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Over dinner tonight (scallops on coconut rice), I used the word ‘larrikin’. Nicoline immediately asked what the word meant. I tried my best to describe it, realising that when a term is deeply ingrained in a nation’s lexicon, it is not always easy to define. So, in order to improve my pathetic attempt, here is what is written in the preface to Larrikins, a History, a book by Melissa Bellanta.
Today, being a larrikin has positive connotations and we think of it as the key to unlocking the Australian identity: a bloke who refuses to stand on ceremony and is a bit of a scallywag. When it first emerged around 1870, however, ‘larrikin’ was a term of abuse, used to describe teenage working-class hell-raisers who populated dance halls and cheap theatres. Crucially, the early larrikins were female as well as male.
Basically, back in the late 19th century, a larrikin was a hooligan. There were gangs of them wandering the city streets making nuisances of themselves. Ned Kelly claimed it took up to eight policemen to subdue a single larrikin. He didn’t go so far as to say whether that was a male or female larrikin.
Anyway, hopefully that helps with the mystery of the word larrikin. For the other big mystery though, I have no answer.
Nicoline told me she had put a bunch of dead tulips on her patio, waiting for the snow to reduce somewhat so she could reach her compost heap. (I have the same situation here.) The next day, she stepped out of the house and the dead tulips had vanished. All of them. No sign of them ever having existed.
I suggested that, perhaps, a deer had snaffled them up but, no, she said, there were no tracks in the snow. I didn’t suggested that it could have been a deer with a personal jetpack because, obviously she would have heard that.
The only thing Nicoline could think of was a bird. There are lots of crows in Trosa so, maybe a besotted crow, wanting to impress his lady love, snatched them to take back to her nest. Of course, being a bird, he wouldn’t have cared if they were dead or not. And, after all, it’s the thought that counts.
Of course, it could have been, as Rimmer would undoubtably say, “Aliens!“.
Nicoline wasn’t my only visitor today. No, there was a veritable flood in the afternoon.
I had a phone call from KSP saying she was adrift in Trosa and could she pop round for a cup of tea. She’d been ice fishing with a group of students. I should make it clear that she wasn’t personally ice fishing. Also, that the group wasn’t fishing for ice, rather it was making a hole and dropping a line through the frozen surface. They also lit a fire on the ice, which was pretty cool. (I saw the photos.)
Her knee is still bothering her (she’s using a crutch) but she’s getting more agile each day. We sat and commiserated over our limb maladies.
Then I had a visit from Harald and his daughter Mathilde. Harald was here to measure up Mirinda’s study for a new floor and Mathilde is going to walk the dogs for us. Mathilde walks dogs for a living so it’s a bit of a busman’s holiday if you ask me. Mind you, I used to help people with IT problems when I was working in IT so it’s not really that unusual.
Anyway, all up, a pretty exhausting day into which I even managed a walk with the girls.
Sad to report that John Virgo, snooker player and commentator, died today aged 79. His voice will be missed.
Stalker report
North Bergen rose up to 92 views today.
