Awesome Australian English

When we first arrived in Australia, I often wondered how my children managed to understand anything at all.

Their footwear situation alone was enough to cause confusion.

When they headed to the beach with me, they would be told to find their flip flops. Once we arrived, their Australian friends would tell them to take off their thongs, and when it was time to leave, my South African husband would ask them to put on their slops.

The fact that they somehow worked out we all meant exactly the same thing still amazes me.

Eye-level view of a classroom filled with students engaged in learning

I suspect everyone who moves to Australia gradually abandons some of their home-country vocabulary and learns to follow the Aussie script.

In the first few months after we arrived, I quickly had to switch from saying nursery to day care, and flat to unit. During our first Australian winter, singlet—the Australian term for a vest—crept into my vocabulary. When the children built a cubby, I eventually learned to picture a playhouse rather than a small storage space for paperwork.

Some words are more important than others. Get them wrong and you'll probably still be understood. Get a few particular words wrong, however, and things can become awkward—or at least confusing.

A British friend once spent several frustrating minutes asking shop assistants where she could find boys' pants. Each time she was directed towards rows of trousers. It was only after describing the garment in more detail that she discovered the word she was looking for was undies.

Australian English also has a habit of exposing just how many brand names we casually use back home without realising it.

For years I referred to a Pritt Stick, a Hoover and Sellotape without a second thought. In Australia they're more likely to be called a glue stick, vacuum cleaner and sticky tape.

At the same time, you'll discover a whole collection of Australian brand names that somehow become part of everyday language. Before long you'll know exactly what a Hills Hoist is (a rotary washing line) and you'll be wrapping leftovers in Gladwrap.

And that's before we even start on the Australian love of abbreviations.

Service stations become servos. Afternoon becomes arvo. Breakfast becomes brekkie. Australians seem determined to shorten every word possible.

So what did I do to help my children navigate this confusing jungle of terminology?

Not much, if I'm honest.

When we moved to Australia, I didn't have a strategy. We simply lived our lives, made friends, went to school, joined sports clubs and gradually absorbed the language around us.

Now, more than 16 years later, I realise that I've adopted many of the same words my children and Australian friends use every day. Like any ageing dialect, many of my old British labels have quietly become extinct.

These days I'm popping to the servo in the arvo, picking up a roast chook for dinner and hoping I haven't forgotten the sticky tape.

And somehow, it all sounds perfectly normal.