Australians it seems are generally known for the sunniness of their tempers. Those from the “lucky country” have grown up soaked in sunshine and few have ever known snow. We meander though the endless summer days clad in t-shirts, shorts and thongs (yes, that is what all Australians call “flip flops”) and when we are not bronzing ourselves working the land, we fling ourselves into the oceans despite the deadly sharks that daily consume a surfer or two.
All Aussie men are at least 6 foot 4 and built like Thor. This the only reason that Chris Hemsworth (a fellow Perth dweller) got the role.
Please note: We all look like Chris Hemsworth.
Now I have a little concern.
I have never known a European Winter.
What will it be like? Will my manly Aussie tan vanish? Will I wither in the sunless world? What do people do when it turns dark at the unheard of hour of 4.00pm!!!? Will my skin dry out if I don’t swim or surf for a whole three months!!!!?
But, being the typical Aussie bloke that I am, I will “‘ave a go mate” as we say and brave the Parisian winter for two months. If I am not found frozen to death in a garret on the Rue St Andre des Arts then I may well live to write about my adventures.
I have purchased quantities of thermal underwear in anticipation and every time a see a heavy jacket (which are very hard to find in Perth) I buy it.
I now have about twenty jackets and when I put on my thermal underwear I look like a sea slug dressed in a rainbow coloured condom.
It is all very distressing.
Soon I will have to decide exactly which jackets to take and I am trying to wear-in a new pair of Doc Martin boots so that I have something waterproof to stroll elegantly up and down the boulevards in. Add to that a pair of fur lined leather gloves from the 1950s found in a thrift shop and an exorbitantly priced merino wool beanie and I have hopes that I will only lose a toe or a finger or two to frostbite.
I was contemplating taking a camping head torch in case I got caught in the dark but my Daughter, who will be travelling with me, seemed to dislike the idea.
She also was not keen on my suggestion that we could stick hot water bottles down our pants claiming that our keys might burst them and then the Parisians might think we had wet ourselves.
How self conscious she is!
Anyway…the day of departure creeps closer and I am looking at my cotton boxers with increasing concern.
Where can you buy tweed underpants?