Livin' La Vida Bogan

Dear Fat Pete & Princess Normal,

When I first arrived in New Zealand, I brought along a bottle of MacAllan with me. Big Nipper and me cracked it open. Feefs asked if we wanted ice with it.

Years of sitting at the feet of Bokhara must have shown because I made a face and Big Nipper asked me if ice was "a bit boganny".

I knew what he meant. Years of living with Er Indoors has taught me one or two things about Kiwis (and Australians) for whom the term "bogan" is equivalent to "Chav", "Ned", "Schemie" or "Redneck".

This occurred to me yesterday as I surveyed our living room. Er Indoors has ordered some really lovely stuff from Freedom Furniture but it has yet to show up. So in the interim our interior design consists of:

1. A lovely bit of lawn furniture, dragged in from the deck and with a blanket on it.
2. A bean bag. From The Warehouse.
3. A coffee table made from a cardboard packing box, covered in sticky-backed plastic.

Note also our "bit of carpet" draught-excluder in the background.

So I'm sure you'll agree that me and Er Indoors are currently bogans. I'm feeling an urge to grow a mullet and listen to Mötley Crüe.

The bean-bag is my favourite. Essentially because now it means the whole floor is my side-table. I plop into it in the evening with my cup of tea and Toffee-Pops, surrounded by remote controls so I don't have to move again.

Getting back out of the bean-bag is a beautiful thing to witness. I flail and flap, like a drowning sailor grasping at driftwood. It often takes as many as six lurches before I find myself on all-fours on the carpet with a curious cat in front of me wondering if I'm suffering some sort of fit.

Consequently, peeing has become a bit of a mission. Pre-planning is now an absolute necessity.

So that is our life. I'm not sure I will be able to go back, even when the classy furniture arrives. Although nobody likes a bogan.

S.