Jaw Dropping

Another filthy day in Sydney. Ella got into bed with us this morning so I began the week with her bottom in my face and the whine of "Waltzing Matilda" from her Koala. If I'd known it played a tune when you press it's hand, I'd never have bought it.

Anyway, I've been on a course all day, another welcome diversion from doing any actual work, though I feel privileged to be living in Sydney since I realised how far people are prepared to travel to attend courses in Australia; my fellow delegates having travelled from so-called country towns all over New South Wales, two of them flying in from the back of Bourke.

Now I can't say I've really been to any country towns in Australia, the nearest I've come is probably Katoomba and that doesn't count because it's a tourist place. Anyway, judging by the other people on the course today I'll report back that the current must-have fashion accessories in these more remote areas include nylon knitwear and a handlebar moustache, and I don't just mean the men.

And then there's the accent. They say Australian accents don't differ much from one place to another (and on a bad day I'll agree and say they're all just one tone of annoying whine after the next) but I'm not so sure about this because there's definitely a clipped city accent and a country drawl where "Kyle" is pronounced "coil" in the style of Kath and Kim, which I never really watched on the BBC but now makes me howl with laughter, perhaps because there's sod all else on the telly.

And it wasn't just the delegates making my jaw drop. The first speaker was a doctor from Cowra and I honestly can't tell you what she came to talk about because I was too distracted by her hair-do, which was almost exactly like Dame Edna's only not quite so purple. And then we paused for coffee and I got into an argument with a man from Wodonga and it went rapidly downhill from there.

"It's all very well this high minded stuff, but who'll do it?" He said.

"Sorry?"

"Well we can't get a speech therapist. There's a course at the local university and they turn them out every year but then they all go off and get pregnant. It's useless"

"And you don't think they should be allowed, I'm presuming?"

"Well it's very disruptive" he said, "that's all I'm saying"

"I hear teachers saying the same thing in the UK" I said. "I wasn't very popular when I was expecting my daughter, even the teachers with children of their own were openly pissed-off I was having maternity leave. You know, perhaps you should write to John Howard and see what he can do. There's a general election coming up, it might be the key vote-winner for his marginal seat"

"Are you a teacher?"

"No, I'm a speech therapist"

"Well don't take it the wrong way" he continued, looking exactly like a man who wished he'd never opened his trap.

"Ah well, you're probably right" I continued. "Though I'm puzzled by what you say because your population is below replacement levels and I don't know who'll pay your pension if there aren't more young people in the workforce"

"Erm, well, I..."

"Actually, I've just finished a book by an academic at Sydney University and she's predicting a major problem in western societies unless we start having more children. It ties in with the demographics, you know, the trend in western population pyramids, which I'm sure you're familiar with"

"Yes"

"So you see what I mean about this population pattern being unable to sustain the older people when they retire. But you can't have it both ways; you can't ask women to have more children but feel pissed off when they get pregnant. As a working mother, that sort of sentiment makes me feel like getting out of the workforce altogether, then bang goes another taxpayer. We're wrong whatever we do"

"Actually I'm due to retire myself in two years time" he added, obviously not thinking before he opened his trap again because if he had, he'd have realised this was really the cherry on the cake.

"Well maybe we'll emigrate with our children and we'll be paying for your pension" I said. "And then again, maybe I'll just give up".

And on that note, look out for the job advertisements for someone to catch those babies on the way out while the mother gets on with the important job of pleasing everyone else.

Harumph. Mothers of the world unite!

nb Back of Bourke, n, A very distant, remote place. (Bourke is a town in outback New South Wales). Australian (Slang).