Despite speaking only one language I do a lot of translating. My vocabulary has been stained and varnished from years in Ireland. A gift. But it often leaves me interpreting Hiberno-English phrases into the equally colourful Antipodean-English. Which is incredibly difficult because sometimes there are no direct translations.
The other day I spent the best part of 20 minutes explaining what kind of person warranted being called a “melt” to my friend. “Like a wreck-the-head?” I ventured further, only to realise this was also very Irish. “Oh like a flog?” he questioned. No, not exactly. A flog has a bigger ego than a melt. A flog is doing it on purpose. They’re going out of their way to be annoying, whereas a melt is unintentionally irritating. They’re adjacent to the worst insult in Irish slang which is “harmless”.
They’re someone you almost feel bad for being irritated by because it’s not their fault they’re like that. They’re the wet flannel on a hen’s party who has trapped you into a long conversation about why women need to take folic acid tablets even if they’re not trying to have a baby – just in case. They’re the Instagram mutual friends who start posting like geopolitical experts every time a new world conflict starts. They’re the people who post “can we still go on our holiday next week?” under articles about airports and schools in the Middle East being bombed. They don’t mean to make you clench your jaw in rage so hard that you crush a tooth crown, but it happens anyway.
“Can you give me an example of someone being a melt?” This was a tough one. I had to really rack my brain, scrolling through centuries of important historical events and figures. Maybe it was when Brian McFadden tweeted “wouldn’t it be great if Isis had the balls to stand face-to-face with us and fight... Man to man”? Or when Gal Gadot decided to remedy the Covid-19 pandemic with a bunch of celebrities singing Imagine.
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“I think I get it,” he said. “So like a FIGJAM?” Which is an Australian abbreviation for “F**k I’m Good, Just Ask Me.” Which is close but no cigar because colloquialisms are shaped by culture. It’s much more socially accepted and expected to be self-confident in Australia, while in Ireland we have the sense to beat that kind of thing out of each other. So a melt would be far less self-promoting than a FIGJAM. Australians would not have as much use for one of my favourite sayings “he’d ride himself if he could turn around fast enough” because self-love or self-promotion doesn’t warrant criticism.
Cultural differences mean there’s not really a direct translation for plámás because the act is deployed much less in Australia, if at all. Especially in the workplace. This is not a culture that responds well to excessive flattery and flowery language. That kind of thing actually arouses suspicion, which it should do sometimes. If there’s one difference I’ve noticed in Ireland it’s that decision-makers will heap praise on me when they’re trying to pay me less than I would like.
I’m great. I’m respected. I’m a treasured asset. I’m the second coming of sliced bread. But that won’t translate into more money. Whereas in Australia, compliments are few and far between. As Don Draper in Mad Men says “that’s what the money is for”.
It feels like in Ireland – public and private life- there’s a sense that people and situations just need to be “handled”. If you just say the right combination of words in the right tone, you can get the outcome you want. I’m not saying it’s the right or wrong way to go about things – it just doesn’t wash with Australian directness. Like the time my colleague told me I need to “sweeten up” a person for them to essentially do their basic job description. I was annoyed I had to perform flattery to get them function but this was Ireland where it was considered manners so I did.
[ Is it any wonder young women fantasise about becoming stay-at-home girlfriends?Opens in new window ]
What Irish culture might consider harmless plámásing, Australians might see as an attempt to “piss down their back and tell them it’s raining”. What one country sees as being a cute hoor the other might view as downright sneaky. It can be hard to make the micro adjustments that let you operate between the two systems. One that relies on subtleties, dead ends and circling about the topic. And the other with a communication style that goes for the throat. Personally, I prefer abrasive honesty while still yearning for the mandatory 10-minute friendly chit chat at the start of Irish meetings.
