I was " Green " really Green, and am , expecting a few " Green but not that Green " responses. Rightly so.
The Aussies had a "field day " with me. This fresh of the boat, white as a ghost, Boro accented fifteen year old "pommie basta*d, was a dream come true for them.
I found a job as a butchers apprentice to avoid having to start, yet again, another school in another country for the umpteenth time.
A few months into this job, I was sent to the owners other shop in Kings Cross to replace the apprentice that was going on holiday for a month.
On my very first day there, I inherited the messenger boy role and was sent to almost every shop in this " red light district " from that day onwards.
One day I was sent to the newsagent to buy an Opera House lottery ticket for us all.
I took off my knife kit and was about to undo my apron when he yelled " are you still here?, don't worry about that, get your ar*se going and hurry back.
As I walked past a prostitute, I heard a giggle and turned around to see her smiling at me an she gave me a little wave and I responded with the same.
This started to happen with others too, day after day, smile after smile, wave after wave.
I was starting to enjoy this short term transfer. For the first time in my life women were smiling and waving at me and I felt like my presence was pleasing
and bringing happiness to all around me.
One lunchtime I mentioned that I was going to get a meat pie for lunch and a few voices rang out, get me this, get me that etc.
I told them to write it down and when I read the order, apart from pies and a custard tart, there on the paper, was a Rhandi Tart.
I said what's this? What's a Rhandi Tart ? He said that it was a cake, an Indian cake and that they were fantastic and that I should get myself one.
( keep in mind guys, I am only fifteen and fresh off the boat and what do I know about Indian cakes ? ) He told me to be sure to be served by the
" Fat Sheila" ( fat woman, aussie slang) she knows what they are and that he buys them there off her all the time.
I'm in the bakery, wondering to myself, how on earth am I going to manage it that the fat sheila serves me when there's three girls working the counter?
I came to the conclusion that if these Rhandi Tarts are that good, every Aussie would know of them and so would all these employees.
I asked for the pies and sauce and after she got them together, I asked for the tarts. I repeated the order, smilingly, she said that she only had the custard tart and that they
don't have any rhandy tarts and would I like to get something else instead ?
I said I don't know, he didn't say and the other rhandy tart was for me.
She now started to try to hide her laugh.
She asked me if I knew what a Rhandy Tart was? and naturally, I said yes ,with confidence, It's an Indian cake, and the customers joined in with the laughter.
They didn't even wait for me to close the door behind me before they all " totally lost it "
As I was walking back with all the goodies, I felt a touch on my bum and quickly turned my head and then felt it again. I grabbed for my bum
and suddenly, in my hand, was a paper clip with a pigs tail attached to it which was attached to my apron strings.
I lost my greenery that day.
It was also the day that I realised that the smiles and waves from these semi clad women, to my major disappointment, were not because they fancied me at all.
It turned out that I wore the pigs tail every time I went out on an errand.
Aussies hey ? What Englishman would do something like that to a young lad ?
The Aussies had a "field day " with me. This fresh of the boat, white as a ghost, Boro accented fifteen year old "pommie basta*d, was a dream come true for them.
I found a job as a butchers apprentice to avoid having to start, yet again, another school in another country for the umpteenth time.
A few months into this job, I was sent to the owners other shop in Kings Cross to replace the apprentice that was going on holiday for a month.
On my very first day there, I inherited the messenger boy role and was sent to almost every shop in this " red light district " from that day onwards.
One day I was sent to the newsagent to buy an Opera House lottery ticket for us all.
I took off my knife kit and was about to undo my apron when he yelled " are you still here?, don't worry about that, get your ar*se going and hurry back.
As I walked past a prostitute, I heard a giggle and turned around to see her smiling at me an she gave me a little wave and I responded with the same.
This started to happen with others too, day after day, smile after smile, wave after wave.
I was starting to enjoy this short term transfer. For the first time in my life women were smiling and waving at me and I felt like my presence was pleasing
and bringing happiness to all around me.
One lunchtime I mentioned that I was going to get a meat pie for lunch and a few voices rang out, get me this, get me that etc.
I told them to write it down and when I read the order, apart from pies and a custard tart, there on the paper, was a Rhandi Tart.
I said what's this? What's a Rhandi Tart ? He said that it was a cake, an Indian cake and that they were fantastic and that I should get myself one.
( keep in mind guys, I am only fifteen and fresh off the boat and what do I know about Indian cakes ? ) He told me to be sure to be served by the
" Fat Sheila" ( fat woman, aussie slang) she knows what they are and that he buys them there off her all the time.
I'm in the bakery, wondering to myself, how on earth am I going to manage it that the fat sheila serves me when there's three girls working the counter?
I came to the conclusion that if these Rhandi Tarts are that good, every Aussie would know of them and so would all these employees.
I asked for the pies and sauce and after she got them together, I asked for the tarts. I repeated the order, smilingly, she said that she only had the custard tart and that they
don't have any rhandy tarts and would I like to get something else instead ?
I said I don't know, he didn't say and the other rhandy tart was for me.
She now started to try to hide her laugh.
She asked me if I knew what a Rhandy Tart was? and naturally, I said yes ,with confidence, It's an Indian cake, and the customers joined in with the laughter.
They didn't even wait for me to close the door behind me before they all " totally lost it "
As I was walking back with all the goodies, I felt a touch on my bum and quickly turned my head and then felt it again. I grabbed for my bum
and suddenly, in my hand, was a paper clip with a pigs tail attached to it which was attached to my apron strings.
I lost my greenery that day.
It was also the day that I realised that the smiles and waves from these semi clad women, to my major disappointment, were not because they fancied me at all.
It turned out that I wore the pigs tail every time I went out on an errand.
Aussies hey ? What Englishman would do something like that to a young lad ?
(I couldn't understand how Gib had British money lol).
