‘Can you help me?’ I asked. ‘I think my car’s been towed away, and my children don’t have any shoes’

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One of the first things we did after moving from the UK to Vancouver was buy a car. Unfortunately, I didn’t acquaint myself with the new road rules quite as quickly.

Which is to say, I didn’t know you aren’t allowed to park on busy streets after 3pm in Vancouver. Unaware and in a carefree summer mood, I parked outside an ice-cream shop and took my barefoot children in for a treat. We emerged a short time later, sticky and splattered in drops of raspberry, mint and chocolate, and found my car wasn’t there.

As a widower and a newly single father of three, Jim Rogers was struggling. Then on a poolside holiday, he sat next to Tyler – and his life changed

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In the mid 90s, I was in the prime of my life. I was in my early 30s, married to my soul mate, Lorna, with three kids under three. We’d emigrated from our small town in Worcestershire in the UK to Perth, and life was wonderful. Then Lorna was diagnosed with melanoma. We returned to England and less than a year later she was gone. It was completely unbelievable, as though someone had just come along and smashed my life into a million pieces.

The following months were a blur: I was a grief-stricken widower and newly single parent struggling to keep the kids’ life on track and my own head above water. As time went on, it was obvious I wasn’t doing well and my parents insisted on treating me to a holiday in the sun. I didn’t want to go.

Stavroula Adameitis, AKA Frida Las Vegas, is an Adelaide-based artist and designer known for her camp, pop art aesthetic. A typical work might feature palm trees, poodles, Greek pillars or bin chickens (Australian white ibises), sometimes all at once. Does it veer into kitsch? ‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘Nostalgia, colour and fun can be very energising, and the feeling we get from these objects in popular culture binds us together.’

The term kitsch comes from the German verkitschen, meaning ‘to cheapen’. In the 19th century it was deployed by elites to look down on the supposedly trashy vulgarity of art for the masses. ‘The idea still carries negative connotations,’ says Adameitis. In her new book, she invites us to stop sneering and start relishing Australia’s unparalleled genius for kitsch: ‘Good kitsch laughs with you not at you. It brings people along for the ride.’