Carol’s Column

Some dags cakked under the strine

AUSTRALIA may reject our coal, tourists and Krugerrands, but it would be churlish to respond in kind.

Which is why when we were asked if we'd host an Australian Rotary student for three months, we accepted with alacrity.

Naturally, we were a little worried. "What if she doesn't like us?" said my daughter.

"Of course she'll like us, we're irresistible," replied my husband.

"And modest," muttered Nicky, her eyeballs rolling upwards as they do when she displays disgust.

Our exchange student was called Janene Brown, she hailed from a tiny village called Mywee and her parents were dairy farmers.

"Don't do anything special," said the Greenpark Rotarians, her host club. "Just treat her like a member of the family."

"We can't do that," said Nicky, "she'll want to leave after one day."

"Why, what is wrong with this family? We are a perfectly average family," I snapped to my daughter who balanced upside down against the wall so that blood could rush to her head and stimulate her brain cells.

"Please take your aeroplane engine out of the spare room and the wings off the bed," I added to Jamie. "Janene cannot sleep with aeroplane wings, she'll be uncomfortable."

I dashed up to the shops to stock up for her arrival.

When I returned, a cow munched the budding sweetpeas.

"Why is there a cow trampling the sweetpeas?" I screeched.

"We wanted Janene to feel at home," said Nicky. "She's grown up to the sound of merry mooing at the crack of dawn."

"Get rid of it," I snarled. "In Africa she can get used to the sound of the Lazar boys snoring, that's good enough."

That was three months ago.

For her arrival, we borrowed Crocodile Dundee hats and learnt the official Australian greeting "G'die". She was a tall, long-legged blonde with a sunshine smile and we were enchanted.

There were minor linguistic problems. Such as when she asked for durex to wrap a present.

"I've never heard of anyone wrapping a present in a condom," whispered Jamie. "I know they're versatile, but that's ridiculous."

"It must be a very small present," observed Nicky.

"Not necessarily," replied Barry. "It's amazing how they stretch."

There was a stunned silence as we pondered his words.

Later we discovered she wanted sticky tape, known as durex in Australia.

Within days we'd been initiated into the finer nuances of Aus-speak. "Capsicums" were "erk", while pineapples were "bonza". Translated, that meant green peppers were horrible, while pineapples were great.

If something was okay, it was "fair-dinkum", and if something was funny, she "cakked".

She confessed she thought we were all "dags" which worried us greatly until we discovered the word meant characters, not dagos.

Three months passed so quickly that suddenly it was time for Janene to leave for her next host family. We were desolate, and so was she.

I went into the lounge wearing sunglasses and clutching tissues in my hand — to find Nicky and Janene and a third girl seated on the couch, her stout legs crossed.

It was my son in drag. He had a doek on his head and the hairs on his chest were covered by a polo-neck jersey. "We thought we'd liven things up," he said. "Call me Janene."

Just then, the doorbell rang and there stood Janene's new and unsuspecting host mother.

Politely, I introduced her to the new-look Janene who stood, his shoulders bulging, and baritoned: "G'die."

Kati Hess smiled and her eyes widened, but to her credit, she greeted this strange-looking girl most warmly.

When Jamie finally confessed he was not the real Janene, the relief on Mrs Hess's face was tangible.

It's true, Janene did leave in tears, but they were tears of laughter.

And right now, the house is fairly quiet and we miss our exchange student. In fact, if truth be known, we're all feeling a little erk.

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