A right Royals kerfuffle was ignited when an Australian television presenter had the cheek to refer to our home-grown super-star as "the Australasian Lorde". Say what now? Strewth. Back the truck up, mate.
It set off a good-natured banter in which hosts of TVNZ's Breakfast show pondered which Aussie entertainers they would like to poach. Sports teams joined the mix when the Australians offered to trade Kylie for the All Blacks. No deal.
There is, of course, a fond tradition of such trans-Tasman squabbling about cultural icons. There is perennial debate about which country can lay claim to the pavlova, Phar Lap, Crowded House and Russell Crowe. But this latest exchange has introduced a fresh angle. "Australasian" allows Australians to have their cake and eat it too. Because the two words are strikingly similar, they are able to use the former in the interests of obfuscation.
As Richard Wilkins demonstrated, it's handy when they want to claim someone or something that's not theirs to start with - such as Lorde. Similarly, it's invaluable when they are intent on disowning a fellow countryman. I can imagine crafty Australians (wishing to disassociate themselves from a convicted sex offender) deciding that Rolf Harris is Australasian, thus spreading his toxic reputation beyond their sun-drenched shores. Depending on its usage, it has the knack of being all-encompassing or distancing. It's a weasel of a word.
Yet, for all its ostensible familiarity, "Australasian" remains a little mysterious. Along with "Australasia", it's not a word I think I've ever used. (And I was a child with a passing penchant for noting the full details of my geographical whereabouts. After my street address, it went: "Hastings, Hawke's Bay, North Island, New Zealand, South Pacific, Southern Hemisphere, Earth, the Solar System, the Milky Way, the Universe." If I'd known precisely what it meant, "Australasia" could have come in handy.)