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Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts

8 June 2009

Up the Duff... do yourself a favour!

OK. Sorry. No, really.
I just don't think sometimes...
I quite forget that we speak a whole different lingo down here than that enunciated throughout the rest of the world's allegedly English-speaking civilisation...
And I used the words "Up the Duff".
My humblest apologies for springing that little corker on you unannounced.
*tugs forelock while backing away*
I need to hastily explain that I was not being shockingly rude ...
(really really sorry Debby, hope you didn't choke on somethin')
when I wished my sister a Happy Up the Duffness.
I was actually wishing her a good pregnancy.
Up the Duff = Pregnant.
In Oz anyway.
I made the Duff-ness bit up.
Thought it was cute.
Silly me.
...
And being me, I shall now commence to pass on the blame for this whole fiasco to a certain Aussie comedian/artist/author (hell if someone can hang onto those three titles successfully, in the Land of the Tall Poppy, they deserve what's coming to them!).
Her name is Kaz Cooke.
(Kaz is Aussie for Karen, in case anyone is wondering. Still with me?)
And Kaz Cooke wrote a little old book about a decade ago that helped me (and a few gazillion other pregnant chicks) giggle their way through their nine months of an ever-expanding girth and terror of the end result.
The name of that ticklish tome?
Up the Duff.
In it Kaz unleashes her razor, warped Aussie wit (and kooky caricatures) to illustrate the various stages of pregnancy. The heroine is called Hermoine the Modern Girl who (coincidentally) finds herself pregnant. It's a riot. One line in particular sticks in my mind (eight years after reading it):
At this stage, your foetus resembles something like a crustacean made of snot.
Ah, it still tickles me.
This is Kaz.
Her caption under this photo on her website reads:
Absurdly flattering photograph of Kaz taken zillions of years ago.
Now she's quite ancient.
...
How can you not love her?
She has also written this little publication aimed at helping women with all girly issues from their first period (or as we charmingly referred to 'it' at boarding school, The Rags) to the last. I suspect Hermoine is at it again for this book...
Kid Wrangling is another I suspect I might do well to invest in - Lord knows I needed a laugh tonight when I discovered Dash and Violet had concocted enough glue (i.e. plain flour and water) to put the Ark back together. And I reckon Girl Stuff (about all things adolescent female) might be handy as Violet rockets towards those teenage years. Even if I just throw it at the boys trying to climb in the bedroom windows!
...
There are plenty of other riotous offerings (check her site out to see what tickles you) but this one caught my eye after a certain recent rant that took place on this blog.
I suspect Hermoine might not be a Botox fan...
but she is looking mighty perky here.
Hmmm... I shall just have to read it and get back to you.
...
So there we go.
That's my excuse and I am sticking with it:
I'm an Aussie and I read Kaz Cooke.
I can be blamed for nothing.
:-)

10 April 2009

The Bush 'Finger Wave' lesson

Most of you - having read the title of this post - will be expecting this content to be rude and obnoxious and a wee bit cranky.
Go on, admit it!
Really, you should know me better than that...
For today I bring you a special little lesson that will stand you in very good stead, should you ever find yourself smack bang in the middle of the Australian bush. Well, smack bang somewhere on a road, somewhere in the Australian Bush. Because I'm not sure koalas get much out of what I am about to share...
...
We'll start in the Big Smoke for The Great Bush Finger Wave Lesson.
(Hello Brisbane roads... you look nice from up here!)Now all the years I lived in the city, the only 'finger wave' I observed was employed by most drivers as an offensive move. You know... there you are happily minding your own business, trying to get into the correct lane before a major road exit at peak hour, and the person in the hotted up yellow Monaro behind you gives you the centre digit for daring to slow them down by 4 entire seconds. Not that I was overly pushy as a city driver. Well, not much. I was just fast and accurate. In my humble opinion. The joy of having been a journo is that all your senses get pretty numbed to abuse. I would always smile and blow the finger-waver a kiss. Works a treat. You can honestly see the steam coming out of their ears! *cackles evilly*
...
When we moved back to Granite Glen after I had been officially away from 'home' for well over two decades, I found an entirely different way of dealing with passing traffic.

For a start there's not so much of it.

(Duh, Bush Babe! I hear you say... I can hear you, so keep it clean, OK?)

And the scenery is much better - more peaceful and soothing.

It's not just the grass and trees and contented cows that lend country roads these qualities, it's the lack of billboards. The lack of people trying frantically to sell you stuff. The absence of billboards is really good for the brain and the soul. (Aside: I'm not much on hard-sell of anything really. Unless it involves someone dying if I don't listen. I'd just like to share that disclaimer!)

...

Anyway, it must be the lack of traffic and billboards, because out here, there is none of that middle-digit business going on behind the steering wheel.

It's more of an INDEX FINGER manoeuvre.

And it's like TOTALLY FRIENDLY.

Mr Incredible will demonstrate.

(He just loves being a hand model!)

Here is the scenario:

Say you see a car coming along the road towards you...but you don't really recognise the driver. However it could be someone you know. Or someone related to someone you know. Or a potential bull buyer/client. So you do this...

This signal says: "G'day!"

It says: "I acknowledge you, and your right to be sharing this road with me."

It says: "Hope you have a safe trip and a good day."

All that without lifting your palm from the wheel.

...

The second option is the number 2 Finger Wave...

Now this has a tad more energy to it.
This signal says: "G'day there mate, you are the man!"
(or woman, we don't discriminate)
It says: "Geez it's great to see you!"
And even possibly: "Let's have a beer together really soon!"
It's a great way to communicate - little effort for a good vibe all round. And for my shy, non-garrulous man, it's an excellent way to be friendly without actually having to go up to someone and make conversation. Because there is very little chance of him actually verbalising these last lot of statements... OK number three has a real chance, but the first two - no way!
...
So there it is.
Two easy moves for you to try on some unsuspecting locals on your roads.
Reckon you are up for it?

Even if your roads don't look like this!

Tell me how you fare...

Go in peace.

Bush Babe

6 April 2009

Being Demi Moore: for twits, British gits or cool as hell?

Brace yourselves: it's confession time again.
Forgive me my sins today, for I have joined the fray.

Despite being buried deep in the Aussie bush, miles from the merest hint of a mobile phone signal, I have joined Twitter. Have you already noticed the little (mostly one-way) conversations I have been having in the sidebar? Scroll on down to "Riding the Twitter Critter" or as I like to call it:

Being Demi Moore.
Of course I should state categorically that I am NOT Demi Moore. I may be brunette, but I am not nearly as interesting or buff, nor do I really wish to emulate her frantic twitter-pated life... although I must say that I wholeheartedly applaud the 'younger man' thing. Heh.
...
If you are up on the Twitter game, and more advanced in modern technology than I (let's face it, that would make you part of 95% of the world's human population!) you will already know that celeb couple Demi and Ashton Kutcher are 'hawt' professionals at the Twitter Game. The gossip mags hang on every strange staccato offering they tweet out into the world. And let's not forget that nasty bit of work, whatizname who went and dumped Jen again... and let the world know on Twitter. Nice. They post (what seems to be) to be the most inane twaddle, in cool code that most people over 30 couldn't possibly interpret to (I imagine) amuse themselves while waiting in lifts and after holding auditions, and generally mess with heads of the paparazzi in their vicinity. I don't have that tempting option as motivation for my own twitter twaddle (seeing as how my paparazzi followers are all closely related to me).
...
I do kinda like the fact I can update those of you who bother check in on my silly little bush blog - providing snippets that I don't really want to write a whole post about - stuff like the weather, and the washing and providing riveting mental images like:
Watching 20 to 1 and catching up on emails - now singing Sweet Transvestite loudly at my computer. It's not pretty!
and
Clear skies and sprinkler off versus jeans on the line and clean car - weather prediction anyone??
Because nothing sucks people in like imagining a 40-something woman getting all 'Rocky Horror Picture Show' in the office, or being asked to be a weather forecaster... I feel the need to paint a picture for you, to really colour in any romantic outline you have of my life!
...
And the excitement doesn't end there.
I can 'reply' to the people I am 'following', by clicking the arrow link after my friends' little pieces of witty repartee and starting my twitters with the '@' symbol... like this:
'@utahzen I KNOW... perhaps I need to wash the rotten thing more often! Lord knows we need the rain...'
or
'@thepioneerwoman you rode a horse?? You are pulling our legs!!'
...
That's right.
I can pretend that I am talking to famous people and fellow Twitterers like The Pioneer Woman and Dooce and John Cleese.
No, seriously. John Cleese!
My favourite Python of all, whose twitters I imagine being uttered with a marvellous clipped British accent. Possibly accompanied by a silly walk.
Of course Ree and Heather and John don't actually twitter me back (having 11, 843 and 325, 010 and 129,054 followers respectively to keep twittered up) but they might.
One day.
And that would really give me something to blog, wouldn't it?
...
Cause Lord knows how I am going to keep my, er, 7 followers entertained otherwise...

So be brave and Twitter me back, my sweets.
Or not.
I'll still love ya!
In ridiculous-yet-heartfelt twitter-twaddle
@BB

(Your technologically challenged but game-for-anything bush blogger)

14 March 2009

Aussie humour and My Man

When I first met Mr Incredible, I was taken by many things.
By his eyes - blue and clear and direct;
His imposing height - six foot two with a very upright posture;
His slow smile - a rare grin that reached all the way to those baby blues and took my breath;
and his ability to just BE.
Without feeling the need to show off or impress anyone.
My world was full of show offs.
They left me cold.
I was taken by this man's sure, laidback, understated approach.
...
But the very things that attracted me to Mr Incredible, apparently scared the bejeezus out of others. I recall one of his mate's girlfriends cornering me soon after we started going out. Mr I's house was always being taken over by his mates and entourage, which sometimes didn't thrill him. He would get this stern don't-bother-approaching-me look about him. This girl, looking over her shoulder furtively, asked me in a low nervous voice if I wasn't, well, a bit frightened of him?
Ummm, No, I replied.
(Would I go out with someone that scared me? Seriously?)
...
The fact is I grew up with hard-working, tough, non-emotional men.
And I worked with blokes who thought they were pretty tough
and tried to prove it often.
I knew Mr Incredible could be stern and non-smiling
and inscrutable like no-one's business.
Usually when he was around people who didn't impress him much.
He never said anything negative.
He just hung back and let them prove him right.
Call me crazy, but I kinda liked that.
...
I recall this today, because my father related a short story this afternoon that not only illustrates how my sometimes-stern husband comes across to others, but also the fabulous sense of humour of your average Aussie bushie...
...
Apparently Dad had run into one of riders who had done the campdraft school with Mr Incredible a couple of weeks ago. So, in the course of the conversation, Dad asked this bloke what he thought of my hubby.
...
The guy (deadpan) replies:
Put it this way, mate...
If I found him in bed with my missus...
Well...
I'd just tuck him in!!!
...
For the record, I roared with laughter when I heard this.
As did Mr Incredible.

4 January 2009

Christmas Food: seriously good tucker

We hosted Christmas for Mr Incredible's family this year... you may recall?
...
And among the many challenges for this "laid-back" housekeeper was the food.
The prospect of feeding 21 people for 3-4 days, with an additional 20 on Boxing Day, freaked the heck out of me. After having a minor mental meltdown as I tried to add up and plan for such numbers and work out how that amount of food would cram into our fridges, I did one massively smart thing: I hired a coldroom. This is basically a refrigerated room on wheels. I loved that coldroom. And not just because it was a great place to retreat to when the temps hit the 40s and the noise levels in the Granite Glen house hit ear-splitting...
...
Mr Incredible's family are foodies. I always thought I loved food until I met him. And them. Really, I had no idea. These guys take the gastronomic appreciation to new heights. You can actually measure the time since I met my hubby by the kilos I have gained... antipastos, Spanish tapas, authentic Asian curries cooked from scratch, rich Indian dishes and excellent English pub food. It was courtship by dining. Seduction by tastebud. And I loved it.
...
So having this family here for the Festive celebrations meant that some seriously good tucker was needed. Essential actually. So I called on each of my guests to help - Gwen brought the fruit: succulent mangoes and cherries, sweet nectarines and grapes, kiwifruit and massive watermelons.
She also did the magic plum pudding and accompanying rum cream sauce (is it any wonder my hubby forgot he hated sultanas momentarily?).
SIL P brought a city array of cheeses, crackers, dips and nibbles. And excellent biccies (cookies for you Americans!). Oh, and she did the ham too...
SIL K provided some fresh vegetables & salad items as well as some outstanding themed sweet items.
And SIL A did the incredible cheesecakes, provided five dozen fresh eggs and whipped up innumerable delicacies during her stay. I actually DID cook a little - my pesto sauce for everything was a hit.
Hey, I take my victories where I find 'em people!
This coral trout (isn't she gorgeous... even dead!)
provided a great foil for the other rich food. We baked it in the barbecue with lemon and dill. Divine.
And this is my brother-in-law R. He is a fisherman. He was therefore in charge of dividing fish and bones.
We all loved him for taking on this job.
And here is just part of the Christmas Day smorgasboard.
Smashed potatoes, steamed green beans, cauliflower and broccoli cheese (foreground), roast pork, crackling (the crunchy rind from the pork), glazed ham and baked fish (background).
...
Of course, there was Boxing Day (for 41) to cater for next. We had to move to the carport for that feast... and from the coldroom (and kitchen) we produced:

Salads galore!

And seafood, baby! Prawns and Moreton Bay Bugs.
Mmmm. Moreton Bay Bugs are my all-time favourite seafood.
My mouth is watering just looking at this photo...

Every single morsel got eaten.
...
Of course, while the meals are a major part of my Christmas memories, I'm not sure the same can be said for our son...
Methinks this could be one of his mental pictures of the Festive Season...
And this...
For a six-year-old all the Moreton Bay Bugs in the world are no match for a Nintendo DS.
*sigh*
...
What was your Christmas highlight?

2 December 2008

Courage...

I've been thinking a lot about courage lately.
It's a word with many meanings.
It comes in many forms.
It inspires, it intimidates, it empowers.
...
I have seen courage up close and personal since I can remember.
My father wears his courage like a whip.

A natural part of him, quietly coiled upon his shoulder until needed to CRACK someone (himself or others) into action. It's something he has never let go of. He cannot. He will not.
...

As I walked into the world, my chosen work (in the media) forced me into uncomfortable proximity to the kind of courage that made the news.

The kind of courage that destroys and scars in the name of honour.
The variety shown in terminally ill children that brings world-weary rock stars to their knees.
The kind that sought attention for their cause, braving the threat of scorn.
...
Still later, as my world shrank down into a family of my own, my son taught me so much more about courage that the sum total of those that had come before.

His brand of courage saw him stalwart in the face of unimaginable, inexplicable, inconsolable pain. To emerge victorious.
Uncowed.
Bright-eyed.
His courage is innate and unconscious.
Spontaneous. Apparent just in living.
Even though he doesn't yet understand his own brand of courage.
...
And my darling Violet (TLW)...
whose courage is in her strength of will...
an intimidating weapon she has yet to master.
Her courage is also in her choices of accessory...
And her conviction that shoes must ALWAYS be on the wrong feet.
...
I have been honoured to stand by friends who have invited me to help them document a time when they were forced to find that unspeakable courage to let go.
When letting go...

...was the last thing they ever wanted to do.

..
And lately I have been inspired and wrenched by more courage.

From people I have never met.
People I may never meet.

(Although not if I can help it).
...

People like Alison...

Who has risen above the ashes of almighty tragedy, not once, but twice.

Able to poetically share her story, her kewl kids, her journey.

Able to still breathe.

And to live with understanding and hope in her heart.

...

And people like the beautiful Debby.
A woman who lives at the other end of the earth from me.
Yet whose life seems intertwined somehow with mine.
Whose words I inhale daily.
Whose courage and eloquence and raw ferocity in the face of her current foe floors me.
(Her incredible generosity is another story, for another post, another day.)
...
For Al and Deb and the countless others who find the courage to share their tales (both happy and sad and tragic and joyful) to inspire us all ...
Thankyou.

This last image is for Alison.

Just because she loves it.

And it's all I can really offer her at the moment.

...

Here is a quote offered by Scotty (thanks!) which must be shared:

Courage doesn't always roar.

Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says

I'll try again tomorrow.

~Mary Anne Radmacher

29 October 2008

Language Lesson: acceptable swearing

In response to Kate's fabulous response to my Mystery Photo on Friday - in particular her question over the use of the word "bugger" - I decided to share an ad which illustrates the perceived "acceptability" of this particular word in this country.

It's an old (2007) Toyota TV ad with a very Strine take...

(Non-Aussies should be aware that we have a slightly sick sense of humour Down Under. Be-ware!)

I have to admit, having grown up in a household where there was quite strict monitoring of questionable words and investigations into the true meaning of such words (hello Mum!), this particular one still has the power to make me cringe slightly.

After being beaten around the head by it in this ad, however, it just becomes funny. Well, it did to me. But as has been thoroughly established, my humour sits on the darker side of 'normal'. There are a series of these ads on You-Tube if you are keen to be pummelled some more. Go on. It's fun!

So yes Kate, in my experience, Aussies these days (generally) tend to use the word Bugger as a pseudo (acceptable) swear word. But try not to say it 'round my Mum, OK?

I am intrigued however, to know YOUR take on this particular word, dear reader...

BB Questions:

1. What is your acceptable (in my head I am doing a Super Nanny impression... ass-septable) swear word?

2. Is "bugger" acceptable in everyday speech in your house?

3. If you are Australian, do you agree or disagree with my call on this one?

In anticipation!

23 July 2008

Speakin' the Lingo - Strine Users' Guide

The Great Aussie tongue...

It has come to my attention (almost daily!) that there is a fair gap between the Aussie language and that spoken in the good ol’ US of A. And probably the rest of the English-speaking world…

And as my readers (hello you lot!) are almost half-and-half (Yanks and Aussies, with a few Kiwis and Canadians thrown into the mix) I thought it might be appropriate to follow on from this earlier effort in bridging the language barrier we seem to face. This is to be an interactive post – pinching some definitions I posted earlier and adding a few I've gathered from queries over the past couple of months. I'll start, and then you suggest more and/or correct the previous offerings, and I’ll add to the below list as we go.

Let’s see what kind of fabulous 'Strine User’s Guide we end up with!

SWEARING - The first thing is that NOT ALL Aussies swear. We seem to have a reputation for foul language but really, we are pretty much like anywhere else in the world. Gordon Ramsay was interviewed here recently and was aghast that Aussies could criticize his language. “For F***’s sake, it’s bloody AUSTRALIA!” he bellowed. Sure Gordon, and I do love your work, but seriously, we DON’T ALL SWEAR! The “Ocker” or exaggerated Aussies (like the characters Paul Hogan plays) come across as rough and ready in a deeper shade of blue. And there are some Aussies like that – they are generally known as “characters” or when particularly rough around the edges “real characters’.

But plenty of others are much more civilized. Like my Ma. She doesn’t swear. At all. There was that one time she said “Witch Bitch” when the proverbial had really hit the fan one day, but I don’t think we can count that, do you? Shocked the pants off me, but I recovered. And I cannot imagine Nicole Kidman talking trash, or our GG Quentin Bryce. Or our PM even. So no, we don’t all swear.

Me? I do swear on occasion. The odd “bloody” is very effective as an exaggerative device (is that even a word?) provided you don’t overdo it. For example: “That was a good show” versus “That was a bloody good show”. For impact, the latter wins hands down for me. My grandmother would lecture with a cheeky finger: “That means “By Our Lady, young woman” and it’s taking the Queen’s name in vain!”(The Queen or the Virgin Mary, one of the two!) I rarely use the F word. And certainly never the C word. My Mum did have some influence on me. (OK, there is the odd occasion if SSB has been swearing a bit much, and no kids are in earshot, where I will pepper my sentences with the F word just to shock my hubby into some manners again. He hates it when I swear!! Heh heh!).

This said, some of the words below will resemble swear words. Be warned.

I have also addressed some other words that clash (between our fine nationalities) and ones that have needed to explain on this blog. And this is an interactive thing, so I’ll post up the best suggestions and additions right here. These are in vaguely alphabetical order unless relevance overtakes.

Ready? Grab a cuppa and let's get this party started!

ALFALFA
Aussie – little tiny sprouts one uses in sandwiches, salads and garnishes.
American –the crop which makes good fodder hay (and which Aussies call LUCERNE).

.

BASTARD - can be a term of endearment or defamation, depending on it's usage. For example, "You are a bit of a bastard" is a real put-down. On the other hand, "You are a complete bastard" can be quite a compliment.

.

BITUMEN
Aussie for a sealed road (the hot tar and blue metal mix) or as Americans call it: Black Top or asphalt. Not to be confused with “bitchin’” which is a great Aussie pastime and also a positive descriptive. As in Bitchin’ Bitumen. And if you are used to driving on dirt roads, almost all bitumen is bitchin’.
.
BLOKE – Aussie man, in parody often seen in stubbie shorts and thongs (flip-flops) but can be disguised as businessmen, stockmen (cowboys), and sometimes prime ministers.

.

BOB'S YOUR UNCLE - everything is OK, fixed. As in "I'll just finished tightening this screw and Bob's your uncle!".

BUSH – this does not refer to an American President or the nether regions of a female, but to the regions of Australia beyond suburbia. Those talking about ‘The Bush’ usually refer to areas which boast the presence of animal life such as emus, dingoes, cattle, sheep, camels etc. In typical Aussie irony, it does NOT necessarily include any evidence of foliage.
.
BUSHED - can mean either lost (I'm afraid we seem to be bushed), letting go (I bushed that horse yesterday (put it out in the paddock) or very tired (Geez, you looked bushed).
.
BUSH PIG - possibly one of the most derogatory terms one can use towards a female. "She's a real bush pig" means a very rough woman who takes little care of herself and is possibly a bit aggressive. There are such things as bush pigs (in the animal sense) or wild pigs which are very big, very hairy, very scary creatures. I guess one can see the correlation?
.

CHOOKS – Aussie for chickens, or hens. It’s the sound they make: chook, chook, chook, chook-ook!
.

GOOGS - that which chooks lay: eggs, or googy eggs. I have no idea how this one came about? Anyone?
.
CANUCKS - refers to Canadians, apparently. Not much in use Down Under (yet?). We just call 'em Canadians, or if we want to be really offensive, Yanks. (Sorry guys, but I challenge you to pick a Kiwi from an Aussie!). All Canadians are welcome to comment about what they like to be called!
.

COBB & CO – a transport service from early European settlement in Australia. (Founded by four Americans!). Consisted mainly of horse-drawn vehicles which would take passengers from all walks of life to destinations of all sizes, both urban and remote. Much of the routes and coach stops have now vanished, but some of the actual coaches and the occasional hut now feature in, or been turned into, museums.
.

COBB & CO (hitch) – a method of connecting wire to tighten and firmly hold something in place. Usually simply referred to as a ‘Cobb and Co’.
DRIZABONE – an oilskin raincoat, originally designed by a Scottish sailor, used mostly by horsemen (and women). I imagine it is taken from the words “Dry as a Bone”. It is heavy with a split in the back allowing the rider to sit astride his/her mount easily. Aside – if you want to see how much Aussies revere their sporting heroes, check this catalogue out featuring cricketer Brett Lee and rugby star Stephen Larcombe (see Wallabies). We take the worship of sports stars to new levels.
.
DUCK's NUTS/Guts - excellent, giving someone or something a real rap: You are the Duck's nuts!
.
FAIR DINKUM - the real deal, honest, absolutely true. A fair dinkum person is one you can trust. Can also be used as a question: Fair dinkum? as in Are you having a go at me?.
.
FAIR SUCK OF THE SAV - an incredulous expression: Fair suck of the sav? as in Are you for real, mate?
.
FLAT OUT (LIKE A LIZARD DRINKING) - very busy, and often too busy to put in the part in brackets!! Can be a sarcastic comment also, as in "He's flat out (on the couch!)".
.
JOE BLAKE - (rhyming slang) a snake.

.
HINEY – caused this Aussie enormous confusion til it was explained that this is American for rear end, butt, anywhere from your belly button to your mid-thigh region. In Australia this section is known as the “backside” (and the front section, the *ahem* “fanny” region. So please stop using 'fanny' around Aussies, we will snicker every time. The name Fanny Mae is particularly amusing for some reason. Except, I spose, if you are an investor!)

.

MATE – a special title bestowed up those who have proven their loyalty, integrity and (in the case of blokes) ability to throw a few cold ones down with you in times of need. As in "Good on ya, mate!".

.
MILES – distance measure once used to measure Cobb and Co routes, but almost completely unused in Aussie language these days, except as a superlative – “that thing is miles too big!” We have metric measures here, folks. (You know, the ones that superseded the old imperial system?)
.
OCKER - extreme Aussie character, who invokes the infamous Cultural Cringe in his/her fellow Australians.
.
PISS UP – involves lots of alcohol (usually beer, and not that pansy warm stuff served in England, or trendy pale stuff marketed as ‘non-fattening’ – little respect is paid to drinkers who worry about their weight. It’s un-Australian!). Also known as “on the grog” and “throwing a few back”. Admittedly not a term often used by Aussies with any 'culture' but by those tending to Ocker (see above). The chardonnay set are more likely to refer to similar activities as "drinks" or "having friends over, darling!".
.
RECKON – think or guess, as in “I reckon that will be enough beer in that glass”. OK That’s hardly ever a usage for this word. But you get the drift.
.

GET THE DRIFT – Catch my meaning, get the hint etc.
.
RM WILLIAMS – a brand name for high quality (and relevantly priced!) clothing, footwear and horse-type gear. RM boots are quite famous – riding boots made from a single piece of leather with elasticized sides. (Our boot rack is overflowing with old RM boots.) Now worn by punters as much as a fashion statement as riding wear. The name of this company comes from the man who founded it – Reginald Murray Williams. He also lent his name to the Australia Stockmen’s Hall of Fame in Longreach. I met him once – I was young and impressionable, and he was an extremely charming old man and (I'm guessing) quite a handful in his day.
.
SHEILA – a truly terrible word referring to Aussie women. Don’t use it, certainly never to someones face, especially if you are hoping for a half decent cuppa (usually tea or instant coffee). Not quite as bad as Bush Pig though.

SMOKO - nothing to do with cigarettes (well, not so much anymore) and more to do with a small meal - morning or afternoon 'tea'. In a good Aussie bush home, your hostess might offer you tea or coffee with scones or pikelets (and lashings of jam and cream!).
.
STUBBLE JUMPER - (Canadian) someone from the prairies

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TAKING THE PISS – an extremely Australian pastime, especially in the more regional areas where we must amuse ourselves more (less access to PS2 and malls). Involves telling very tall tales with an extremely straight face and seeing just how gullible the nearest visitor (townie, Pom or Yank) really is. All family members must be able to survive ‘having the piss taken’ (i.e. displaying a sense of humour about oneself), and will graduate to taking the piss when the sacred moment arrives (as decreed by an older sibling or cousin). Does not involve drug testing. Does not involve urinating.
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TAKING A LEAK does involve urinating.
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HAVING A GO (at you) – see Taking the Piss. Can take the form ‘Having a lend (of you)’.
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HAVING A QUIET ONE - involves alcohol in initially low-noise-level surroundings.
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TAKING THE MICKEY – see Taking the Piss
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YANK – with great apologies to all Americans, this refers to you. It does not matter which state of your great nation you hail from – to us you are as one, and you are all Yanks. Do not take offence, it is usually meant with enormous affection. When we are taking the piss (see above) this reference can take on the rhyming slang offshoot: Septic Tank. Some connection here with "yank your chain" and taking the piss (above)? We still love you (see ‘Good Sport’ below!).

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POM – also known as “Bloody Poms”. Read above definition, filling in “Pom” for “Yank”. We know that to you, we are all just convicts and we are happy to be good sports about that, as long as we thrash you in the cricket (or tennis, or rugby, or aerial skiing, whatever that is). Winning at sport is our revenge. Never forget it!

WALLABIES - not only a form of wildlife (like a small kangaroo) one of Australia's world-beating sporting teams, in possibly the most important game of all (and the one they play in Heaven!): Rugby Union. Full of hulking good sorts and the odd doctor and lawyer.

and finally:

GOOD SPORT – the most important characteristic to have whether you are an Aussie, Pom, Yank, Kiwi etc etc. Doesn’t matter where you are from, as long as you can handle us “taking the piss”*, you’re officially a Good Sport, and all right with us.

OK Kids, your turn to drive ... let me have it!! I promise to be a good sport!

BB

PS Karen alerted me to a great little online dictionary Aussie Slang - but try not to cheat!!

10 July 2008

Trees and me...

A little conversation doing the rounds lately has involved trees. Shirley at Rhubarb Whine suggested she might be a willow (if she were a tree) and that I might be a gum. One could suggest that imbibing a more grass-like substance be required to make this kinda mental leap... not that I would know!
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So I got to thinking about trees. Now I like trees as much as the next person (being keen on oxygen and not minding a little wildlife and all that) but possibly not to the tree-hugging level of arbour ardour.
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I like trees in moderation - enough for birds and koalas to have habitat paths, for wallabies to shelter amongst and cattle to gather under in very hot weather, and in higher country, in the colder weather. I like the timber that comes from trees. I like using paper products, printing my photos onto printing card, walking on my polished timber floors.
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But, as in many things in life, bigger is not necessarily better. More is not an improvement on plenty already. In the bush, landowners often have massive resistance to clearing trees to allow pasture development. If it weren't so horrific to live with (read here: I get to do some of that god-forsaken paperwork!) it would be funny.
Cause baby, we got trees!

Like the proverbial hairs on a cat's back...

Very few places actually that are NOT covered in trees, here at Granite Glen.
Of course, I do have a soft spot for some particular types of tree.

Like the stern ironbarks that line the road to our house. Even in the soft fog they are like rough-faced sentries guarding the entry. You wouldn't mess with a person, if they were an ironbark kinda individual.

We have amazing bottle trees that live high above frost lines and in richer (and sometimes that blessed redder) soil. They are amazing, flamboyant, dramatic trees. So precise and intriguing they are like giant bonsais. These are artists, performers, actors these particular trees.

But if I had to choose a tree that I resembled... it would probably be a blue gum.

I'm not slender and elegant like the spotted gums that line the ridges of the horizons here.

Nor neat and contained like the wonderful, broad-leafed kurrajongs.

I kinda spread and shed, sometimes lean and embrace my surroundings and generally fail to follow any kind of order whatsoever.

I like being near watering holes (oh yes, H20 or chardonnay, take your pick!). Blue gums are always found close by a ready water supply.

Getting caught up in the reflections of my mind, and the shimmering images of those around me.

I'm solid and you can depend on me to be there... I'm rooted well and truly to the piece of ground I have chosen. Just like a big ol' blue gum.

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Now I am s'posed to do other stuff. But I'm not gonna. I'm not good at rules and regulations. So I'm just going to tag the following people (if they feel like navel-gazing into their trunks for a bit). Jeanie, PW, Deb, Remudamom and Trace. And anyone else who swings by.

What tree are you? Tell me here or at your place.

I'd really like to know.

BB