April 5th, 2009

Before coming to Australia, I had a few worries. Sunburn was a potential concern, as was the fact I had no idea how to tell the deadly poisonous spiders from the regular, fly-eating, web-weaving sort. Not once did it occur to me, however, I might have problems understanding the locals or deciphering the newspapers. As a veteran Home and Away watcher (1989-1991), I was confident I would be able to comprehend Australians and, indeed, communicate with them.

After all, they speak English, albeit with slightly mangled vowels, and they use the same words we do, apart from the occasional “Fair dinkum!” and “You flamin’ galah!”. Don’t they?

No, actually. They have an entire vocabulary unto themselves. Like America and England, Ireland and Australia are nations divided by a common language. I first noticed this when it came to drinking, which says a lot about my priorities upon arriving.

In the pub, Aussies don’t drink pints. They drink little glasses of beer called, variously, schooners, middies and pots. At home, they drink tinnies and stubbies (small bottles of beer, which are kept cool with insulated stubby-holders) or goon (wine in a box).

They buy their take-out alcohol in bottle shops and sometimes bring it to the beach in Eskies (coolers). By the way, Australia has drive-through bottle shops, which could be a recession-proof idea for someone. The drive-through off-licence must surely be up there with the funeral home in terms of viability during a downturn.

Strine or Strayan — the language spoken in this great land of Straya — is not limited to booze. I’ve found myself perplexed by the language barrier in all sorts of situations.

In a department store, I hunted in vain for the bedlinen section, where I wanted to buy a duvet. Eventually, a shop assistant told me to head for the Manchester department and ask for a doona. Key to becoming a fluent Strine speaker is the awareness that Aussies can’t be bothered sounding out words of more than two syllables. Relations are rellos and ambulance drivers are ambos. Both referees and refugees are reffos, which may lead to some confusion at footy matches. Those often take place in the arvo. Petrol stations are servos, an uncoordinated person is unco and binmen are garbos.

While these abbreviations are slang, they are used regularly in newspapers and magazines, as are all sorts of other words peculiar to Australia. I’ve learnt, for example, that diggers are soldiers, ockers are louts and bogans are, well, skangers. In an article about the nude photos of politician Pauline Hanson, the word r**ting was used, replete with asterisks. It dawned on me the missing letters were oo and I made a mental note not to tell anyone I was rooting for the Sydney Swans in footy games. Instead, I’ll barrack for them because that’s what people do here.

Some Australian words and expressions are only useful in this country. If you bumped into someone on Grafton Street and told them you were mad as a cut snake, they would just look at you like you had a kangaroo loose in the top paddock. But there are a few words of Strine I think would be apposite in Ireland these days.

Rort: To misappropriate public money or resources, to fiddle the system (usually used of politicians). Yup, they’ve been rorting us for years and now we have a word for it.

Wowser: An annoyingly pious person with strong moral views. You know that insufferable, holier-than-thou colleague who is forever pontificating about how all the feckless Celtic tiger-era spendthrifts deserve their ignominious downfall? Total wowser.

Retrenched: Laid off. The problem with “laid off” is that it doesn’t convey the stomach-churning horror of losing your job. Being retrenched suggests a struggle to stay alive in a swampy trench, with bullets whizzing overhead. Much more appropriate.

Bludger: Chronically unemployed person on social welfare by choice. Irish bludgers are currently aghast at the numbers of retrenched people joining the queues and causing delays at the dole office.

Battler: Someone who struggles by on very little, but never gives up. Calling someone a battler is the great Aussie compliment and should probably become the great Irish compliment over the next few months and years.

Spruiker: A person who stands outside a shop, bar or nightclub, exhorting passers-by to go in and spend money. Given the way the Irish retail and leisure sectors are headed, I shouldn’t be surprised if spruikers start popping up on every corner soon.

Op shop: Thrift store. If you’re used to shopping in Brown Thomas, having to rifle through the rails in a second-hand shop will feel like a comedown. Calling it an “opportunity shop” may make a depressing experience feel more hopeful. By the way, Aussies don’t rummage in op shops. They fossick.

Have the shits: Be in a foul temper. I learnt this one when an Aussie friend announced grumpily he had the shits and then looked puzzled when I offered him Imodium. If you don’t have the shits by now about the spectacular mismanagement of Ireland Inc, there’s no saving you. And that’s fair dinkum.