On balance, I have been made to feel very welcome since I've been in Australia.
The cultural similarities between 'home' and places like Sydney and Melbourne still never cease to amaze me. At times, you have to pinch yourself and look at a map of the world to remember where you actually are - particularly now the weather is turning distinctly 'British' here.
Consider this. You can travel less than 30 miles from England to France and be in a totally alien country with a different language - and an utterly alien culture and set of values. Or you can travel 11,000 miles to the other side of the World and find people scaringly similar with the same language, identical mannerisms and outlook on life.
Last weekend I had five Aussie friends round to my flat. No, it wasn't for sex - it was so they could devour my collection of British comedy DVDs. Their suggestion, not mine, I should point out. Little Britain is huge over here - and now they're latching on to Catherine Tait, Peep Show and other such stuff. They absolutely love it and - this is the important point - they get it.
Alongside all the warmness, however, I have still been 'subjected' to the usual piss taking. I ordered beans on toast in a cafe the other day and was asked by a friend if I was homesick. When I told people from work I had been on the Neighbours tour in Melbourne, one described me as a "filthy, dirty Pommie bastard".
Australia is a fantastic country, but it is still completely without its own sense of identity. It may like to wind up 'poms', but that is largely sport related. They love to take the piss, but take a look at their flag. Ours still flutters in the top left hand corner, and - for all the bluster - they actually quite like that.
Just don't ask them to admit it.
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