‘You know, you really don’t speak well, do you Lee-Anne, not very ladylike, not ladylike at all,’ Tony sneered.
‘Wha’?’
‘See what I mean? See what I mean?’
By this time, we’d reached a waterhole. Scattered along the edges of the pool, our old friends, the paddy melons.
I looked through Tony’s broad curly topped head, avoiding his spectacle-framed eyes. ‘What’s wrong with ‘what’?’
‘You should say ‘I beg your pardon’.’ Tony leaned forward and stabbed a finger in the air. ‘Haven’t you learnt anything on this trip? How will you get anywhere in life with gutter manners like you’ve got?’
‘I—’ slowly I bent down, ‘beg—’ and picked up a melon ‘your—’ and then straightened up, ‘pardon?’ Then I positioned my missile ready to throw at this self-proposed teacher of elocution and manners.
I took aim.

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