Britain is a strange place. You have to pay to use the toilet at the train station. Fried blood and guts is served for breakfast. Page three girls and X-Factor rejects are classed as genuine celebrities. But despite this, an overwhelming majority of us choose to move to its capital – good ol’ London town – for a stint in its rat race (or more realistically, working off the books in a pub).

Although most of its local male population are poncy workaholics who suffer from alopecia, the cute way they say “yoghurt” and their ability to drink all other nationalities under the table often gets us Aussie hobos hot under the collar. Against all your instincts for evolutionary procreation, you may even find yourself wanting to bonk one.

British men are relatively easy to seduce, as aside from their annual package holiday to Majorca, sexual intercourse is the most exciting thing that ever happens to them. This gives you the opportunity to be selective, and by selective, I mean find a man with more money in his bank account than on his Oyster card. And because a Pom’s social class is primarily determined by what supermarket he shops in, this is a relatively easy task – just stand out the front of M&S Simply Foods and jump at the first bloke in a scarf.

Once you’ve spied someone shagworthy, it’s time to strike up a conversation. Being Australian in the UK is a massive novelty, so milk it for all it’s worth – do NOT fall into the trap of copying your target’s accent. To quote a British acquaintance of mine, “I’ve never met an Australian I wouldn’t have sex with.” This is even though our idea of culture is a tub of Yoplait, at least half of us voted for Tony Abbott and the only language we speak is English – and even that we do poorly.

When a Brit first hears your ocker drawl, he will disguise his admiration with a litany of convict jokes. Humour him, keeping in mind that while he attempts to rort you with his “banter”, he’s imagining you with a golden tan riding 15-footers. Poms find this image thrilling because a) the only sport they can play is cricket and b) they get sunburnt in temperatures greater than 3 degrees. Keep this fantasy alive by assuring your suitor that you surf, even if closest you ever get to the ocean is putting extra salt on your fish and chips.

Now that you’ve established yourself as an Aussie beach babe, it’s time to charm your way into his pants. We recommend the following:

Make a point of bringing up things you have in common at every opportunity. When he tells you how much he loves tea, mention how much you love being teabagged.

Try adding personal touches to your home-cooked meals – everyone knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. “Can I tempt you with some fresh black pudding, darling? I’ve just started menstruating.”

Showcase your playful side by taking full advantage of the difference between Australian and British English. Cut your leg shaving? Get him to take a look at your gash. Suffering from a bout of herpes? Ask him if he’s into spotted dick.

Brits love whinging about the weather, but sometimes they get carried away. Find ways to bring the conversation back to your vagina. “You think it’s wet in Somerset? You should look inside my pants.”

Soon enough, he should be harder than a stick of Blackpool rock and ready for some good old-fashioned missionary. Considering most Poms lose their virginity at age 13, he might actually be alright in bed, but if not, his post-coitus chat will probably make up for it. Because despite their shortcomings, British males are actually great value (and I don’t just mean because you can sell their nose hairs on the black market for thousands). Years of boarding school have left the majority of them with serious abandonment issues, meaning they are always super keen to take the first thing that comes along down the aisle (Camila Parker-Bowles, anyone?). Not only will you get loads of free food and booze at the wedding, but marrying a British citizen will ensure you don’t get deported the day your Tier 5 visa expires.

Before you know it, you will be wearing matching Christmas jumpers, eating frozen meals from Tesco’s together and spending your weekends in a country town so dull that its bypass was built first. True love, innit.