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Barb M >Funny, none of us English-as-a-mother-tongue speakers (if ya call >what you Aussies speak "English") <grinning, ducking & running> have >a regional accent in TYPE, but just put us in a room together (HEY - >not a bad idea!) and none of us would easily understand each other. I am reminded of the longest lift I ever had in my hitchhiking days. Way back in '72 I was picked up on a country road just outside Galway on the west coast of Ireland by a young American from Wisconsin. A week and a half later he dropped me off in Dublin. We toured Eire by the "Song Method" of route planning (Q- Where to next? A- Tralee. Q- Why Tralee? A- They wrote a song about it). Gerry and I spent much of the time translating English to each other. The exception was the night we got caught in a sudden downpour while pitching the tent. The strong wind squalls made the task next to impossible and we found that the only difference in our cursing was in our accents. Incidently it was on that trip that I kissed the Blarney Stone - but I don't think it took. BTW if anyone knows Gerry Gilbert, late of Wisconsin and a beaten up VW on the backroads of Europe, please tell him that my offer of a sleeping bag on the lounge room floor still stands Dennis