Two Pommie Sheilas: Is it really any wonder we want to become a republic?

It was 2004 and my in-laws were trying to embrace their first Christmas in a country where it always feels too hot for a roast dinner.

The first fateful move my mum-in-law would make would be to try to replicate the prawn cocktails we always had at home in a fancy trifle glass.

Fair enough Coles was never going to be Sainsbury’s or Marks and Spencer but, God love her, she did her best and bought a bag of prawns from the fish counter.

The resulting specimens may have been on the greyish side but this was the other side of the world, after all.

Of course, no one had taught us Yorkshire folk that prawns needed to be cooked before being eaten (there aren’t any fishing ports in Huddersfield) and the resulting “year of the frozen prawns” is still brought up every December.

Yet, even though it might give us a laugh or two, it’s worth noting that the Aussies present at the table that day applauded my poor mum-in-law’s efforts.

The proof is in that one of them had not one but several tails of the frozen buggers left on their plate before anyone had dared point out the barbecue in the backyard.

Sandringham for Christmas? What’s stopping them sharing it out a bit and coming Down Under once in a while?

She gave it a go — and those there that day still come round for dinner now and again, as long as the grill is firing, that is.

Now before we get all warm and fuzzy here, there’s the other side to the coin.

Yes, there are indeed those who aren’t willing to put in a bit of effort for their friends Down Under — and the Aussies aren’t exactly chuffed about it.

I’m talking about people a fair deal posher than us prawn-challenged Yorkshire folk — the royals.

I returned from a Christmas break to learn some, including our Prime Minister, are trying their best to cut ties with the monarchy. Being an ardent monarchist, I’m horrified, but surprised? Not at all.

In the past 10 years, we’ve had as many Christmas dinners as royal visits to Australia. And that’s including all the ones my republican dad would call “hangers on”.

The Queen’s face might be on our 20¢ pieces and we’re expected to bow to them, respect them and sing their praises, just like the British do.

Yet, where are they to shake hands with us common folk?

We don’t get a visit from her grandsons in cyclone season, nor do her relatives turn up to cut the ribbon on the jetty named after her. Heck, we rarely get a mention in the Christmas Day speech.

Sandringham for Christmas?

What’s stopping them sharing it out a bit and coming Down Under once in a while?

While we Brits have grown up with the royals, few Australian children can speak of the day they stood in the crowds when the Queen or her rellies came to town. So, why then should they be expected to grow up bowing to them and their ever-growing brood?

One thing my family has learnt is effort rarely goes unnoticed by the Aussies, even if you don’t get it right every time. Lack of effort rarely does either.

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