As a Northern Englishwoman, making myself understood is always a bit of a struggle — even in the UK. The constant argument over the correct name for a bread bun and the breakfast/lunch/dinner debate is something that heats the heads of colloquially-confused Brits (breakfast, dinner, and tea is the go-to in my neck of the woods).
If I thought speaking to a southerner was difficult, moving across the globe and sparking up a conversation with a Kiwi is something else entirely. People are constantly baffled by my addition to the conversation; “What on earth is a settee?” “A Hoover, what’s a Hoover?”, and there are multiple words sat collecting dust in my brain ready to be rolled off the tongue once I set foot on home soil; ‘mardy,’ ‘lasses,’ ‘nowt,’ ‘summats,’ and ‘oryt’ sit on the bench as they watch ‘something,’ ‘don’t,’ and ‘nothing’ play on in the sport of conversation.
