Piss of Aussie, piss off

I willingly admit that I am a tall, blonde hypocrite. Australians in London really piss me off. On my train-ride back from Paris, two “chicks” from Perth were sitting behind me, speaking in inescapably loud voices. Their accents swung between crass Aussie (of the Kath & Kim variety) and crass English (of the cockney offshoot), drilling on my nerves like the dental tools of Satan. As much as we criticize Kylie for her British treason, at least she’s acquired a refined English accent. Between large gulps of VB, the Eurostar twits were speaking in a dialect that would make Queen Elizabeth excrete in her Royal Depend Pants.

“Naaah mate, this ‘chick’ was hell wicked, she was awwwright she was, got us well sorted.”

“As much as I’ve had an awesome time, I can’t wait to go home. The weather here is rubbish. I’m so glad that I live in Perth.”

No, I’m so glad. I’m so glad that THEY live in Perth, and that I don’t. As much as I wouldn’t want to wish their god-awful accents on my friends and family back home, I yearn for them to be locked inside a Contiki Bus with their own species of beer guzzling fools. Final destination - Perth.