23 May, 2018

How to be a larrikin

G’day me ol’ chinas! It’s time for another lesson in How to be a Larrikin, or as we like to call it here at The Larrikin Institute:

Lift yer game, son!

Today we’re gunna talk about how to whinge about dealing with the government.

Now every bugger and his dog hates dealing with the government so ya might reckon this’ll be a lay down misere, but you’d be barkin’ up the wrong trouser leg.

Y’see, there’s this drongo in Queensland (which is where they breed all the best drongos) who had ta deal with a mob called MyGov, an’ they asked him if it was okay to identify him as male. Bit of a queer question fer sure, but there’s a right way and a wrong to go about sayin’ so if you’re gunna be a proper bloody Aussie larrikin about it.



Now a few proper larrikins got into him on the innernet, so he goes and makes a video reading out some of the sledging he got an’ tries to explain how he doesn’t want the Aussie larrikin nature hijacked by the left wing politically correct brigade, whatever the bloody hell that is when it’s at home.

Now look mate, no proper larrikin gives a piece of cold cocky poop about political correctness gone mad. A larrikin shrugs an’ says, “Well, that’s a bit a’ bullshit isn’t it?” and goes back to fishin’ or drinkin’ or rootin’ or whatever make him happy. That’s ’cos a proper larrikin doesn’t take himself too bloody seriously, ya mug!

While we’re here, larrikins don’t make sure their picture of the queen is visible in their picture. We know that game. That lark’s for toffs. Captain Cook means having a squiz but we’ll get to that later.

Finally, you’ll look a prize dill if you have a whinge about some stick you got when they’re all beating your arse at being a larrikin. So next time, get your hand off it. Nobody likes a sook.

That’ll do for now. Next week, I’ll show youse the difference between bein’ a knockabout larrikin and whingeing about some poor buggers dealt a tougher hand. ’Til then, last one out shouts! Seeyalater.

09 May, 2018


This post is inspired by the most excellent Instagram profile selfloveclubb. Her posts along these lines really resonate with me. When you live with anxiety and/or depression (because sometimes it’s one, sometimes it’s the other, sometimes it’s both, and sometimes you don’t even know), you get used to wearing a mask. Not out of any shame or stigma, just out of expedience.

To quote the classics, if there’s a smile on my face, it’s only there trying to fool the public. And when you deal with the public as I do, they don’t want to talk to a misery-guts and nor should they be expected to. I may have a depression/anxiety condition, but I’m still a professional. A client once told me how nice it was to see my happy, smiling face and it actually took me a minute to realise he wasn’t taking the piss. It was then that I realised I must be a good actor.

There’s probably something to be said for trying to act normal – whatever that means. In fact, I can measure the level of my struggle by how many people I can or can’t hide it from. Being highly distractible helps. I can forget about it while I deal with other things. Then when there’s a lull, I remember I’m me and go back to struggling with that.

If someone looks sad, anxious or depressed, they probably are. If they look happy, they still could be sad, anxious or depressed. This is not so much to talk about my struggle as it is to express solidarity with others who are struggling, in whatever way for whatever reason.

After I posted this on Instagram the other day, a friend sent me a private message saying that they were experiencing something similar and what a help it was just to hear someone else express it. That has been my experience too. I don’t care what anyone else says about social media, it was the first thing that made me feel normal. I discovered I wasn’t a minority of one by seeing other people’s stories. In fact, I’ve been astounded at how many friends I have made who I later learned had similar experiences. We all wear masks. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s sometimes necessary, but it’s bloody exhausting.