Where’s me thongs, Mum?
It appears we are raising a hobbledehoy, or wathever the female equivalent might be.
I’ve known it ever since, at the age of two, climbing into her high chair, she announced, “Crikey Mum, me boots nearly went in me tucker!”
I’m not altogether sure where it comes from. Maybe her father, with his copperplate writing and boarding school education - not to mention the many nights spent sleeping on the ground at racetracks all over the country. Sometimes actually on the racetracks all over the country.
Maybe it’s me - born and raised in the city, but with an Australian accent so broad I’m a Dad and Dave team all on me bloody own. I can remember radio voice training at uni, and the “this will be a challenge” expression on the tutor’s face as I read my first bulletin. Oddly enough, I ended up in newspapers.
Anyway, however it has happened, she’s a hoyden. A rollicking, bouncing, hat-wearing, wide-gesturing hoyden.
It has not been helped along by the CD of Aussie songs we acquired from somewhere. She goes into a frenzy at the sight of an Australian flag, and knows every word of at least the first verse of the national anthem. Not natural at three.
She can bounce along to Skippy, affirm she’s a happy little vegemite, and declare that she likes Aeroplane Jelly - Aeroplane Jelly’s for her.
We caused a disturbance in Woollies last week with the rousing lines:
“The ringer looks around, but is beaten by a blow - and curses the old snagger with the BARE BELLIED JOE!” This was closely followed by Waltzing Matilda with just as much relish.
A lovely old lady stopped to tickle her under the chin and say, “That’s a happy little song!”
I was a bit worried the Squid, who is having personal space issues, would sock her one. It passed without incident, however, and I smiled fondly at my little Shiralee, with her ponytails at messy angles and half an Uncle Toby’s muesli bar stuck to her shirt.
You can understand my concern now that it appears we are moving to the country. I’ve bought her a flanellette shirt and gumboots, and she is often to be heard wishing for a home among the gum trees. Perhaps she will pick up a bit of refinement. One can only hope.
Anyway, strike me pink, I’d better go. Two chubby arms are strangling me in a bid to play “Tie Me Kangaroo Down, `Spot’”.
Love youse all.
