Brian McFadden Makes Me Angry

I'm not sure why but the sight of this man makes me want to throw things at the TV. For those of you who don't know who he his here is a very short biography: Brian McFadden found fame in the Irish boyband "Westlife", left after a few years, met Delta Goodrem (an Aussie singer) and moved to Australia. He should now employ me as his official biographer as I did such a damn good job just there.

I have no qualms admitting it could just be simple jealousy. He's famous, successful and has a lot of money. It could be that he seems to play up his Irishness to ridiculous levels whereas I find myself using new Aussie slang everyday. My dislike of football could be at play here too as he is the host of a reality show called "Football Superstar".

Maybe I'm just pissy he's diminishing my novelty. I foresee a bleak day when people who have just heard my exotic brogue will no longer swoon and demand I say "Top O'the morning" for their voicemail recording but shrug their shoulders and say "Oh like Brian McFadden off the TV". Never!

I should be careful whose toes I step on in the Aussie show business though. One day when my writing here on TIFI shoots me to super-stardom (stop laughing) I may have to call in some favours from my compatriates. The conversation may go something like this:

Brian - "So you're the guy who shamelessly flamed me on the internet like a coward."

Shane - "Yes, sir. The very same. Could you say my name within earshot of important people?"

B - "I don't know. I may have to make you work for this privilege since I am a very famous and awesome man. Look at my floppy hair and perfectly grown stubble. Don't they mesh perfectly to paint the picture of a rogueish yet sensitive character?"

S - "Since the year is 2042 and you are getting on in years I'd wager that those fancy follicles of yours are nothing more than modern cosmetic chicanery."

At this point in our encounter Brian and I would probably engage in some sort of gentlemans duel involving muskets. My comparative youth would no doubt win the day as I would be able to keep my weapon steadier than Old Man Brian. Luckily for him however my musket would be loaded with nothing more than confetti. He would be unharmed but would have learned a valuable lesson. One that he would swiftly forget as he gently wet himself.

You have been warned Brian! Should we cross paths thirty three years from now, think twice about what you say!

T.I.F.I. Goes To Coffs Harbour

Recently myself and the rest of the esteemed house decided to take a trip to the lovely Coffs Harbour in northeastern New South Wales. This is how I found out about the phenomenon of "Big Things".

Australia is known for many things: beautiful women, sunny weather, laid back lifestyle and a predeliction for cursing. Giant plastic flora and fauna, however, was not something I was aware held any kind of cultural significance. How wrong was I.

It all started weeks earlier when it was suggested we should all take a trip to Coffs Harbour to see the Big Slurpee. The prospect of seeing this wonderful thing excited me to no end so I agreed. I secretly hoped for some kind of Willy Wonka and the Slurpee Factory type affair where I could finally get my hands on some Sour Apple flavour Slurpee again.

It was only on the trip that I realised just how widespread this "Big" phenomenon was. The Big Prawn was my favourite given my love of those slimy little buggers. My attempts to scale the walls of the building and feast on its fishy greatness were thwarted, however, by a sore arse from hours of sitting in the back seat so I was content to just take a picture. After some faffing about and stretching we hit the road again and on to the wondrous Big Slurpee.



A few hours and a few stops later we arrived in Coffs Harbour and some unseasonably good weather. Our spirits high we set off in search of a feed and some entertainment. Several hours, a lot of junk food and a marathon game of Jenga later we climbed into bed to rest up for our day of awesomeness.

The next day we awoke, burned ourselves some breakfast and set off in search of the Slurpee. After a few hours of searching we came to realise a horrible truth:

The Big Slurpee was gone!

My dreams of some sort of Slurpee wonderland where it flowed in rivers and cascaded down huge waterfalls were dead. Nonetheless we soldiered on to a few other tourist attractions including the Clog Barn and the Big Banana.



A special mention should go to the Clog Barn as I received a free clog. They ran a little clog-making demonstration in the gift shop and when he was finished the clog maker offered the clog to the person who had travelled the furthest to be there. My girlfriend Megan, always the competitor, shouted 'Ireland!' while pointing to me. I suffered an internal conflict as I thought to myself 'Does it count if I'm Irish but living in Australia?'. Despite my dirty tricks I took my clog without question. The ill-gotten footwear sits on my shelf still.