One of the things I love about Australia and the Gold Coast in particular is the complete lack of history and sense of history. I know some twobit dogooder is gonna say that Australia has a rich tapestry of history spanning back thousands nay quazillions of years. That may be true but if each year was a separate volume assembled for a Readers Digest special, then each volume would max out at the size of a 25c postage stamp. “Have you got any light reading?” “Yes, I’ve got Great Jewish Sporting Legends “ .

The Goldie is sooo new in fact that people note that “Yes, that architectural style is particularly mid-nineties”. The suburb of Robina is named after the logging company that hacked the living shit out of the rainforest that used to exist in that area and suburbs out in sticks like Arundel are named after the gated communities that were first built there. Go on Dan Brown dya reckon you can write a gripping thriller with this sense of history. Of course you could but it would be utter nads like the other pony you’ve written. Indeed! Pony!!

But at least the coast has the coast. Puddlejump over the Pacific and you’ve got places like Purdue University. A place where you can have buildings made in any colour brick as long as it’s red. Woo-hoo! You tap a shoulder of the average buzzcutted sophomore there and they’d tell you that England is a state in Canada and yes, you can drive to Germany from Purdue in about 12 hours (if you don’t stop too often) but you wouldn’t wanna go there because we fought them in World War One 30 years ago. Not bad for a Top 20 uni eh?

As I said though, I love the lack of sense in history. I always feel that residents of cities with a lot of history are well, well, well up their own arses because of their historical superiority complex like they were born with an innate sense of history. However, this attitude makes ‘em fat and lazy. Ask anyone in Firenze what Pontevecchio was called before it was old and they’ll look at you like you suggested that their mother, and their mother’s mother buy their leather goods from France. It’s always been called Pontevecchio they would excombabulate** with a mixture of words and hands. So, what was it called when it was first built then? Pontevecchio e il nome. Of course mate. Like Oude Kerk in the Red Light District in Amsterdam has always been called Old Church. Whatever!! Incidentally, the Dutch generally don’t know the answer to that question either.

I may have mentioned this before but in the Red Light District there are two out of the way alleyways where the lights are purple and not red. These windows feature the most beautiful ‘workers’ in town. A lady of purple light is not just wearing a basque for you but is wearing one in the name of the hundreds of ladies that preceeded her. That sat in the same throne. That occupied that particular window. Why, When, How? The last person you’d wanna ask is a Dutchman. They’re more interested in the exploits of Ajax (Footy team), Raymond Barneveld (top Darts player) and the colour Orange (the colour Orange).

Slipslide across to France and you can visit the beautiful Loire Valley with its abundance of Chateaux and methods of engorgement too numerous to mention and ask any question to a local about the one and only landmark in their town and they’d say Eh!! Que Pasa. There’s a Chateau in this town? Is there REALLY? or sum similar shite.

At least here we embrace the complete lack of history and try in our own way to create our own…entrance stage right, Meter Maids and the largest residential building in the world. There’s fuck all else except maybe the Surf Life Saving Championships was held here but no longer. The past is highly over-rated because we spend too much time there and spend far less time thinking about the future or even the now. My attitude is “Live in the now muthafuckas because it’s all you’ve got” . But if I’m not good enough take this passage from E.M. Forster as testimony:

“Tuscany is bit hilly and a bit too full of fettucine for my liking but I reckon it’s alright even if finding HP Sauce is nigh on impossible and Italians are itinerant wankers who smugly talk about leather jackets and hair product a bit too much. That said there are some nice buildings but I wouldn’t mind knocking a few down so I can build a cricket pitch ”

That Ball Hit The Belltower Near The Top. That’s A Four!

** Excombabulate is not really a word but fits the purpose here - all I need is one other person to use it and it officially becomes a word. Official!