I predict a riot

Today I'm off to Cronulla - a place Sydneysiders like to talk of fondly, where the beaches are said to be lovely and the restaurants very good.

The one negative most people mention is that it's a bit far out - around an hour by train from the city. A smaller number of people you ask about Cronulla will also mention it's more unpalatable reputation as the centre of Sydney's famous race riots in 2005.

I'm therefore interested to see this place for all of the above reasons. Not that I'm expecting to find a museum dedicated to the riots or do I intend to stop people in the street and talk about it, you understand...

"Excuse me, mate. I was wondering if you could direct me to where you boys duffed up all those darkies a few years ago. Are there any blood stained Australian flags still hoisted up I could take a photo of?"

The fact a race riot occurred between western white males who had been drinking and Lebanese muslims is not that much of a surprise. What seemed to captivate the world's media back in 2005 was where it happened - i.e. the beach.

People have such a stereotypical, and mostly accurate, image of Aussie beach life - surf, 'put another shrimp on the barby mate', cool beer and not a care in the world. The violent scenes of 2005 destroyed this Home and Away esque perception.

I was a bit shocked too at the time. You tend to think of an Aussie beach as somewhere you might be lucky to spend an alternative Christmas one day. In short, you think of it as a happy place.

So, what was Cronulla going to be like? Surely for a full-on race riot it had to be some kind of cross between Brixton and Blackpool, you would have thought.

As I come out of the train station following a very pleasant journey through the Sydney suburbs and nearby countryside, I feel I must have fallen asleep and somehow ended up in Christchurch. An elderly lady sells fruit from a small shop, there are some market traders selling books and young families heading off to the beach. For a laugh, I play 'I Predict a Riot' by the Kaiser Chiefs on my ipod and wander through the streets of this quiet, yet very beautiful, place and chuckle to myself that this was the scene of an internationally renowned racial disturbance little more than a year ago.

When I get down to the beach, it is dominated by happy surfers, a fair few pensioners and kids playing in the rock pools. I take a moment out from my political analysis of the place to relax and soak up the sun and glorious view.

So, how did this idyllic place become submerged in violence? How did this find itself bracketed with the Bronx?

It's actually an easier question to answer than you might think. There are some telling signs as I explore Cronulla, for although it has the appearance of a charming seaside resort, alongside all of this is a very obvious young, male Aussie presence that is far more full-on than the more relaxed beaches in Sydney I have been to.

I strike riot evidence gold when I come across a group of young lads wearing a pretty infamous t-shirt out here. It has the Australian flag resplendent across their chests, and beneath it the message 'If you don't love it, leave it'. This is targeted at Lebanese muslims, many of whom have attacked Australian society in much the same way people of the same faith have in other western countries. Cronulla's surrounding areas has a very large Lebanese population.

In some respects I could sympathise with the message on the t-shirt if it wasn't meant in such a racist way. By that I mean if you are so unhappy living somewhere, so disgusted by the lack of standards in society that you lock your children in the house at night and ban them from having Australian friends - as many muslim parents do - is it not better to be living somewhere a bit more in tune with your perspective on life? It can't be much fun hating your surroundings so much you lock yourself away from them in horror.

But, even if this might be the case, you get the feeling it isn't the real message the people wearing these t-shirts want to send out. Love it, loathe it, whatever - these guys would probably still rather you left it.

Call me old fashioned, but there is also something a little bit unsettling about people walking around in racist t-shirts suggesting the re-patriation of immigrants from the country. Perhaps if I don't like it I should leave it!

This whole t-shirt thing brings me on to my main point - the riots here were caused by a culture clash. The reason why this beach side resort erupted in violence had little to do with the 'they're stealing our jobs' mentality. It wasn't something that had poverty at its core. Aussies do not like anything or anyone that threatens their way of life and saw/see the 'Lebs' as just that. More than 200 people killed in the first Bali bomb in 2002 - 88 of them Australian - didn't help matters. Nor did reports of planned attacks in Sydney and Melbourne by extremists.

For their part, the local muslim population wasn't thrilled by Australia's 'shoulder to shoulder' stance with the UK and US over Afghanistan and Iraq...

The trigger for the riots was, apparently, unconfirmed reports of attacks on lifeguards by people of Middle Eastern origin (this isn't quite the moral equivalent of kiddie fiddling in Australia, but it's not that far off). Thousands then began to make their way to Cronulla to have a go at the 'Lebs'.

All of this should be taken in context - 31 per cent of people living and working in Sydney were not born in Australia, and on an overwhelming basis everyone gets on fine. There is, however, an undeniable sense of fear amongst the white 'Anglo' population of outsiders. This has been the case since the first settlers arrived here. It explains why the early Australian governments clung to the 'mother country' Britain like a child holding onto its parent in a unfamiliar environment, and why the current regime so values its relationship with America. The Aussies have from day one felt very threatened by anything that might jeopardise their way of life here.

That fear is one of the main reasons why the right-wing 'Liberal' party is successively returned to office in Federal Government elections, despite the Labor Party controlling every single State in the country. Anyway, I will discuss the strange world of Aussie politics in later posts - not least because there is an election here in New South Wales in two weeks.

Oh, it's Saturday night. Best head out and see what the evening throws at me in the bars and clubs of Sydney...

Clock watching

(The view of central Sydney from the bottom of my road)

Never mind blogs, youtube, myspace and all the other wonders of the World Wide Web - the greatest gift of the internet is its ability to break up the boredom of a day in the office through e-mailing friends and reading various sites.

It is a way we have grown accustomed to keeping sane and, in my view, productive as well. A short five minutes out from the daily grind to chat to a friend, read about your team's latest transfer target, or check out when a band you like is next playing locally locally, helps no end. It stops you from constantly looking at the clock and willing it to reach 5pm. It stops you spending so much time reading the paper on the bog your colleagues say they were worried where you'd got to when you finally return to your desk.

I do have the internet at work, obviously, but I can't really sit there updating this thing. And, most importantly of all, for the vast majority of my time at work, the vast majority of people in the UK are asleep. This means that all the sites I normally visit during the day at home for a break from the tedium are not updated at all during my time at work in Australia.

I start the day with the latest news from home and how many injuries Norwich City have got going into the next fixture, and I end the day with pretty much the same. There is nobody to talk nonsense to on e-mail either.

This afternoon (Friday) was when I missed it most. I had done everything that had to be done at work for the week, and consigned the non essential stuff to the mental 'it can wait until Monday' tray. Now was the time when I wanted to be hearing about people's plans for the weekend and exchanging electronic banter with friends who are united in the sense of special happiness that comes with it being the end of the week. Instead I was reduced to reading up on what had happened in Eastenders while I've been away...

Does this perhaps indicate some kind of homesickness? I don't think it does because I don't feel the slightest bit of unhappiness being here, I have no desire to be back in the UK at the moment and all is good. It's probably more a case of me not having fully developed a lifestyle to replace my 'real' one back home yet and a desire to fill in the gaps with what is familiar.

And of course an inability to maintain concentration during a day in the office - any office anywhere.

work/life balance

I've posted enough nice pictures of Sydney, so here's one of the floor in a bar during Mardi Gras.

Anyway, anyway, I am nearly two weeks into my 'normal' life of working here. It is all going pretty well I guess. The job pays enough for me to pay the bills and enjoy myself, and it is not particularly difficult or stressful. I did start to yearn in my first few days for the challenge I get from working in the UK, but that soon faded away.

Why have any hassle? I turn up at 9. I dress smartly. I do my work. I leave at 5. I forget about it and enjoy life. Easy.

It's strange, but I've spent so many years frowning at people who have jobs like this. I'm used to leading my worklife in a very similar way to the way I lead my social life - unpredictably, challenging convention, having great days and awful days, being consumed by the intensity of it all. Giving everything one day, feeling drained the next. Impressing one day, disappointing the next.

Time will tell which I prefer, but I suppose I should explain why I've traditionally been down on people who run out the door at 4.59 and 59 seconds. It's because I've been lucky enough to either work in jobs which I find interesting, or work for organisations where I consider there to be some actual worthwhile meaning attached to me being in the office. I gave a lot of my life, energy and emotion during my three years at the Communication Workers Union because I was always acutely aware that what I did ultimately - even in the tiniest way - could actually help improve the lives of other people.

Of course, I am rather over-playing things. The people who ran out the door at 5 probably weren't as hungover as me in the morning, and quite possibly just managed to do their bit for the class struggle in their contracted hours...

What I am trying to say in my usual long winded way is that although I don't have the same passion in this job, I do have a life. I can do stuff I enjoy instead of heading to the boozer to wash the stress away. Tonight I've read a lot, typed this, had some food and I feel good. Normally I would be leaving work late, eating crap, and feeling tired.

I'm looking forward to the next few months working here. Not so much for what I'll be doing, but for the perspective it will give me when I return...

Mardi Gras

It's been a while since I last updated this thing. This is because in the last week I have started my new job, moved home again and been off my tits over the weekend at Mardi Gras.

I'll talk about work when I can summon the enthusiasm to spend my spare time writing about it. As for the new home, well let's just say my original decision to move to the suburban hell that is Chatswood was a moment of madness. My Clapham Common of this trip.

If ever I got a reminder of why living slap bang thank you mam in the middle of Sydney was a far better option, it was this weekend. Before I go into more depth about mardi gras, I will briefly summarise my movements...

Got up Saturday morning. Blisteringly hot. Walked into the city. Did some shopping. Walked to the harbour. Drank outside the Opera House. Walked through the Botanical Gardens and home. Sunbathed with a bottle of wine in the park over-looking the harbour just outside my flat. Had a doze. Walked to the Mardi Gras parade. Walked to the after party. Walked home from it. Slept. Walked to the pub. Walked home. Slept. Walked to work.

I'm not walking everywhere because I've discovered a new hobby. Just about everything I need, want and do is just a stroll away. After so long suffering London public transport, this is a godsend to my overall quality of life.

Anyway, back to mardi gras. As I have posted on here before the Sydney event takes on far greater significance than it does in London. Here people travel from across the world and Australia to be part of it. Here it is the highlight of the year for gay people - something they talk about for ages and reminisce about for longer.

In London it has become something of a let down. The parade starts too early in the day, nobody goes apart from a few Peter Tatchell-esque militants and lots of Japanese tourists look on in bemusement. This is then followed by an over-priced party, normally in Finsbury Park, which is basically just a day out for people in the provinces. London-based gay people increasingly shun it, complain about it and resent how clubs use it to ramp up prices in the evening. To my mind it has ceased to be an event that has any meaning to gay people living in London.

Whilst that sounds like I'm being down on it and bigging up the Aussie equivalent, it is in a perverse way almost a positive thing that it has got to this. I won't pretend for one moment that Britain is some kind of liberal haven that events like mardi gras don't matter any more. What cannot be denied, however, is that things are a hell of a lot better than they are in Australia.

The Aussies have a pretty poor record on gay rights compared to comparable nations. There is more to fight for here. A lot more. And I don't just mean legally - Sydney is the only city with a large gay scene in Australia, and yet it is far, far smaller than even Manchester - let alone London. Picture being gay in a city like Brisbane, the third largest in the country and with a population of more than 1.5 million - bigger than anthing outside London in the UK - and yet with a scene that actually has less going on than is the case in Norwich. And picture being in a country so fucking huge that to even get to the nearest vibrant scene you have to board a plane for several hours.

Everyone will have their own opinions, but to my mind it is this sort of environment that gives the Sydney Mardi Gras its special place in the calendar and that increased sense of importance to people.

I have a good time, although the after party is a pretty atmosphere less affair at the Murdoch owned Fox Studios next to the Sydney Cricket Ground. And it's $130 a ticket - roughly 50 quid.

This party also gives a very obvious indication of how drug fuelled the scene is in Sydney. And by that I don't mean people having a few pills here and there. The drugs of choice here are Crystal Meth and GHB. I'm not saying these aren't big on the London scene, because they are, but I have never seen so many people carted off in ambulances as I do at this party.

Later I am told the OD rate had been tame by comparison to previous years...