Drinking beer is an Australian tradition as old as cirrhosis itself. The whole world knows that Aussies love nothing more than sipping a cold fosters on a hot day.
It is weird that Autralia’s about the only place in the world where Fosters isn’t readily available. Imagine going to Mexico and finding out no-one’s ever heard of a taco. Or that Egypts Pyramids are photo-shopped in. Or in Rwanda, that Genocide’s actually a genre of music. And Child soldiers are just Rawanda’s answer to The Tin-Lids.
But drinking beer is as Australian as it gets; smashing tins, getting slabbed. Sucking stubbies. And it’s important. It’s a rite of passage in this country.
Although, people say getting pissed is an empty, meaningless, rite of passage. Thing is, I’ve got a mate he’s Aboriginal, and in his tribe they become men once they’ve been circumcised with a rock. Fuck that. I don’t care how empty my ritual is. Pump my stomach call me a man. Cos that sounds freakin heavy!
Mind you, i guess the thing about having your knob smashed with a rock, at least that’s a pretty clear line in the sand. Instead of a series of stupid drunken actions over a number of years that go on and on, til one day you’re sitting in a police cell dressed like Donald duck (nude from the waist down) and you realise it’s time to grow up. , they just go Flop. Whack! What am I doing with my life?
But drinking beer as youngsters, or passion pop for the girls, it’s an important training for later in life.
Cos have you tried getting drunk in Australia recently? It’s a mission.
If you go to a licensed establishment in Australia, you can drink, but you can’t get drunk. If you get drunk, you can be fined. If they give you a drink when you’re drunk, they get fined. If you don’t leave when you’re drunk, you get fined. If they don’t make you leave when you’re drunk, they get fined. If you drink in public you get fined. If you’re drunk in public you get fined, and if you just get drunk at home, help is what you need to find.
So when people say, “have a drink and everything’ll be fine”, they’re nearly right.
It’s almost like they don’t want us to drink. Almost.
Do you know the parable about the donkey and the two piles of straw. The donkey is exactly half way between each pile. And each one looks so perfectly delicious, that the donkey can’t make up its mind about which one to eat. I think the alcohol issue is like that for the government. On one side they’ve got the perfectly delicious prospect of banning alcohol, and getting rid of so much domestic violence, car crashes, vandalism, fighting, noise pollution and a stack of other social issues. Mmm, yum. But on the other side lies the tasty tasty prospect of limitless revenue raised by licences, alcohol tax, fines and infringements. Mmmmmm. Now in the parable, the ass dies of starvation cos he can’t make up his mind, the moral being indecision will get you nowhere in life. But in our version, as the donkey waits, he gets fatter and fatter and fatter, until one day simply by wobbling its bloated torso form one side to the other in can gorge itself on both piles of straw whenever it pleases. So i guess the moral there is drink up Australia, cos Julia’s hungry.
But we’re doing our part We drink alot. There's always a reason. It’s a hot country, we’re thirsty people. I’ve earned it, I need to relax. I need to forget. I’m stressed, I’m relaxing, It complements the food, it makes the girls prettier. It’s my birthday, it your birthday, it’s a weekday it’s the weekend. He’s born. He’s Dead. He’s risen again. It’ll cure the hangover. It’ll bring back the memories. I love you. He’s gone. Happy Christmas, Easter, new years, anniversary, hanaka, holidays, hindu festival of light. We just knocked off, we just clocked on, we’ve got ages to go. I’m leaving, You’re coming. Why not?
We’ll drink anything too. I was younger, I used to drink cream sherry of an evening. I don’t regret it. Without that and a front verge I may still be a virgin. People pretend that they have standards, they’ll only drink dutch pale ales, or I can’t enjoy this Semillon unless it’s in a reidel. but anyone who’s ever been to a good houseparty knows, at the end of a night you could put a bottle of vodka and some tinned fruit in the toilet bowl, and the only issue would be ‘Are there any more cups?
But in the last ten years, there’s been something of a revolution. You’re more likely to see a cardboard cup in someone’s hand than a tinnie. The perfect roast is no longer a meat. We don’t thirst for ales, we long for lattes. The staple of our rough and ready nation comes with a special lid so we don’t burn our lip. And the fact that no-one bats an eyelid when you order a soy-chai latte is a testament to how much this country has changed.
So beer drinkers? We are not.
