Amsterdam Valencia – Australian

There a quiet guy here from Australia with a perpetual grin and a look on his face that always seems to be saying ‘yeah, mate, what?’
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He speaks by throwing out a few random consonants to see if that and a dose of his ‘yeah mate, what?’ would be enough to make you go away. In many cases you can catch the jist of what he’s saying (usually because he’s just saying ‘yeah mate, what?’).
 
If you need more specific information, like the name of the city he comes from, then it’s up to you to collect the sounds (mostly consonants) he’s putting out and order them correctly.
 
Seems to me like he may be onto something here. You want the information but you want me to make it all up, string it together and articulate it for you? You can do some of the work mate.
Any case, you will need to ask every question at least two times, usually three, and occasionally more, if you wanted to get a string of sounds that come close to a word that you may use as an answer to the question you’re asking.
 
Sydney – that’s where he comes from.
 
By about the third time you ask, he’s usually about ready to return to the comfort of his ‘yeah, mate, what?’ position and will give you a working answer.
 
It’s as tiresome as it sounds, I leave him alone and decide to write in the present tense to add a sense of immediacy. It seems to me my tenses are all over the place.
 
He crops up at the kitchen in the evening. Nodding, smiling and chatting to everyone in what looks to me is a loop of yeah mate?
 
It’s past midnight and he starts frying up a storm at the stove. The sizzle and smell of frying meet goes on for ages. I’m not the only one wondering WTF going on with him at the stove.
 
He’s here alone and been frying since longer than anyone can remember.
 
I stand at the table near the stove and see his pan is full of eggs. I nod at him in greeting. He smiles back: yeah mate, what?
 
He’s intent on cooking his eggs, a pile of cooked burgers piled up on a plate next to the stove.
 
Finished, he walks past me carrying two plates loaded, one with burgers and one with eggs. He says something to me.
 
I infer that yeah mate, what, you eat beef, yeah mate, what is an invitation to eat.
 
I do. I’ve just eaten. Thank you mate, what?
 
I’m starting to speak like him.
 
We sit around the table. His food smells good. I capitulate and have some just as the French guy with the baritone voice turns up asking who wants some French camembert cheese, while the Dutch guy (I suspect a Thai bi but can’t be certain because of the hoody and shades and the general lack of centricity to grasp onto from him (or her) cropped up with a new theory of everything and the little Italian girl who may be from somewhere else and who does not seem to speak any languages anyone understands yet speaks them all presented a half full bottle of something sweet, bitter, harsh and smooth and that you drink in shots.
 
I ask Sydney about all the food he cooked. Said he was hungry mate, what?

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