DAILY PROMPT: NON-REGIONAL DICTION
Write about whatever you’d like, but write using regional slang, your dialect, or in your accent.
Geez, mate! Y’mean y’r hangin’ to hear some bloke from Woop Woop spin a yarn about life in the sticks? Well I’ll give it a burl, but I just have to tell the missus or she’ll chuck a wobbly. Carries on like a frog in a sock, she does, if she thinks I’m slacking.
And fair enough. Not like money grows on trees, out here. Fact y’r lucky if anything grows, some years. Townies – they reckon we’re a coupla sangers short of a picnic to live out here back o’ Bourke, but I dunno… I’m a bushie from wayback. My ole man – he’d take me out some nights, boil the billy, chuck a damper on the coals – nothing like it, mate. Me own ankle biters – they’re up for it too, now they’re bigger. And what would I do in town? Sit around in fancy togs talking la-di-dah over a barbie and dipping prawns in some sort of mucky sauce? Yabbies in a pot’s more my style. And more likely I’d end up a dole bludger, come to that. Whereas out here… A few chooks, a veggie patch if there’s water… A man can live like a king, deadest.
It’s bloody hard yakka, though. I’ve seen plenty come a gutser, but they’re mostly drongos, y’know? Rock up like they’re God’s answer, and they’re about as useful as tits on a bull. Think they can veg out with a tinny and watch the grass grow, and they’ve got Buckley’s of making it that way. And when it all goes arse up, they spit the dummy and shoot through like a bloody Bondi tram. Fair dinkum, mate, it’s enough to make ya chunder.