Media Puzzle solves my identity crisis

WOMEN'S HOCKEY/World CupDAY ONE: Flights leave from Singapore for every city in Australia approximately every four and a half seconds. Board plane, hoping it's the right one for Perth, but not entirely certain and too zombied to ask. Arrive. "Welcome to Sydney," says the immigration man. Silence only disturbed by sound of heart-beat reaching near-death levels. "Oh. My. G. . .". "Aw gee, I love doing that to visitors," grins the Perth resident.

Clench right fist to deck immigration man, but might hamper chances of entry to his country so exhale enough breath to whip up a tornado and say, "Ho, ho." "Ireland," he says, looking at passport. "We'll take the Melbourne Cup back from you next year," he winks. Pretend to know Dermot Weld and to be a second cousin, twice removed, of Media Puzzle (show him ears to prove claim). Impressed, he ignores glaring discrepancy in visa form ("business" ticked, rather than "holiday") and says, "Enjoy your stay."

Pass WACA on way to hotel. Sigh, dreamily. All that sublime sporting history. Goosebumps. Lillee Marsh Stand. Sir Donald Bradman Stand. Floodlights the size of Munster. Taxi man politely explains that, no, WACA is not the Aboriginal word for "place where Australian cricket team hammers England". Western Australian Cricket Association, in fact. But Qantas is the Aboriginal word for "big bird", right? "Na - Queensland and Northern Territory Aerial Services." Gutted. No romance.

"You English," he says. No, Irish. "Aw, the Melbourne Cup, eh?" Trend developing. Mention field, in which Media Puzzle first learnt to stretch all four of his legs, is field on which taxi driver's passenger's house is now built. Not even remotely true, but so impressed he decides not to go through Canberra on way to hotel.

Hotel. While three coachloads of Japanese people check in, read local newspaper. Weather forecast. Friday? Sunny. Saturday? Sunny. Sunday? Sunny. Monday? Sunny. Tuesday? Sunny. Chirpy receptionist. "Ireland?" Yes. "Aw, fantastic win in the Melbourne Cup?" Mention that once baby-sat Media Puzzle and helped him build rocket ship with empty washing-up liquid bottle, sticky-back plastic and grandmother's false teeth. Receptionist insists on carrying 18 suitcases of Galtee streaky rashers to room, asking for autograph before he leaves.

DAY TWO: Fast learning that citizens of Perth regard life as simply the inconsequential bit between sporting events. In other words, they have their priorities beautifully right. Scoop, "The Essential Western Australian Lifestyle Magazine". Fifth birthday special, "50 Most Inspirational Western Australians". Brain surgeons, captains of industry, literary giants? Na. David Dicks (the youngest person to sail around the world - he was 17 when he left Fremantle, 18 when he returned), Barry Cable (an Australian football legend) . . .

And Herb Elliott (won the 1,500 metres at the 1960 Rome Olympics with a time that would have been good enough to win gold at seven out of nine Olympics over the last 40 years), Noel Robbins (won gold for sailing at the 2000 Paralympics at the age of 65), Louise Sauvage (three-time Paralympian, has dominated wheelchair racing over the past 10 years), Priya Cooper (gold medallist in swimming at three Paralympics), Rechelle Hawkes (former Australian hockey captain, won three Olympic gold medals), Adam Gilchrist (Australian wicketkeeper and batsman), Andrew Vlahov and Luc Longley (both basketball players). Etc.

Only topic of conversation? The economy? Unemployment? Environmental issues? World terrorism? Na. The state of the greens at the Australian (golf) Open, that caused cancellation of the first round. Greg Norman pronounced that Australian golf had, as a consequence, suffered worldwide humiliation. And, judging by the chatter between the 96-year-old ladies in the queue for tea-bags-that-almost-taste-like-Barry's at the nearest supermarket, Greg wasn't wrong. Tempted to say, "Jaysus lads, it's only golf", but then you remember you're in Perth. Could be baton twirling, could be golf, doesn't matter, it's sport. And, bless 'em, they love it.

DAY THREE: Shuttle bus driver to World Cup hockey venue arrives. "English," he asks. No, Irish. "Aw, wotta win in the Melbourne Cup, eh?" Mention did line with Media Puzzle in youth, but went separate ways because we wanted different things from life - him, apples and oats, me business trips to Perth. Shuttle bus driver so impressed drives us direct to ground.

Where would you recommend we visit outside Perth? "Well, Kalgoorlie's worth seeing," he says, "Gold Rush territory." Brilliant - is it far away? "Aw, na, it's about an eight-hour drive." Hmm, Dublin to Galway, three times in the one day. The bulk of Heathrow-to-Singapore. And Kalgoorlie is still in Western Australia? "Aw, yeah. It takes 24 hours to drive from one side of Western Australia to the other," he tells us. "It's the same to drive from one side of Dublin to the other," says the UTV cameraman.

Check touristy guide to Western Australia, to see if shuttle bus driver is taking the mick. "Western Australia is the largest state in Australia and covers nearly one-third of the entire Australian continent (one million square miles). Western Australia's coastline is 7,813 miles long . . . Perth is closer to Jakarta than Canberra." Jeez. That means Ireland would fit in to the Woolworths store on Murray Street? "Aw, yeah," says the driver, "probably."

"It's quite cool today," he says. "Good one," we chuckle, while sitting in pools of melting factor 184, skin ruby from standing in the shade while waiting for bus. "Naw, seriously - it's quite cool. It'll be hot on Thursday though, real hot."

True enough, the UTV cameraman had told us the night before that he had very sallow skin and took the sun well. By lunchtime the next day he had that frazzled-lobster-look, his skin crumbling from his face onto the floor. Some after-sun soothing gel? "Aye, please."

DAY FOUR: Speaking of UTV. Their ace reporter went sunbathing on the hotel roof. Three minutes later, sun-tan acquired, he had run-in with self-locking door. So? Well, locked well and truly out. Looked at sun, looked at fire escape, looked at sun, and began descent down fire escape, arriving at front door several days later. Or so, he told us, it felt. Some after-sun soothing gel? "Aye, please."

Meet English hockey reporter. "You going to the cricket (third Ashes Test in Perth)?"- "Yes, are you?" - "Yep, day three, you?" - "Day four." - "FOUR?" - "Yes, don't even think about saying it." Dum de dum. Okay. Seven words, just.

- "Think your boys will survive that long?"

- "Probably won't make it to day three," he concedes. Hmm. "You mean it could be all over before the day for which we have booked our tickets?" Right then: "ENG-ER-LAND, ENG-ER-LAND, ENG-ER-LAND." We'll forgive you for the misery you inflicted on our nation through the years (Bob Monkhouse, stag parties, Alan Kernaghan, etc), just hang in there until our day at the WACA. Please.

Australians, in cricketing parlance, say "four for 97", we say "97 for four". Leads to some confusion. "So, England have lost 97 wickets for four runs," we ask Day Four's shuttle bus driver, as he listens to the conclusion of the second Test on his radio. "That'd be right," he says, shoulders vibrating. - "You English?" he asks. - "No, Irish." - "Aw, Melbourne Cup!" Mention that Media Puzzle is my father. - "Right," he says, "no worries."