I appreciated the formality. “Greg Dixon Esq,” it said on the envelope, “The Good Life Columnist.” I appreciated the “The”, too, though Michele – or as I now like to call her, “A Good Life Columnist” – was definitely affronted by the definite article. “I’m outraged,” she fumed as she buttered her breakfast toast. “I’m wounded.”
I suppose I was a little wounded, too, when I read the letter. It said:
Dear Mr Dixon,
As you seem to have a struggle at times coping with life, I enclose a corporate-speak translation guide for New Ziln, which may help you to understand what’s going on.
Yours helpfully,
Afferbeck Lauder
So, I am “The Good Life Columnist”, but I’m also a bit of a mess? Seems about right.
Included with the letter was a double-sided A4 sheet headed “A Sample of Corporate-speak (April 2024)” featuring two columns, one listing apparently real examples of corporate jargon, and the other, a one-word, plain-English definition.
The creator of the list advises using the listed business-speak “to baffle or impress executives, bureaucrats, politicians, friends and the like, or your boss, because, when they don’t understand what you mean, they’re too embarrassed to admit it and will agree with what you say”. What fun.
It counsels never to use plain English because it will make what you are saying clear and cause the aforementioned executives, bureaucrats and so on to become “suspicious”.
Some examples: an “anomalous health incident” means a death, “emotional deficit” sad, and “involuntary career event” getting the sack.
The list of nonsense-speak reads like a speech from Christopher Luxon, a man who truly understands that for “greed-creeders” (money grubbers), “operating leverage within the business moving forward” (future progress) is a “paradigm-changing benefit” (good idea).
But what of “Afferbeck Lauder”? And why Afferbeck Lauder? It is obviously a pseudonym and probably an anagram, I thought. In fact, I discovered it wasn’t an anagram but an obscure pseudonym with its own history.
Way back when, Afferbeck Lauder was an Australian publishing sensation. His first book, published in 1965, was called Let Stalk Strine, and he was said to be “Professor of Strine Studies at the University of Sinny at Ezz Rock”.
“Afferbeck Lauder” is what is called in phonology a syncope, which means the omission of interior sounds or letters in words, for example, “g’day”.
Hence, Afferbeck Lauder isn’t a name but a syncope of Alphabetical Order, “Strine” is Australian, “Sinny” is Sydney, “Ezz Rock”, Ayers Rock and the book’s title, Let Stalk Strine, is “Let’s Talk Australian”.
The real Lauder, it turns out, was called Alistair Morrison, a graphic designer and humorist with an eye and an ear for the amusing peculiarities of the Australian lexicon.
In the 60s, under his pseudonym, Morrison wrote a column for the Sydney Morning Herald before going on to publish four bestselling dictionaries of Strine filled with wonderful nonsense intended to be read in Gloria Soames (glorious homes) throughout the civilised world.
The books were republished as a single volume in 2009 with a foreword by our own humorist with an ear for the absurd, the late John Clarke.
For a flavour of just how funny Lauder still is, here’s a story from the introduction to Let Stalk Strine:
When English writer, Monica Dickens, was autographing copies of her book in Sydney, a member of the public handed her a copy of her latest book and said “Emma Chisit”. The writer wrote “To Emma Chisit” and her signature on the flyleaf and handed it back to the purchaser. “No, Emma Chisit,” they said. “Eventually,” Lauder writes, “it became clear that [the purchaser] had been speaking in Strine, and had used the Strine equivalent of ‘How much is it?’ The misunderstanding was due to the fact Miss Dickens had never been told that although Strines are often able to understand and read English, they usually speak only Strine.”
Brilliant.
So thenk you, fake Afferbeck Lauder, for putting me on to the rill-life Afferbeck Lauder. Wad African genius.
