You can tell a lot about a country from its loos. Visit any British public toilet and you have to wear boots to avoid the spillage, not to mention the need to cover your nose with a handkerchief.

It says much about Australia that on its biggest day of the year - Melbourne Cup day - Flemington racecourse can be packed with 130,000 people and the toilets remain in the same pristine state at the end of the afternoon as they were at the start of the morning - and that without the need for any cleaning staff.

It's not just the cleanliness of Flemington's loos which shows the contrast between Australians and Brits. What I saw yesterday at the Melbourne Cup is simply unimaginable in Britain: a crowd of 130,000 people, a majority of whom seemed to be well under 30, spending an afternoon in the sun drinking more or less non-stop, with almost no discernible police presence and with not the slightest hint of violence in the air. There is clearly something in the Australian psyche that breeds decent behaviour and the ability to have fun without tears.

The propensity of young British males - and, increasingly, females - to antisocial behaviour is one of the most troubling issues of our time. Australia was built on socialising one set of British thugs. How about simply rounding up all those under 30 with a caution or conviction and packing them off to Australia so the country can do the same for another generation of Brits?

It would certainly solve our problem. But Australia has done nothing to deserve such a punishment. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.

I'm in Australia on honeymoon. Here, first in New South Wales and now in Victoria, the friendliness and helpfulness one encounters everywhere is so outstanding that we can't stop remarking on it - even though Australian friends wonder what we are on about.

In one department store I needed a particular type of shirt. The assistant, despite working on commission, not only recommended another shop with a better range but then took me to the exit to point out the directions. In restaurants the waiters are unfailingly chipper.

What a contrast with Britain. We've all been stranded in a shop as an assistant carries on talking to her colleague rather than deigning actually to serve anyone. As for restaurants: last month we took my in-laws to one of the supposedly great British institutions as a thank-you. Le Gavroche was, once, the first seriously good British restaurant. Our experience there provided a microcosm, at huge expense, of British service attitudes: incompetent and surly waiters who had no idea about the food they served and who appeared to care even less.

We've eaten like royalty in Australia, at reasonable prices with stunning ingredients and wonderful staff. Mickey-taking British restaurants be warned: I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it from you any more.

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