“Canberra thinks you’re boring,” reads the souvenir fridge magnet sitting coolly in my palm. I’m in a small local shop in the Australian capital, looking for a birthday gift to send my friend Aoife in Dublin. As old friends, we mostly send one another deliberately stupid gifts.
I like to send her Australian things with no practical use. A plush echidna toy, just because it’s the weirdest little toupée-esque animal I’ve seen over here, or a pair of koala socks no self-respecting woman in her 30s would willingly leave the house in.
I’m holding the “Canberra thinks you’re boring” magnet and considering whether such a daft piece of local ephemera is a good gift. I decide against it – you need to spend a day in this odd city to understand why it’s a place that sells souvenirs ironically referencing its own reputation for being incredibly boring.
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