They're a weird mob [antikvár]

chapter One WHO the hell's Nino Culotta? That's what you asked yourself when you first picked up this book, wasn't it? Well I'm Nino Culotta. My father had me baptised Giovanni—John—well Giovannino is like Johnny, and Nino is an easier way of saying it. Or a lazier way, if you like. The Culotta family is not famous for doing anything the hard way. It is not famous for doing anything. Because as far as I know it doesn't exist. Not in my family, anyway. My family name is something quite different, but I can't use it here. Because this little book is about Australians, and if they knew who wrote it, some of them might put bricks through my windows. My windows cost me a lot of money and perspiration. To have windows you must first have a house, and I built my house with my own two hands and used the sweat of my head. Whenever I had a fiver I bought something, and whenever I had a week-end I built something. Sometimes concrete, sometimes brick, sometimes wood. And all costing plenty. And you know where I am now? I'm sitting outside my house early on Sunday morning, and the sun is just coming through the trees, and a dog is looking at me. In those trees there are kookaburras, and they laugh. Flying amongst those trees there are dollar birds, and they squawk. There are other birds whose names I do not know, but they all talk and the dew is shining on my grass, and I'm glad I built my house here. There are ants and flies and mosquitoes too, but everybody has to