Tags
Banjo Paterson, billabong, Bluntschli, bogan, Djokovic, hoon, Kim Sears, Mcdonalds, Melbourne Park, Norman Brookes, NSW, Orange, Paul Hogan, poms, Pretty Beach NSW, quokka soccer, Rod Laver, roo, rutting stags, Sergius, swagman, terpsichorean, The Briars Homestead, Thomas the Tank Engine, Tony Wilding, Woy Woy
Woy Woy- not an exophoric reference to a Chinese conceptual artist, but
a heartfelt expression of anguish as to the reason you not been reading my
posts, possums. A girl just has to swan off to Pretty Beach etc and suddenly
all her readers droine away.
Well, I have been amassing verbal deloights for your delectation. I am now
attuned to the twangs of the Aussie lingo. A two year old approached me in
a play park in Orange, in a perfectly innocent, trusting way, not noted in
British kids since the Sixties, and proffered his Thomas the Tank Engine
toi, before revoking his intention and pronouncing very definitely, That’s
moine!
I was then privy to an eavesdropping from a sheila who was
discussing her boyfriend as she walked down the street in Mornington, Victoria:
It’s not that koind of relationship.
Everyone is moaning about the unusually bad summer here, with all the roine.
They should read the weather reported for the UK in The Doily Moil. Even the
commentary from Melbourne Park was punctuated with strangulated
phonological approval when players hit it on a doime.
As well as the accentual points, the idiomatic phrases are ripper too. Goodness
knows what That was right in the honey hole for him! means literally, though
the sentiment is not lost in translation. It would sit well in Kim Sears’ ‘potty’
mouth.
Even Mcdonalds has an advertising slogan here which doesn’t sound remotely
American: More bang for your buck. It sounds like something Banjo Paterson’s
terpsichorean swagman could have uttered by a billabong, or an ejaculation
by Paul Hogan, who might brandish a roo in a bap and pronounce emphatically:
Now that’s a burger!
No, Candia didn’t enter the hallowed grounds in Melbourne, but watched
Andy’s defeat on television, like the rest of you poms, whingeing or otherwise.
And, by the sound of the current meteorological reports, you have plenty to
whinge about.
He and Djokovic went at it like rutting stags, but the control of language by
the Serb reflected his greater mental restraint and focus.
(Now who does this remind me of?)
On this occasion, Sergius conquered Bluntschli.
How interesting was it for Candia today to stand on ground which reputedly
was once the tennis courts on which the first non-Briton to win Wimbledon
practised. Norman Brookes even won The Davis Cup in the USA, with Tony
Wilding and yet he warmed up on what was once a cattle station on this
Victorian peninsula.
Today the sacred spot is struggling lawn in front of The Briars Homestead,
whose grounds are now a Nature Conservancy Centre. I expect the expletive
was unheard of in this gracious residence, once upon a colonial toime. I doubt
Sir Norman was a cashed up bogan in pocket, or personal behaviour. Some of
the latter day sporting, or unsporting, hoons need to cease vocalising in the
parlance of those who indulge in activities such as quokka soccer. Return to
the days of Rod Laver and his self-disciplined behaviour and all will be foine.
