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We all love a spin off. Think the original NCIS, then LA and New Orleans. We can discuss later at which point you should stop. I do like Hawaii. I’m not sure about NCIS Sydney, but as a local, I guess I like being picked.
Anyway, Retirement With The Harrises (RWTH) is exactly the same, except with a much better cast. We had Ohio in 2022, then Colorado in 2023. This could technically be considered a sequel but let’s not quibble. Because for sure-sure, the best spin off ever is RWTH3 – Down Under (The Covers).
Note – you will have to wait till later in the Season for the full explanation about the title.
Episode 1 began with signs at Sydney Airport. It is vital to welcome a famous reality show family with handwritten signs. It certainly set the tone for the production quality of the series. With much fanfare, Sherry and Bob, with bonus cast member, their daughter Elizabeth, set foot on Australian soil for the first time.
For months preceding the big event, we had been practising the Australian lingo. What to say when people talk to you. For example:
Someone says hello. Answer: no words, just a nod. If forced: howyagoin.
Someone says goodbye. Answer: no words, just a nod. If forced: seeya
If someone asks do you want to leave the pub and go home for an early night? Answer: no words, just a head shake. If forced: yeah nah.
This is important cultural stuff. The other main briefing provided was about what you don’t say. Three key things.
Thongs are shoes here, not underwear.
We do not call it a fanny pack. It’s a bum bag. A fanny is a vagina.
And whatever you do, when watching a sporting event, and especially if you’re at your child’s school play, never, ever say you are rooting for someone. It means having sex.
As soon as we collected The Harrises, we ran over the lingo rules again, just to make sure. Fannies and rooting no, but thongs – OK.
We had an elaborate plan to transport the full team back to the magnificent Airbnb that I had rented, with a view of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The plan was required mainly due to the amount of luggage Elizabeth brought for her one week cameo appearance. To be fair one suitcase was only to transport Australian wine back to the USA. I support this.
So, the children (OK, young men related to me) were dispatched with The Harrises in my Audi with instructions to provide a guided night tour of Sydney while I wrangled the millions of bags back to the house in a taxi. I have never paid $100 to travel 15 kilometres before, but I won’t digress into price gauging by taxis at airports. No wonder they are being overtaken by Uber.
I arrived back at our house in the Rocks, one of the oldest areas of Sydney, near the Harbour. I dragged the luggage inside, all the while keeping an eye on the one spot of street parking that I was trying to save for my Audi.
I went inside to get things ready. I had top shelf Tasmanian sparkling wine ready to pop open at the first sign of arrival. I checked that the Sydney Harbour Bridge was still there, all lit up and stunning. I really, really wanted this trip to be perfect.
Through the front window I saw a black car drive up and park out the front. I was so excited. My dearest friends had finally arrived and the Aussie celebrations could begin.
I flung open the front door, ready to welcome the family. And just like that, a seagull flew overhead and shat on me. I looked at the black car. It was not an Audi, but instead it was a Volvo. And it was bouncing. Up and down. Up and down. There were two people in it, but only the driver’s seat was in use. The person on the top did not seem to be wearing clothes.
I tried opening and closing the front door of the house very loudly. I switched the lights on and off like it was a disco. The bouncing continued.
I went back inside and called my youngest son.
Me: Am I on speaker?
Him: No.
Me: How far away are you?
Him: Round the corner.
Me: There are people rooting in a car out the front. They took the only car spot.
Him: Mmm. Yes. I see.
Me: The only thing to do is pull up out the front, right next to the black Volvo and all of you exit the car as noisily as possible. We need to scare them off. We need the car spot.
Him: Got it.
A minute later the Audi stopped with it’s passenger side door a metre from the action seat in the Volvo. Four doors opened at once and five people exited the vehicle like they were conducting a precision police raid. They opened the boot and retrieved the hand luggage. Much slamming of doors ensued.
Meanwhile Miss Volvo hastily dismounted and jumped over to her own seat. My oldest son got back in the Audi and moved the car a little to allow for a quick exit from the (I think unsatisfied) Volvo people. He expertly parked the Audi in the newly vacated car spot and we all headed through the house to toast a slightly classier view – the Sydney Harbour Bridge – with Tasmanian sparkling.
“A big Aussie welcome to The Harrises,” I said. “Australia is rooting for you.”
