It seemed innocuous enough at the time. A simple "g'day, mate!". It's a common enough salutation these days. Everyone says it. It's cool to be Australian - just look at Fosters, or Neighbours. Everyone wants a piece of their action. Nobody even seems to care that Australia's so screwed up that it's winter there when it's summer everywhere else. Christmas barbeques? Give me a break. What the hell are they on about.
Anyway, there is one person in Britain, it seems, who doesn't consider it "hip" or "trendy" to use idiosyncratic Australian dialect in common parlance. That person is Rolf Harris. And he just so happened to be the recipient of my greeting earlier today. I won't go into details (the police won't let me), but let's just say that he thought I was "taking the piss", and that he'd "had enough fucking Pommy lip" and was just about ready to "fucking wallop the next cunt who gives [him] shit about being Australian". What followed was a string of punching, kicking and biting motions, mainly instigated by him and directed towards me, the majority of which making contact with my body and vital organs such as my head. I won't say any more, I just can't.
Rolf Harris has lived here for nearly 50 years! He's a national treasure... or so I thought. It turns out he is simply a violent, neurotic expat, hoarding a surpressed desire to inflict pain upon the folk who have made him famous. Rolf's made some great achievements in the past - like inventing the didgeredoo, or making people like animals. We even tolerated his fucking stupid art. But this time, Rolf Harris has gone too far. Draw up some extradition papers and get him out of Britain.
NB: Rolf signed this photo I gave him to autograph after attending the police line-up, but he made it out to "Mark" just to spite me. How bitter is that man.
© The Natflap 2005 - 2013.