Witters from Down Under
Created | Updated Nov 19, 2008
Having moved from Scotland to Australia in 2005 to find out if she had fallen in love with the country as well as her husband a decade ago, she decided that the answer was 'yes' and intended to stay.
However life has always had a marvellous way of changing her best-laid plans. And it happened again. An unexpected work opportunity presented itself in mid-2008: one too good to miss.
As a result the Witter from Down Under is now coming from the land of the long white cloud - New Zealand.
Please join us and read Frenchbean's commentary on a new country, a new city, a new job and new friends.
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'I em Frinchbean'
Hello Everybody 
Thank you for watching …. Birthday BeanCam attracted unprecedented crowds across the world.
It was a bitterly miserable November morning: the coldest for over 30 years. I stood huddled by the purple sperm at Christchurch Cathedral as arranged, cuddling my hands around a cup of coffee and cursing my lack of forethought about a hat and gloves. Not only was a howling gale hurtling down Colombo Street and straight up my coat, but it was snowing intermittently.
I'm not sure if anybody saw me flapping my arms about and jumping around in excitement (and to keep warm). Despite my best efforts to remain calm and un-noticeable I was increasingly excited about the volume of texts that arrived from family and friends.
Once back Chez Shoebox I discovered just how many Hootooers tuned in. Was that a Virtual Meet?
There is something special about the date of our birth, isn't there? Even after 47 years I woke with the same small thrill of knowing that this is my day: it's special; in a similar way that Christmas day is special. And throughout the year if November 7th is mentioned, my ears prick up and I want to tell people 'that's my birthday', although I try to be too mature to do that these days of course.
Given the disgusting weather, I decided that a day of hearty hill-walking was a bloody stupid idea. Instead, I trudged down to a car dealer recommended by several people at work and found myself a car.
It was almost as simple as it sounds. My first choice had just been sold, but I made a second choice and I think it's a good deal.
I am on a car pendulum and have swung from the gorgeous but impractical Black Beast to a very sensible and no-nonsense Toyota Corolla Spacio. It's a station wagon, with plenty of space for bags of compost, art canvases, planks of wood, people AND luggage.
The Kiwi accent has had me flummoxed a few times since I arrived here. (I hope that the following does not insult any New Zealand readers. Rather, I hope that you will share my laughter about the confusion.) There is not a hugely discernible difference between antipodean accents to the unaccustomed ear, but now that I am surrounded by New Zealanders there have been some interesting misunderstandings.
At a workshop about pests and weeds last week there was an excellent presentation about the problems created by a number of non-native vine-like plants, which grow into the forest canopy and smother native trees. To get rid of these weeds, the speaker talked about various chemicals and cutting methods. Several times he referred to a 'pelletable area for weeds' on the Banks Peninsula.
In my ignorance (which is enormous) I deduced that he was referring to a new method of weed control: the scattering of herbicide pellets that would be rained into soil and onto the roots of the offending plants, thereby destroying them.
Contentedly I continued listening to the presentation, but gradually realised that my vision of slug-pellet-like weed control was utter rubbish. In fact what he was talking about was a palatable area for weed growth i.e. an open bit of forest where light penetrated and the vines flourished!
By the time I had worked this out and realised my mistake I had completely lost the thread of the presentation and remained in a bemused daze until it ended.
As another example; during a meeting to discuss something much less interesting than weed control, a Kiwi colleague recommended that I contact Chin Lung, another Council member of staff, about one particular issue. Having just learnt how to find folk on the Council intranet people-finder, I typed in 'Chin Lung' and came up with a blank. I tried 'Chin' alone and then 'Lung', but still nothing.
Eventually I went back to my colleague to check I'd heard correctly. Well, yes, I had heard perfectly correctly. What I should have written down was rather different. Suitably corrected (and roundly laughed at) when I typed 'Chen Ling' into the intranet search facility… Bingo!!
In Kiwi-language the hard 'e' becomes a hard 'i'; in turn, 'i' becomes 'u'; and 'a' transmogrifies into 'e'.
So…
- Chen (Bean accent) = Chin (Kiwi) / seven = sivin
- Fish and chips = fush and chups / Sin = sun
- Palatable = pelletable / avalanche = evelenche
I am really not sure how long it is going to take me to get this straight. It will be the source of great amusement to friends and colleagues for a while to come, I'm sure.
As an addendum to this tale, I no longer feel quite such a dullard about my botanical knowledge. There is a large number of plants that I readily recognise and can confidently name, much to the surprise of the local botanists, to whom I have confessed an ignorance bordering on inadequacy. The fact that the familiars are without exception considered weeds hereabouts is immaterial!
Other recent highlights are as follows:
Standing at the bus stop on Wednesday I felt my first earth tremor since arriving in New Zealand. The ground unexpectedly turned to insecure jelly and my stomach lurched unpleasantly. Everything was normal again within a second or two, but there was a lingering uncertainty in my legs about the reliability of the pavement.
Once I got onto the bus a student stood up and offered me her seat. Do I look old enough to need a seat? It's the first time it's happened to me and I was so taken aback that I thanked her and sat down in shock! When I turned 47 last week was a middle-aged switch turned on that is only discernable to teenagers?
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