Returning to Australia after so many years living abroad, it’s surprisingly easy to get yourself into trouble. You forget about how tightly regulated a free country like Australia actually is, compared to the personal freedoms (some might say lawlessness) you’ve enjoyed in communist states like Vietnam or Muslim dictatorships like the Maldives.

I’ve forgotten some of the basic rules of being Australian, so now I’m always worried that I’m doing something wrong. I’m worried that I’m going to be fined for jaywalking, I go to organic produce markets and I hold onto my coffee cup because I’m scared of putting it in the wrong bin, and I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car for the past two weeks.

I walked past a police station last week with an open bottle of beer in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. The police didn’t even blink an eye, but I kept asking my Dad if we were going to be arrested.

Yesterday, I nearly copped a $200 fine for getting on the wrong train. I was waiting at Penrith station after a weekend at my brother’s house, and was relieved to see a train heading to Katoomba earlier than I expected. Better yet, it didn’t stop anywhere between Penrith and Katoomba. I didn’t realise anything was wrong until a ticket inspector told me I didn’t have a valid ticket. The inspector told me I was on a Countrylink train with a CityRail ticket, and had no excuse because there were signs everywhere telling me I was eligible for a $200 fine for doing just that. Well, there were no warning signs anywhere in Penrith station, not on the suburban platform where I boarded the train, or on the TV monitors or the announcements that the next train on platform 3 was going to Katoomba.

Fortunately, the ticket inspector could tell I hadn’t deliberately caught the wrong train just so I could enjoy the comfy airline seats, extra leg room or the bad, overpriced coffee from the dining car (do Australians still really drink Timms coffee bags? in 2008?). At least the inspector had enough personal discretion in his duties to let me off the fine — I’m not sure I would have had the same luck in on a train in Vietnam or India. The ticket inspector even waved me goodbye when I was the only passenger to get off in Katoomba. Good onya mate!