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Am I the only Englishman living in Australia who hasn’t been on a ‘Neighbours Tour’?
Every day I see my fellow countrymen cramming into a bus in St Kilda, eagerly awaiting their 45 minute drive through Melbourne’s least interesting suburbs, hoping for a glimpse of a woman putting out a dustbin. They are an embarrassment to my nation.
Nothing against the stars of Neighbours but they are hardly Howard Hughes. If you want to meet these people, you just have to go to the opening of any supermarket within 20 km of the city.
Someone once asked me ‘If you were having a dinner party and you could invite any person, dead or alive, from Neighbours, who would you invite?’ I said I would probably invite Harold and make him do the cooking. And if I wanted conversation, I think Bouncer would be the most interesting. He was a great actor – a dog who didn’t cock his leg up at the rest of the cast even though their acting was akin to that of trees. And he never chased Kylie even though she was both wooden and a stick. He should have won a logie, or whatever token prize is given out at the oxymoronic ‘Australian Television’ awards.
Untalented British thespians can be found on The Bill. And if I ever go back and live in England, I will start a ‘Bill Tour’ where pissed-up Australian backpackers get driven around the roughest council estates of London in the vain hope of meeting a policeman. And for that really authentic Cockney experience they’ll be able to upgrade to the deluxe tour where they get their wallets nicked as well.