.

. A half mongrel is a cross breed dog.

. Delta Goodrem is up herself.

.  It’s common to crunch durries while smashing cans and having a perv.

.  A stickybeak loves a good squiz.

. If you like someone you call them a cunt. If you don’t like them you call them a bit of a cunt.

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You Know You’re From Melbourne If…

You Know You’re A Brunswick Mum If…

Our Love Party. Like a wedding but no god no government

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