a confession

Erin doesn't speak English.

Well, that's not true, she CAN speak English, and occasionally she does, but most of the time she speaks 'Straine.

If you have never heard 'Straine, go and get a DVD of that '80's classic "Crocodile Dundee" ("That's not a noif, THIS is a noif!") or think back to the adds of the same era where Paul Hogan urged Americans to come visit because he'd "Poot anava shrimp on the baaarbie".

For a more contemporary example there's the movie "The Castle" or Steve Irwin - Crocodile Hunter.

Need I say more?

Now my own accent is a little more Olivia Newton John than Croc Hunter, unless I am mucking about and then I can be as ocker as the next fella (too roit mate!) and it seems my little princess picked up this element of my speach.

So my little girl,

the girl that gets stopped in the street at least half a dozen times by total strangers who want to tell her how pretty she is,

the little girl who could describe basic anatomy at high school level before her second birthday,

talks like a sun bronzed bloke who wrestles crocs for a living.

My inner snob cringes often when she gets particularly ocker and I try to correct her. She repeats the sentence in a beautiful, refined accent that makes me want to put on afternoon high tea that minute. Then, moments later, the accent is back so broad that I expect her to dash about with live snakes shouting "What a little bewdy! Crikey! Too roit mate! Poot another shrimp on the baaarbie!"

*sigh*

Where did I go wrong?