I received a gift not long after we arrived in Australia and in preparation for our forthcoming house move, I unearthed it in a kitchen drawer clear out.
My 'Australian Slang Dictionary for All International Visitors' brought many a smile and guffaw to me when I was first given it and even now, way past being an "international visitor", I continue to have my favourites.
Although I'm trying to get my slang upto scratch, there's just something really Pommy about me still. Some of the words used here just don't go with a UK accent. When I'm pleased about something, I'll try and get with it and say 'awesome' and when I'm in a forgiving mood, I put out the familiar and well-used phrase of 'no worries.'
But I just don't have the twang that carries it off to make it sound bearable. My 'awesome' is 'orsum' not 'aarsam' and my 'no worries' is more 'no wurries' more than the native 'naaaa waarrrries'.
I can't wait to get my Aussie tongue either but I've been told when you're past 30, it's unlikely you ever will. Unlike my seven year old who's getting more like a local every day with his twang and terminology.
A lot of the entries in my Aussie Slang Dictionary are old hat to me. For many years, I've been using the likes of "have a gander" for taking a look, "in the sticks" when referring to remote areas and even "get a wriggle on" which means to hurry up. Lots of the unprintable ones make me smile and some of the more tame one-liners focus on fruit loops (crazy people) and shark biscuits (new surfers).
I'm also finding a difference between the newspaper styles of UK and Oz. Back in Leader-land, a news in brief could go something like...
"EARLIER this week, a drunken man disgraced himself as he went out to stock up on provisions.
Upon arrival at the off-licenced service station, the man with obvious false teeth helped himself to a sausage sandwich after which he became severely ill.
The attending cashier became confused at the man's extremely odd behaviour and after asking for the cash owed, the man fled in the direction of waiting relatives.
This underhanded act caused serious aggravation for the young sales assistant who remained annoyed for the remainder of the day."
If I was working for an Australian newspaper, the same piece would probably ring to the tune of....
"JUST this week, a dude as full as a boot rocked up at the local servo and bottle-o to grab a slab and some moo juice.
A liquid laugh later, the galah showed off his graveyard chompers as he sunk them into a snag sango.
Like a pickpocket at a nudist camp, the sheila on duty asked him for the moolah but the hoon took off with a lead foot towards his rellies.
This shonky act yanked the chain of the sales assistant who stacked on a big old bluey for the rest of the arvo."
Funny as.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Monday, 21 September 2009
Back on the treadmill
WITH age comes illness so it's coming as no surprise to me - now I have to get my hand in my pocket and pay for medical attention - that things are not seeming quite right.
It's probably just the timing of it all but since I've taken a change in job, I've started twingeing in all the wrong places. I know I'm a bit of a hypochondriac at times but for the past month or two, I've been putting up with these aches and pains on the understanding they'll diminish once all the newfound muscles I now find myself using have got to grips with the strain I'm putting them under.
An initial consultation with the chiropractor last week brought to light that I have a fallen arch in my left foot and after a bit of poking and prodding around, she referred me to trot off for some X-rays so she knew what she was working with in time for the next appointment.
From this I have just returned, after a quick Chai Latte catch up on the coast with a friend and her mum, with whom I relayed the story. The doctor taking the pictures was a lovely guy. A true easygoing fun to be around Aussie who led me into his department of camera equipment and showed me to a changing room that would make Mr Benn's look like a palatial mansion. In this tiny but bijou room, I had to wrestle off my boots and 15 other items of clothing and jewellery while competing for space with a chair and a box of disposable gowns.
I was told to leave just one item of my clothing on and we all know what that is... but after closer inspection of the gown with its severe lack of rear fastenings, I was a tad horrified and wished I'd opted for a bigger set of underwear for this appointment.
It's not easy having to stand pretty much spreadeagled against a white screen with your nose pointed north, both hands on your head and your dignity left outside the door.
While I was being contorted into all sorts of positions to get the best shot of my spine, all I could think of was how much (or how little) this guy was getting an eyeful of behind (literally).
He probably wasn't even looking at all, it was just my overactive imagination I guess, but trying to have a dignified conversation with someone you just met and wearing nothing but a piece of Jaycloth had me in cringetastic mood.
But what a nice guy he was. After I'd climbed back into my gear, he had developed the negatives and was taking a quick peek at them before slotting them in an envelope for me to take away for chiropractic inspection.
At one point during the photography, he asked me to open my mouth as wide as I could and he clicked away. I thought he was winding me up initially but when I saw the picture of that shot, all became clear.
Through an open moosh, an X-ray can pick out the tiny bone that holds your head onto your spine. Doc was telling me of countless stories of people who have damaged this bone unbeknowns to them, either as a result of diving or car accidents, and years later go along for routine chiro sessions, only to be leaving the couch as a quadriplegic patient.
A simple check of the intact state of this bone then allows chiro to work wonders and crack bones where they see fit to send their patients on the road to recovery, not a wheelchair.
I'm not ready to be heading for the scrapheap just yet, I just want to make sure I'm in tip top condition to be filling skips in the months that follow while renovations at our first Aussie property get underway.
And I thought my days on the barrow were over...
It's probably just the timing of it all but since I've taken a change in job, I've started twingeing in all the wrong places. I know I'm a bit of a hypochondriac at times but for the past month or two, I've been putting up with these aches and pains on the understanding they'll diminish once all the newfound muscles I now find myself using have got to grips with the strain I'm putting them under.
An initial consultation with the chiropractor last week brought to light that I have a fallen arch in my left foot and after a bit of poking and prodding around, she referred me to trot off for some X-rays so she knew what she was working with in time for the next appointment.
From this I have just returned, after a quick Chai Latte catch up on the coast with a friend and her mum, with whom I relayed the story. The doctor taking the pictures was a lovely guy. A true easygoing fun to be around Aussie who led me into his department of camera equipment and showed me to a changing room that would make Mr Benn's look like a palatial mansion. In this tiny but bijou room, I had to wrestle off my boots and 15 other items of clothing and jewellery while competing for space with a chair and a box of disposable gowns.
I was told to leave just one item of my clothing on and we all know what that is... but after closer inspection of the gown with its severe lack of rear fastenings, I was a tad horrified and wished I'd opted for a bigger set of underwear for this appointment.
It's not easy having to stand pretty much spreadeagled against a white screen with your nose pointed north, both hands on your head and your dignity left outside the door.
While I was being contorted into all sorts of positions to get the best shot of my spine, all I could think of was how much (or how little) this guy was getting an eyeful of behind (literally).
He probably wasn't even looking at all, it was just my overactive imagination I guess, but trying to have a dignified conversation with someone you just met and wearing nothing but a piece of Jaycloth had me in cringetastic mood.
But what a nice guy he was. After I'd climbed back into my gear, he had developed the negatives and was taking a quick peek at them before slotting them in an envelope for me to take away for chiropractic inspection.
At one point during the photography, he asked me to open my mouth as wide as I could and he clicked away. I thought he was winding me up initially but when I saw the picture of that shot, all became clear.
Through an open moosh, an X-ray can pick out the tiny bone that holds your head onto your spine. Doc was telling me of countless stories of people who have damaged this bone unbeknowns to them, either as a result of diving or car accidents, and years later go along for routine chiro sessions, only to be leaving the couch as a quadriplegic patient.
A simple check of the intact state of this bone then allows chiro to work wonders and crack bones where they see fit to send their patients on the road to recovery, not a wheelchair.
I'm not ready to be heading for the scrapheap just yet, I just want to make sure I'm in tip top condition to be filling skips in the months that follow while renovations at our first Aussie property get underway.
And I thought my days on the barrow were over...
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Time will tell
THERE are some advantages to coming to live out in Australia.
Because the UK television channel here is so far behind in its running schedule, we this week watched the first aired episode of Gavin and Stacey.
UK audiences raved about this show that focusses on a young Londoner and a Welsh girl who spend hours on the phone and finally meet up in the capital and follows their love story with its hilarities along the way down the prenuptial aisle.
Listening to friends rave on about the series, I've always felt I'd missed out by not catching the show in the UK so I'm glad we've been given a reprieve to finally grab a glimpse of it, even if we are on the other side of the world.
Another favourite we caught on Friday night was a Graham Norton show. Now this type of chat show is relatively timeless, apart from the current topics he touches on, but on Friday's show he was wearing a poppy, re-enforcing the message that we're at least 10 months behind the show's original TV debut.
As the warmer weather creeps up on us, I'm feeling that the gogglebox won't be tuned into half as much as it has been over past weeks and I'm considering building up the courage to mention us cancelling the Foxtel satellite contract for the time being.
Since we've had the puppy, he's providing more than enough entertainment for us. Recently, we were more than amused at the sight of the dog knawing his way through a bone. We were advised by friends and fellow dog-owners that while he's still a pup, we have to be able to play our parts as "pack leaders" and be able to get whatever we have to from the vice-like grip of his jaw. Doubly amusing was the sight of husband attempting to get the thing off him.
Totally unprepared for the growling and grizzly reception he got, husband was shocked to see as much of the dog's teeth as the white's of his eyes - all mad and fury-filled - so armed himself accordingly for the task with a rolled up newspaper and the end of the vacuum cleaner.
The week after, he was MORE than dressed for the event, sporting three jackets, full faced helmet and a pair of welding gloves. This, we now have to do on a weekly basis, otherwise we'll have problems in the future with him getting all territorial over his food.
Can't wait for next week!
Because the UK television channel here is so far behind in its running schedule, we this week watched the first aired episode of Gavin and Stacey.
UK audiences raved about this show that focusses on a young Londoner and a Welsh girl who spend hours on the phone and finally meet up in the capital and follows their love story with its hilarities along the way down the prenuptial aisle.
Listening to friends rave on about the series, I've always felt I'd missed out by not catching the show in the UK so I'm glad we've been given a reprieve to finally grab a glimpse of it, even if we are on the other side of the world.
Another favourite we caught on Friday night was a Graham Norton show. Now this type of chat show is relatively timeless, apart from the current topics he touches on, but on Friday's show he was wearing a poppy, re-enforcing the message that we're at least 10 months behind the show's original TV debut.
As the warmer weather creeps up on us, I'm feeling that the gogglebox won't be tuned into half as much as it has been over past weeks and I'm considering building up the courage to mention us cancelling the Foxtel satellite contract for the time being.
Since we've had the puppy, he's providing more than enough entertainment for us. Recently, we were more than amused at the sight of the dog knawing his way through a bone. We were advised by friends and fellow dog-owners that while he's still a pup, we have to be able to play our parts as "pack leaders" and be able to get whatever we have to from the vice-like grip of his jaw. Doubly amusing was the sight of husband attempting to get the thing off him.
Totally unprepared for the growling and grizzly reception he got, husband was shocked to see as much of the dog's teeth as the white's of his eyes - all mad and fury-filled - so armed himself accordingly for the task with a rolled up newspaper and the end of the vacuum cleaner.
The week after, he was MORE than dressed for the event, sporting three jackets, full faced helmet and a pair of welding gloves. This, we now have to do on a weekly basis, otherwise we'll have problems in the future with him getting all territorial over his food.
Can't wait for next week!
Monday, 7 September 2009
Gluttons for punishment
ONCE again, we find ourselves on the property ladder. Right on the bottom rung again but for now, that's the way it needs to be.
Slowly but surely, we've spent recent months building up some sort of credit history that proves we're capable of becoming land owners Down Under. So we've viewed a couple of beauties - out of our price range it has to be said - so the one we've bought is a place that needs a bit of an overhaul.
It was built just ten years ago but by whom, I cannot begin to imagine. The place has the same design as one of the shoeboxes I am now more than familiar with bearing in mind my new line of work, and whoever bought this place was always going to have to have a keen eye and a whole heap of vision. T'da .. enter stage right, the Pughs and their never-ending "love" for dust, muck and hard work.
Just a two or three minute car ride away from where we are now is where our new place stands. A single storey three bedroomed place that's crying out for an extension and pool instalment. It's nothing like the house I've dreamed of owning out here, but in time, we will be able to mould it exactly to those thoughts that featured so prominently in my pre-emigration mind. And unusual for round these parts, it comes on a decent sized block with plenty of north-facing back garden (north is good for us!)
For the past month, I've picked up pieces of paper and backs of used envelopes that feature the new look designs of our new gaff. Husband is the king of scribbling and over the years, I've seen enough of his pen to paper mindwork to stuff a mattress. He's itching to get out of this rented place and start work on a place we can call our own, The only thing we can get stuck into here is mowing the lawn and even that's been limited over the winter months having had so much rain.
So with the onset of sunnier climes, the boys will no doubt swap the TV remote control for basketballs and scooters and husband and I will trade in our laid-back lifestyle for sledgehammers and skips. I'm not sure how my French manicure is going to hold out but with any luck, the enticement of an extra dollar in their weekly pocket money may see the boys helping us out with some donkey work.
We plan to spend the next year or so renovating and modernising it to make it our own and hope to get it finished well before any overseas visitors. I just hope when Dad comes over, he brings his wheelbarrow and my bricklaying brother!
Slowly but surely, we've spent recent months building up some sort of credit history that proves we're capable of becoming land owners Down Under. So we've viewed a couple of beauties - out of our price range it has to be said - so the one we've bought is a place that needs a bit of an overhaul.
It was built just ten years ago but by whom, I cannot begin to imagine. The place has the same design as one of the shoeboxes I am now more than familiar with bearing in mind my new line of work, and whoever bought this place was always going to have to have a keen eye and a whole heap of vision. T'da .. enter stage right, the Pughs and their never-ending "love" for dust, muck and hard work.
Just a two or three minute car ride away from where we are now is where our new place stands. A single storey three bedroomed place that's crying out for an extension and pool instalment. It's nothing like the house I've dreamed of owning out here, but in time, we will be able to mould it exactly to those thoughts that featured so prominently in my pre-emigration mind. And unusual for round these parts, it comes on a decent sized block with plenty of north-facing back garden (north is good for us!)
For the past month, I've picked up pieces of paper and backs of used envelopes that feature the new look designs of our new gaff. Husband is the king of scribbling and over the years, I've seen enough of his pen to paper mindwork to stuff a mattress. He's itching to get out of this rented place and start work on a place we can call our own, The only thing we can get stuck into here is mowing the lawn and even that's been limited over the winter months having had so much rain.
So with the onset of sunnier climes, the boys will no doubt swap the TV remote control for basketballs and scooters and husband and I will trade in our laid-back lifestyle for sledgehammers and skips. I'm not sure how my French manicure is going to hold out but with any luck, the enticement of an extra dollar in their weekly pocket money may see the boys helping us out with some donkey work.
We plan to spend the next year or so renovating and modernising it to make it our own and hope to get it finished well before any overseas visitors. I just hope when Dad comes over, he brings his wheelbarrow and my bricklaying brother!
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Pointing the finger
HMMM.... The outcome is not quite what I expected, but I've just been fitted out with ten shiny new fingernails.
Nail bars over here, as in UK, are big business and fed up of my current type of DIY falsies flinging themselves off all over the place, I thought it time to invest in a proper set.
The final nail (excuse the pun) in the coffin for me was when I was at work serving a customer looking for a pair of boots. There were boxes and boots and bits of cardboard and packaging all over the place and it was only after I'd taken her money that I noticed I was an 'end-digit' missing.
A quick scan or two up and down the shopfloor came up with zilch so it either had to be lying dormant among the shoe racks somewhere or inside one of the boots I'd just sold. And I was mortified at the thought of the possibility of it nestling among the now bagged-up knee length leather, making this their final resting place. But then, at least their new owners would get a free toe tickling session compliments of the new girl at JackRiver.com. Wouldn't get that service from any other shoe shop.
So, within half an hour, my extremities have been buffed, drilled, glued, painted and now look something like a court jester's shoes. Not sure I like the "curled-up-at-the-end" look but until they grow a bit, I'm stuck with them - literally.
This nail bar was like nothing else I've seen. A Thai couple, between them, had three nail customers and a massage client in the corner on the go concurrently. For the time I was there, they spun the plates getting us all done in record time. Watching the little guy dart around the place was an eye-opener and reminded me of a stresshead contestant in the Generation Game. All we needed was Brucey to walk in for a pedicure and that would be it.
Faster than a speeding bullet, he buffed my real nail within an inch of its life with an electrical gadget and stuck on the whitest of white plastic nail tips... whether I wanted them or not. No questions asked, he trimmed them all down to the length he wanted and then grappled with some acrylic and what seemed to resemble a wallpaper pasting brush to form a covering over the nail tip.
I have confidence that these slipshod and more than rushed rhino's toenails' won't be twanging themselves anywhere for quite a while but looking at them, I can't think of anything I'd like more. If nothing else, it should give me the incentive to grow my own and regain control over my own pinkies.
Nail bars over here, as in UK, are big business and fed up of my current type of DIY falsies flinging themselves off all over the place, I thought it time to invest in a proper set.
The final nail (excuse the pun) in the coffin for me was when I was at work serving a customer looking for a pair of boots. There were boxes and boots and bits of cardboard and packaging all over the place and it was only after I'd taken her money that I noticed I was an 'end-digit' missing.
A quick scan or two up and down the shopfloor came up with zilch so it either had to be lying dormant among the shoe racks somewhere or inside one of the boots I'd just sold. And I was mortified at the thought of the possibility of it nestling among the now bagged-up knee length leather, making this their final resting place. But then, at least their new owners would get a free toe tickling session compliments of the new girl at JackRiver.com. Wouldn't get that service from any other shoe shop.
So, within half an hour, my extremities have been buffed, drilled, glued, painted and now look something like a court jester's shoes. Not sure I like the "curled-up-at-the-end" look but until they grow a bit, I'm stuck with them - literally.
This nail bar was like nothing else I've seen. A Thai couple, between them, had three nail customers and a massage client in the corner on the go concurrently. For the time I was there, they spun the plates getting us all done in record time. Watching the little guy dart around the place was an eye-opener and reminded me of a stresshead contestant in the Generation Game. All we needed was Brucey to walk in for a pedicure and that would be it.
Faster than a speeding bullet, he buffed my real nail within an inch of its life with an electrical gadget and stuck on the whitest of white plastic nail tips... whether I wanted them or not. No questions asked, he trimmed them all down to the length he wanted and then grappled with some acrylic and what seemed to resemble a wallpaper pasting brush to form a covering over the nail tip.
I have confidence that these slipshod and more than rushed rhino's toenails' won't be twanging themselves anywhere for quite a while but looking at them, I can't think of anything I'd like more. If nothing else, it should give me the incentive to grow my own and regain control over my own pinkies.
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