[70] Aussie Cave Man

Friday 5th September was my birthday.

I had a great day – or should I say weekend – which started off in customary fashion. I work in a great office among great people – for the most part. Every staff member’s birthday is celebrated with large slices of cake, courtesy of the company coffers, during the morning tea/coffee break, or smoko as it is known in my adopted country. The birthday boy or girl gets to choose which two cakes to purchase. I went for the Continental Apple Cake and a scrumptious Strawberry Fields Torte. I love strawberries and I happily cut off a slice and placed it on my paper plate as my mouth began to water.

The torte was adorned with juicy half-strawberries and covered in a delicious strawberry cream that gave it a colouring that was closer to pink than red, which prompted at least two of my male colleagues to utter in mock horror: “Oh no. Pink. I can’t eat pink.” – no sniggering at the back there.

“Oh sorry,” I replied. “I completely forgot about the Australian male’s obsession with avoiding anything that might challenge his machismo.”

A couple of my female colleagues sniggered their approval.

It appears to me that the average Australian male is so tied-up in constantly maintaining, strengthening and displaying his he-man persona to such an extent that I now just smile knowingly when faced with each new preening of the Aussie male plumage.

It even dictates that they must not, will not, ever be seen driving a car which is not big and powerful. I have often heard women back in the UK talk about a man’s car being an extension of his penis. This expression is never more a truism than when it is applied to the Aussie male. I have been openly ridiculed for driving, not a small car, but a mid-range car. The worst thing is – when that happens, all the other big he-men within earshot join in the fun with comments like: “I wouldn’t be seen dead driving a small car” and “I wouldn’t go near a girlie car”.

At the moment, there is a world-wide oil crisis. Petrol in Australia has never been so expensive. I would wager that I spend at least half as much per week on petrol as my male colleagues, but they don’t care about that, because they are great big macho-men with big penises and I am just a sad wimp who drives a “girlie” car.

The irony of it all is that Australia has a problem with Hoons – young men and teenagers who drive around town in cars, racing each other and performing all manner of noisy and dangerous manoeuvres such as hand-brake turns and worse. The Australian media and its readers constantly bemoan the activities of these anti-social idiots. Perhaps if the Aussie male society dispensed with the notion that unless you drive a fast and powerful car you cannot call yourself a real man, the Hoons would not be such a problem in years to come.

Having travelled extensively, it is my avowed opinion that Australians are the worst drivers in the modern world. The road accident statistics are at a shocking level and would certainly support my assertion. I have witnessed many times the totally irresponsible and positively dangerous antics of predominantly male drivers in Australia, and I am sure that this is yet another manifestation of the ubiquitous big-car-equals-big-man syndrome that dominates the Aussie-male psyche.

Recently in my local club, there was a discussion on Heath Ledger, an Australian actor who died in New York of an accidental (allegedly) overdose of prescribed (allegedly) drugs. There were five males and two females in the company and when a couple of the males could not place the actor, one of the females mentioned that his last role was as the Joker in the recently-released Batman movie. Another female opined that his most famous role was in Brokeback Mountain. My wife Kerrianne and I watched Brokeback Mountain on cable television one wet and windy Sunday night about a year ago. It was a decent enough movie and I do recall that the acting was pretty good, but overall it was not a movie I would go out of my way to see again.

However, three of the five males present went into a state of feigned apoplexy as they told the rest of us that under no circumstances would they even contemplate watching such a movie. In fact I am sure they deepened their voices, intentionally or otherwise, as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats and uttered words like poofters, perverts and disgusting. Tellingly, the only two males in the company who did not deem it necessary to tell everyone that they found the whole subject of homosexuality something to be derided and preferably avoided, were myself and Dennis – the only attached males in the company.

I recalled years previously being told that men who openly and vociferously condemn gay men were probably gay themselves, or at least feared that they might be. For the first time since hearing that assertion, I now began to believe it as I watched these three macho he-men go through their pathetic and completely unnecessary ritual.

I thoroughly enjoyed my pink Strawberry Fields Torte and to hell what Mister He-Man says.

I have fathered two children and have parked my car in many varied and interesting places and to date, have never once been told that I need a bigger and more powerful vehicle.