Tall Poppies

They were having a wear your favorite party clothes theme at Ella's nursery today, though as Ella's only ever been invited to one party in Australia, she doesn't exactly have an extensive wardrobe of occasional wear and had to go out in her new fairy dress instead.

Of course, the theme ought really to have read ruin your favorite party clothes because ruining childrens' clothes is all part of the service at Ella's nursery, a service that really comes back to bite you on the bum the first time you try removing stains in a crappy toploader. The toploader doesn't wash clothes, it wets them; to remove stains you need a bucket and an industrial tub of Napisan, an attractive feature of any modern Australian kitchen.

And I'm not just talking about a bit of pasta sauce. I'm talking about glue and glitter and poster paints and pasta sauce, because they let the kids loose with paints when there aren't enough aprons to go around. So half the kids go home with horrifically disfigured clothes to the point I've thrown away several brand new tee shirts after the first wear, sort of disposable clothing I suppose you'd say. And don't even get me started on hair slides because somewhere in that nursery there must be a small mountain of little flowers and snails and ladybird clips all belonging to Ella, who evidently thinks we have money to burn.

We've had another scorcher of a day here in Sydney (ar rather, a stinker as my patients have all described it), 35 degrees by lunchtime and far too hot to do any work. The downside is that we have air conditioning in the office, which means there's no chance of claiming it's physically unsafe to remain in the building, a tactic I tried without success when I worked at the old Garven Place clinic. And the home visits all had air conditioning as well. Bugger.

At lunchtime I joined the rest of the staff sitting outside the university refectory to celebrate our receptionist's birthday, which was last Friday. Any excuse to sit in the sun and kick off my shoes; the sun was cracking the flags.

"I see you've got a suntan Sarah" said Kath. "And quite a good one as well. You look more like an Aussie than any of us"

"I need the vitamins" I replied. "And anyway, how come none of you are sitting out in it?"

"Because we're time bombs" she replied. "They didn't have effective sunscreen when we were kids. Our mothers covered us in zinc but it's not the same. They say all the damage is done in the early years, perhaps the first ten. We stay out of it so we don't develop cancer"

"You'd be better off to live in Britain then" I said. "Not much sun there, call it health insurance"

"No thanks. The traffic's the other way I think. The poms all want to live here - probably the Bundy Rum"

With that she took another slurp of her mango smoothie, which was served in a tall paper cup with little green Australias printed all over it. They're a patriotic lot, right down to their picnicware.

"The traffic is the other way" I said, "But we've got all your famous ones, your national treasures. I see Clive James was at the Opera House last week, just nipping back to Australia to do a gig. If Australia's so great, why don't they come home?"

"Well this place has never been hip" replied Kate. "It's always been a backwater, still is, though we pretend it's not"

"Well we're keeping Clive James" I said, "And Rolf. And Kylie as well. Not sure about Germaine Greer though. You can probably have her back"

She stopped sucking on her mango smoothie and pulled a face. "We don't want her. You can keep her. Anyway, I've heard dreadful reviews of the Clive James thing at the Opera House. I think he's got a bit big for his boots since he's been away; thinks he's more important than he really is"

"Or is that just Tall Poppy Syndrome?" I asked.

She shrugged and went back to her smoothie. "Maybe. I don't know. Anyway, I don't much like him so you can keep him for all I care. Him and Germaine Greer".

nb Tall Poppy Syndrome, n, a perjorative term used in Australia and New Zealand to describe a levelling social attitude. A person is said to be suffering form Tall Poppy Syndrome when their presumed economic, social or political superiority attracts criticism.

The phenomenon is often interpreted by foreigners as resentment of others' success. those who subscribe, however, often cite a dislike of snobbery or arrogance and will attack subjects who take themselves too seriously or flaunt their success without due humility.