Comment t'appelles tu?

As a rule tax returns are not usually a source of entertainment, so my thanks to whichever petty bureaucrat at the Australian Tax Office put together this year’s online E-Tax forms. I hadn’t got much further than my name when I was presented with a doozy of a drop-down menu from which to choose my title of choice. Take a deep breath…

Abbot, Able Seaman, Admiral, Air Chief Marshall, Air Commodore, Air Marshall, Air Vice Marshall, Airman / Aircraftman, Alderman, Archbishop, Arch Deacon, Associate Professor, Baron, Baroness, Bishop, Brigadier, Brother, Cadet, Canon, Captain, Cardinal, Chaplin, Chief Petty Officer, Colonel, Commander, Commissioner, Commodore, Constable, Corporal, Count, Countess, Dame, Deacon, Deaconess, Dean, Deputy Superintendant, Doctor, Duchess, Duke, Earl, Father, Flight Lieutenant, Flight Sergeant, Flying Officer, General, Group Captain, Gunner, His Royal Highness, Her Royal Highness, Honourable, Honourable Judge, Honourable Justice, Inspector, Judge, Justice, Lady, Lance Bombardier, Lance Corporal, Leading Aircraftmen, Leading Aircraftwoman, Leading Seamen, Lieutenant, Lieutenant Colonel, Lieutenant Commander, Lieutenant General, Lord, Madam, Major, Major General, Master, Matron, Mayor, Mayoress, Midshipman, Miss, Monsignor, Most Reverend, Mr, Mrs, Ms, Pastor, Patriarch, Petty Officer, Pilot Officer, Private, Professor, Rabbi, Rear Admiral, Rector, Reverend, Right Honourable, Right Reverend, Right Reverend Bishop, Right Reverend Monsignor, Seaman, Second Lieutenant, Senator, Senior Constable, Sergeant, Sir, Sister, Squadron Leader, Staff Sergeant, Sub Lieutenant, Superintendent, Swami, Very Reverend, Vicar, Vice Admiral, Viscount, Warrant Officer, Warrant Officer 1st class, Warrant Officer 2nd class and last but certainly not least if you like your old school space adventure computer games, Wing Commander.

After skimming through the list I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in myself in having to settle for plain old Mr Custard. As the son of a communist gas fitter (a damn fine one I might add) Housemartins fan some of the more aristocratic titles were perhaps always going to be beyond me. Still, even taking the la-di-da’s out of the equation (and really Australian Tax Office, just how many His/Her Royal Highnesses do we have completing their tax returns in this country?) I think I need a fancier moniker to present the world with.

So how do I go about it then? Given the above list the military seems like a good option for plebs like me. Sadly, unlike many members of my slightly odd family I have no interest in the armed forces. The army is, well - you know - the army, and my Grandad’s double torpedoing by U-boats in 1944 left me suspicious of the Village People's claims about life on the high seas. Still my Star Wars obsession did lead me to believe being a fighter pilot might be a goer for a while. After a promising start (I had several almost finished models of the Space Shuttle and a Harrier Jump Jet and was gifted – almost prodigiously so – at Arcadians) a future in the air force was swiftly curtailed when I was luxuriantly sick on my maiden flight in a two-seater Chipmunk training plane. This airborne hurl – along with that whole discipline thing and uncomfortably itchy RAF trousers - meant my chances of Corporal Custard (never mind Air Chief Marshall Custard was gone before I was 15.

Keen-eyed watchers of The Bill amongst you will know that many of the same ranks are available in the police force. I will admit to having unhealthy thoughts about those stockinged ankles that used to appear at the end of the UK's premier cop drama so that was enough to get my attention. Also I am tall, so that's that important entry criterion fulfilled. Sadly two other considerations counteract this early promise. Firstly, I am a complete coward who hates violence, confrontation and all acts of aggression. Even on telly. Secondly, blue is not my colour. If I could dress like Sam Tyler in Life on Mars then I might be interested but I don't think it's a realistic goal.

I could of course aim for higher up in the judicial system with judge and justice (both honourable and just plain old regular flavour) up for grabs. On the plus side I am very judgmental and I love a comedy wig. On the downside, I really am very lazy and the idea of 23 year's study starting from scratch is really very unappealing. Whilst we're at it maybe we should rule out Professor and Doctor on the same grounds. Unless I become really famous and get awarded an honourary doctorate from the University of Woolloomooloo for being lovely, or tall, then I just don't see it happening.

So what else? Well life as a man of the cloth seems to offer a quick route to an interesting title. Even new starters get to be called Brother which is very Desmond Hume. However looking into it there does seem to be a lot of, well, Catholicism involved. Regardless of how cool it would be to have Right Reverend Monsignor Custard on my letterbox I'd rather stay excommunicated. Options in other religions are limited, though Swami is an option. Sadly Wikipedia's definition of a Swami as someone 'who knows and is the master of himself' rules me out. Anyone who has seen our puppy boss me about will tell you that I'm master of no one.

This limits my options for a bit of variety in my titulation to either a post-gender reassignment Miss or Ms (and no offence ladies, but that's not quite different enough for the level of investment required) or me getting my community hat on and running for public office. Given the level of public respect for our members of parliament in 2010 perhaps the time is right to step forward. Vote 1 Mint Custard for Mayor? I'd probably be rubbish but then that seems to be almost expected these days. Honourable Member...? Please. Now you're just being rude.

Aristocratic silver spoons aside it would seem that upgrading my name requires a level of time, effort or commitment which I clearly don't have. I could of course take the option pursued by Def Leppard on their Hysteria album when they listed themselves as Wing Commander Steve "Steamin', Dreamy, Snikker, Mayhem, P.T.W." Clark, A.H.D. (Guitars), Air Commodore Phil "Felix, P.C., The Guru, Wambo, Top" Collen, B.T.H (more guitars) and Baron Beaverbrook "Sir Richard" Rick "Sav" Savage (Bass). I could... but I won't. I think you know why.

So Australian Tax Office, it is with regret and shame that I declare myself as plain old me for another year. Not much to boast about, but hey, my Grandma loves me. Is that tax deductible...?

Special

An interesting curio about living in Australia is the way cultural and geographical isolation can distort huge mainstream overseas events and reduce them to quasi-cult viewing. Half a day’s time difference and lousy programming decisions by television companies are often enough to reduce viewing of even the most commercial of cultural phenomena to a few dedicated souls.

I’ve written before about great television shows from around the world being buried in late night schedules or woefully under-publicised. Shows like Madmen, 30 Rock and Curb Your Enthusiasm may attract worldwide column inches but here bad scheduling has reduced them to niche viewing. Despite what Channel 7 would have us believe in their recent publicity of the Lost finale, in truth the show had been hidden away on their secondary digital channel for months. Hardly the attitude for must-see-TV.

Certainly time zones play a part in Australia’s participation in worldwide events. With no local event and no live feed on terrestrial television Live 8 was reduced to a 90 minute highlights show (with adverts, naturally) whilst as tennis fans will currently tell you, the drama of any European sporting event is a little reduced when relayed the next day by breakfast news presenters.

Credit then to SBS for their continued efforts to keep Australia connected to the rest of the world despite their mediocre budget. As well as being the only station we have whose evening news truly reflects the world we live in, Australia’s multicultural broadcaster is also unique in its commitment to celebrating the global cultural events and giving us down under a chance to join in.

In the coming weeks SBS will be showing every game of the 2010 FIFA World Cup across their two channels in defiance of the richer commercial stations and their general disinterest in supporting the world game. This is no opportunistic grab for ratings; SBS has been a lone champion of football in Australia for decades, from when it was a game for sheilas, wogs and poofters and John Aloisi’s 2005 penalty was just a nice idea. In truth the majority of Australians are unlikely to stay up and watch actual games at the Mundial, especially if the Socceroos are eliminated quickly, but the fact is that without SBS they wouldn’t even have that choice. Try to imagine that happening anywhere else in the world this month.

Craig Foster and Les Murray of SBS' The World Game

Similar kudos to SBS for their magnificent coverage of this weekends 55^th Eurovision Song Contest. Growing up in Britain I had zero interest in Eurovision, probably because of the oversaturation, starting with weeks of televised auditions for a Song for Europe and the inevitable selection of something woeful to represent the UK, followed by the usual rounds of barely-disguised racism from the media, raised out of the gutter by some sarcastic levity courtesy of Terry Wogan.

In keeping with their remit, the SBS version – hosted by the gorgeously wonderful Julia Zemiro and Sam Pang - is a celebration of diversity. With no home country to barrack for the coverage is gloriously cosmopolitan, leaving lots of time to focus on terrible outfits, indoor fireworks, the SBS Eurovision Drinking Game and (hard to believe, but true) the songs.

In addition to the on-screen shenanigans (presented as a delayed telecast the night after the actual event, necessitating a huge Likely Lads-style avoidance of television, internet and wireless in the hours before) an annual highlight of the SBS coverage is their real time live chat where viewers can go online and share in a communal live bitch-fest about everything and anything they see on screen. There is something genuinely uplifting about Australians of all creeds and colours coming together to laugh at the pudgy beer belly of a balding white-clad crooner.

Notre chere Julia Zemiro. On t'aime Julia!

Whilst cyber-slagging there is the added distraction of watching the fiercely tribal and slightly bizarre online battle between Australia’s Greek and Turk communities battling for the number one spot in the unofficial SBS Australian vote (only one vote allowed every twenty seconds kids). Turkey won this year.

Government handling of issues relating to refugees, asylum seekers and the indigenous communities, immense stupidity by the people behind Hey Hey It’s Saturday and the disgusting attacks on Indian students have done great damage to Australia’s multicultural reputation in recent years. Still, whilst it would be unhelpful and dishonest to deny a racist element in Australia, it is nice to be able to report that there are also positive forces at work here.

SBS is often viewed dismissively as a kind of hippy, right on cousin of the ABC but the truth is that the national broadcaster is still more reflective of Australia’s anglo-centric past than its diverse multi-coloured future. SBS prides itself in being in and of the real world, connecting our island to everyone and everywhere else, in a two-way exchange. In an increasingly inter-connected world it’s something for the other networks to ponder long and hard over - perhapsd during the adverts for Hey Hey It’s Saturday?

On Top of Old Smokie

As some of you will know the final episodes of the epic TV show Lost are being broadcast around the world as we speak, building up to the big season finale at the end of May. For some the end will be a chance to finally find out some answers, many years after the tropical polar bears, smoke monsters and general strangeness led them to turn off their TV sets in frustration. For others the finale will mark the end of six seasons of intense speculation, water cooler hypothesising, stoned pondering, hours of dedicated online forums and terabytes worth of internet content trying to puzzle out what-the-huh-and-why?

My own journey has been relatively brief but no less intense. Just over a year ago Mrs Custard bought the first season of Lost on DVD. We had resisted so long primarily because every clip I ever saw of Lost seemed to feature a new was of showing an aeroplane crash and anyone who has ever seen me fly will tell you I just don’t need that kind of thing in my head. Having ploughed ahead and already made her way to Season 3 it was Mrs Custard who persuaded me to stick with the adventures of Oceanic Flight 815 by reassuring me that despite the mid-flight carnage ‘it’s a bit like Twin Peaks.’

In the beginning: the Island runway and terminal facilities need a bit of work

So, anyway, here I am - fully up to date on events from the previous five seasons just in time for the grand denouement. And because I’m up to date, another part of the Lost universe has finally opened up to me; the internet. After years of skilfully avoiding any and all conversations, articles, reviews, interviews or debates about Lost that might spoil the show, now my appetite for all such things is bigger than Hurley’s for Mr Cluck’s chicken. Straight after every episode I’m online to find out about clues I’ve missed, the latest theories on what Locke / Flocke / Man-in-Black / Esau / the Smoke Monster is up to and just what Desmond means in all of this, brother.

Dissecting David Lynch aside (and we all need help with that) I must admit that up til now I’ve never truly embraced my own internerd. I read the odd article on what-might-have-beens with Star Wars (I’m still sad that Lynch turned down the director job on Return of the Jedi) and enjoyed discussions around Life on Mars but as a rule I’ve stayed away from online obsessives. This is partly because I haven’t seen any of the shows that people trade blows over, but mostly because – as I now know from Lost – some people posting have an unpleasantly disproportionate view on their place in all of this.

One would imagine visiting a site populated by fans of something you like would be an affirming experience. Interesting then that so many of them (and there are lots) should be chock full of anger and resentment, mostly directed towards the people who created the show they like. I don’t know what the past five years have been like but the weekly comments on forums such as the Washington Post’s Lost Central or the Guardian’s Lost in Lost following each show are often so far beyond critical that they become personal (look at any of the comments below this interview with main writers Carlton Cuse and David Lindelof, including accusations of being ‘arrogant pricks’. Nice.)

The Season 3 cast including a much missed Mr Eko

As Season 6 has edged closer to its conclusion one of the key accusations that people keep levelling at Cuse and Lindelof (‘LindCuse’ or ‘Darlton’ depending on which nerd site you prefer) is that they don’t know what’s going on. Impatient to get to the end and frustrated by a perceived lack of answers, there is insistence that the writers are making it up as they go along. Despite reassurances for the past six years that there has is an overarching story and a point to everything that happens on the show, people - fans apparently – are desperate to prove them wrong. They do this by picking out every inconsistency, flaw or continuity error they can (aided and abetted by Lost uber-site Lostpedia) and posting them online with a big “ha! You suck, you losers!”

Now before I’m accused of blindly towing the official line, I do kind of understand how people feel here. I too had my Tim-from-Spaced moment with the crushing disappointment of the Phantom Menace. I know what it’s like to invest in something emotionally for many years and then see it pooed on from a great height by a stranger with a beard. Yet the crucial difference is I’ve seen the Star Wars prequels. All of them. To the end. At this point nobody but the writers know what’s going to happen in Lost – the very people who keep reassuring us that everything will be fine.

'And in the end...' : the owls are not what they seem

So hey, given that you’ve enjoyed over 100 hours worth of Lost over six years (I hope you have, or more fool you for keeping on watching) why not trust them in them for a few more hours and just see what happens? Hypothesise, speculate, have hope, get excited – it’s part of what makes Lost so appealing - but don’t slag off a show you supposedly love because this week they happened to confound your expectations of what should happen. It’s not your show, no matter how long you’ve been watching it. And remember this - unlike 99% of television programs Lost still hasn’t jumped its shark, sold out or let down characters we’ve grown to love. As John Locke and Jack Sheppard discovered there’s every reason to have faith that everything will work out right.