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Australia

dafydd said:
Inspired by this thread,I reread Nick Culotta's ''They're A Weird Mob" A very entertaining book.
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Do you know that Nick Culotta's was a pen name of the fabulous Australian author John O'Grady.

Which when you think about it makes the book even better. An Australian writing about the incomprehensible nature of Australian society from an immigrants point of view
 
A.A.Alfie said:
Thank you. ;)

As with all on the list, they can be both compliment and insult
'Dress wearer' would be an insult to the man in the pub (eg. the singlet wearing trucker, or big mustachioed biker). I have often lost teeth using same in these circumstances.

It can also be a compliment to the beautiful and delicated femininity of one of the gentler and fairer sex. Some call it pitching woo.

As a female 'dress wearer' you may consider yourself as having been duly complimented on your good grace and beauty.:)
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Why thank you, you sly doodlewhomper, you.
 
Akhenaten said:
Whilst a love of the real Black Gold is indeed expected of all HLVs *, this expectation is always trumped by the principle of Right to Heresy.

Therefore it is permissable for any Australian to forego Vegemite, free from prejudice, even as I am allowed the freedom to play fast and loose with the religious beliefs of others. **


* Happy Little Vegemites.

** I have a friend here in the thread whom I respect enormously, and he is a theist. I trust him to tell me to pull my head in if I get too carried away with it.

:)
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But what if an Australian hated Vegemite and loved Marmite--the Pom version (according to Wikipedia, NZ Marmite is different)? Would that be considered treasonous?
 
THE GEEBUNG POLO CLUB

by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

It was somewhere up the country in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives of the rugged mountainside,
And the horse was never saddled that the Geebungs couldn't ride;
But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash -
They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite unpolished, and their manes and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the members of the Geebung Polo Club.

It was somewhere down the country, in a city's smoke and steam,
That a polo club existed, called the Cuff and Collar Team.
As a social institution 'twas a marvellous success,
For the members were distinguished by exclusiveness and dress.
They had natty little ponies that were nice, and smooth, and sleek,
For their cultivated owners only rode 'em once a week.
So they started up the country in pursuit of sport and fame,
For they meant to show the Geebungs how they ought to play the game;
And they took their valets with them - just to give their boots a rub
Ere they started operations on the Geebung Polo Club.

Now my readers can imagine how the contest ebbed and flowed,
When the Geebung boys got going it was time to clear the road;
And the game was so terrific that ere half the time was gone
A spectator's leg was broken - just from merely looking on.
For they waddied one another till the plain was strewn with dead,
While the score was kept so even that they neither got ahead.
And the Cuff and Collar captain, when he tumbled off to die,
Was the last surviving player - so the game was called a tie.

Then the captain of the Geebungs raised him slowly from the ground,
Though his wounds were mostly mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around;
There was no one to oppose him - all the rest were in a trance,
So he scrambled on his pony for his last expiring chance,
For he meant to make an effort to get victory to his side;
So he struck at goal - and missed it - then he tumbled off and died.

By the old Campaspe River, where the breezes shake the grass,
There's a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription saying, "Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and the Geebung boys lie here."
And on misty moonlit evenings, while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and the rush of ponies' feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides like blazes to the pub -
He's been haunted by the spectres of the Geebung Polo Club.

- The Antipodean, 1893​
 
MG1962 said:
Do you know that Nick Culotta's was a pen name of the fabulous Australian author John O'Grady.

Which when you think about it makes the book even better. An Australian writing about the incomprehensible nature of Australian society from an immigrants point of view
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Article coming!

I'm a few behind. Damned housework. :)
 
Akhenaten said:
As you can imagine, I won't be clicking on that until someone else assures me that it's not what I think it is.

:D
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Well, it has nothing to do with The One Who Cannot Be Named, if that's what you're afraid of. It's a perfectly respectful British salute to Australian culture.
 
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Lucian said:
But what if an Australian hated Vegemite and loved Marmite--the Pom version (according to Wikipedia, NZ Marmite is different)? Would that be considered treasonous?
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I'd think 'wierd' more than treasonous.

I've never tried UK Marmite, but The Drain was saying the other day in one of the other Australian threads (:)) that Marmite is made from Guinness leftovers, so it's suddenly appeared on my shopping list for next time.

I'll have to defer to one of the folks from across the Ditch for an opinion on Kiwi Marmite, as I'm afraid I haven't had that pleasure yet.

I don't think I could consider a Kiwi product to be off-limits though - they is my bros.
 
MG1962 said:
Well it is to restore the essential balance of Australianess. By naming **she who can not be mentioned*** I threw that balance out. I almost had a British accent for a minute and actually cared who won the superbowl

Now that I am again a happy little vegemite, with rosey cheeks, all is good
.
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I hadn't considered it that way.

I'll buy it.

Akhenaten said:
THE GEEBUNG POLO CLUB
- The Antipodean, 1893​
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How is that story viewed in Australia? Is it a folktale? An example of a good poem? Another boy-and-his horse story?
 
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HawaiiBigSis said:
How is that story viewed in Australia? Is it a folktale? An example of a good poem? Another boy-and-his horse story?
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That's the first question you've ever asked that's completely stumped me, Lovely Lady.

I can't really expand on Arthwollipot's answer.

It's a Banjo Patterson poem. That's the complete description.


However, I can see I need to write an article on Banjo Patterson sometime soon.


:)
 
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Akhenaten said:
Forgive? Posting documentaries is perfectly OK mate. Poast moar!





Thanks Damien. I have to confess to Daf that despite trusting his word that it wasn't SWCBM, I still didn't click on the link because I thought it would probably be something along these lines:


​
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Not available in Belgium.
 
That was grouse. Bloody near pissed meself.

They do the accent amazingly well, and only one or two words were a bit less than perfect. I'm not sure whether I would have picked up on their Pomgolianness or not, had I not known who they were.

Just the same, as I was watching it they seemed to be on the verge of dislocating their jaws and tongues trying to get some words out.

Too funny; thanks mate.





ETA: I've just thought of something you'd love.

* scurries off giggling . . .
 
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