An accent by any other name

Think for a moment of the world’s easiest names to pronounce. I’m guessing that Tim features somewhere on your list. Well, let me tell you about an exchange I had in a shoe shop recently. The young go-getter assistant who seemed so eager to help that I was a little unsettled, asked me my name.
‘It’s Tim’ I replied.
‘Itseim… hmmm… is that middle eastern?’ he queried,
‘No mate, my name’s Tim’ I corrected.
‘Teem?’ Assistant now looking slightly puzzled.
‘No, it’s Tim’ I said, taking more care than would’ve seemed necessary to pronounce the all important vowel.
‘Sorry, I’m still not getting it…’ At this point, wondering whether I was actually in an English speaking country, I spelled my three-letter, one syllable name. ‘Oh Tum. I was just having trouble with your funny accent.’ My expression at this point could only be truly appreciated by another Australian. This would be funnier if it didn’t seem to happen everyday and it’s for this reason I no longer answer the phone at our house.

I also had another interesting conversation in a hardware store in Silverdale. Silverdale is a little town north of Auckland with a disproportionate number of lingerie stores – I counted eight out of the total of fifteen shops having ladies intimate apparel hung in the windows. I was not there to buy lingerie but a tool set (spot the gender stereotype). Knowing that I would be leaving in six months and therefore piffing the tools when I left, I had in my hand the cheapest set of tools in the store that looked like they would last at least until I got them home. I was carefully checking the price when I noticed not a small number of very young kids wandering about the store, some with ominous looking tools in their hands. At this point a quietly spoken young fella approached me with a baby on his arm appearing to want to help me find what I was looking for. Being the new dad that I am I asked whether the baby was his.
‘Oh no, this is my nephew,’ he continued, ‘most of these kids are either my brothers and sisters or their kids.’ Stunned by the number of kids in the store who obviously weren’t there to buy tools or gaffer tape, I replied:
‘Must have a pretty big family?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got eight sisters and seven brothers’ he responded casually. I paused,
‘From the same parents?’ I asked, forgetting that this might be a bit of an intrusive question.
‘Oh yeah,’ he replied like someone who probably has this conversation every day, ‘most people think it’s pretty strange but it’s not that out of the ordinary.’ The casualness of the last remark did not match the dumbfounded look on my face. Being Olympics time I mentioned China’s One Child Policy by way of a stunning contrast, ‘Oh they’re crazy over there,’ he replied. Crazy indeed, I thought.

As I wandered back to the car, passed windows full of frilly knickers and lacy bras, I contemplated the potential for disaster in hardware stores come childcare centres and the role that lingerie might play in the creation of what can only be described as the uber-families of Silverdale. I love this place.

Liv promises to add to this blog soon and save it from being the shamelessy self-indulgent Tum show,

Big love,

Tim + Liv + Lucy

Ps. Here's a photo of Lucy to demonstrate how she's getting cuter by the minute. Liv's seems rather certain that, despite our proximity to Silverdale, Lucy is not the first of sixteen.