It’s definitely not you. I mean, you’re great. Well, at first you came across all “Hey, look at me” with the stuff you did in crowds. But I soon got to notice you weren’t so concerned with how people saw you, and you were very loyal to your friends and stuff. You also did that thing around Good Friday where I saw your abs. You weren’t having a good time, but you looked hot, you know.

Lately, though, it’s been, well, really weird. It’s not you, so not you. And I don’t think it’s me either. No, definitely not me. It’s your friends.

I have no idea why you hang out with them. When we first met they were really nice but, as time went on, they seemed really possessive about you. A lot of them – not one or two, a lot – were really suspicious about the two of us and asked questions a lot about why we were together and whether I was even worthy of you. Many of them fought over you, said they were better friends than others. I mean, they were all really bitchy in the end, you know.

The worst thing is, you did nothing about it. You let them fight on. You never said anything, even when they out words in your mouth. They hated each other, and me, and people you and I didn’t even know. And they said horrible things about you, that you hated this person or that thing and you were angry at people and wanted to punish them. It made me sick. But you were completely silent about the whole thing. It felt like you weren’t even there.

There were times when I wanted to do something about it, and I tried, I really tried, but nothing came of it. They just kept on fighting. And I kept asking you to do something about it, but you didn’t. Not that you were mean or inconsiderate or anything. I guess it’s just not your thing to interfere.

So I think I’m going to take a leaf from your book, and stop interfering too. Get out of the game that you and your friends are playing at. It’s – more than anything else – simply tiring.

Thanks for everything mate, but, Christ, I think it’s time we saw other people.

I smiled politely as she said her cordial good-bye to him, but my smile turned into a chuckle as we approached the car. My daughter asked me, “So, you got it too, then?” I relied with, “Got what?”

“The gay vibe.”

“Oh yeah,” I laughed.

Rule number one, boys. If you want to impress a girl, don’t compliment her father’s looks. Reserve that for her mum. As far as I can tell, women only like their boyfriends to be slightly gay once they’re in their twenties.

Either I’ve been transported back in time 40 years or so, or some advertisers and their clients still think it’s okay to assume that women do not have control over their own finances. I feel a little sick over this.

(Apologies for the bad photo. It was taken with my phone with hot sun behind creating a bit of glare against the glass window).

So you’re from Haiti. That’s got all that voodoo shit, yeah? Well that kinda explains that, umm, thing, uh, on your , err, face, there.

You have sister? Is she cute? Is she here?

Okay you can come up, but only for an hour, okay? I’m not paying for no twin share.

Whoa, what was that? Was that you? No, wait. That was me.

Shit. It’s not working. Oh, hang on. It’s inside out.

I’m done. Your turn.

No, I’m too sleepy.

I gave you twenty bucks for a taxi. I don’t have more just for you.

Who took my fucking passport?

Unfortunately, he got off at the wrong stop and felt rather lost and bored and tired.

Fortunately, he found a shopping centre that had a bathroom and a place to sit and relax.

Unfortunately, the centre also had an Apple store, and temptation overcame him.

Fortunately, he remembered that a trip to Montreal would be sacrificed if he went all consumer-bang-bang here in LA, and he did NOT buy an iPad.

Unfortunately, he saw an iPod Nano, and thought of his daughter. And consumer-bang-bang turned into faux-parent-moral-consumer-bang-bang.

If ever I could accused of approximating a mid-life crisis, I can now say that crisis is successfully averted. I’ve seen LA and I embrace my lack of coolness.

Beautiful Girl: “Dad, you like boys?”

Dad: “Err, yes, honey, I do.”

BG: “Right.”

Dad: “So… why ask?”

BG: “Well, I was wondering….”

Dad: “You can ask me anything, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

BG: “Who do you like better, Edward or Jacob?”

Dad: “Oh man, I thought you were going to ask me something serious.”

BG: “This is serious.”

Dad: “I don’t really like either of them. They’re both too young for me.”

BG: “What?”

Dad: “I’m old enough to be their dad, you know. I’m really not attracted to boys that young.”

BG: “I don’t get it.”

Dad: “You know, Bella’s dad?”

BG: “Eww, yeah. He’s mean.”

Dad: “He’s cute.”

BG: “Oh that’s disgusting. And I just don’t accept that.”

Dad: “I beg your pardon?”

BG: “You have to like either Edward or Jacob.”

Dad: “Why?”

BG: “That’s just the way it is.”

1. When Europeans arrived in Australia, did they take land away from anyone who may have lived on that land before?

2. Did they harm or kill anyone in order to acquire that land, or protect the land in acquisition?

3. Did Europeans enslave anyone to serve them who may have lived on their own before they arrived?

4. Did Europeans ask or force anyone to leave a piece of land so they could use it?

If the answer is yes to but one of these questions, then according to every English dictionary, Europeans did not settle in Australia. They (and by they, I mean we) invaded it.

Tony, teachers, anyone who wants to tell an Australian story. Use the left-side of your brain for a second and realise that words have meanings. Stop telling white people that they weren’t like the Spaniards in South America or the British in India or the Dutch in South Africa. We were exactly the same.

And when you meet in parliament every once in a while, how about a welcome to country?