An amateur exposed

'Kia ora," I said. June the postie gave me a look. "Kia ora," she said, and smiled. Then: "Kei te pēhea koe?" It was my turn to give a look. "Er, sorry, 'kia ora' is about as far as my Maori goes," I mumbled.

- GREG DIXON

We gave each other more looks. What she could see was me going as red as a sunburnt bum. What I could see was her smiling at me as I went as red as a sunburnt bum.

"Kei te pēhea koe?' means 'how are you?"" June continued, as if speaking to a slightly dim child, which, by this time, felt about right.

"What should I say in return?" I ventured.

"You should say 'Kei te pai', 'I'm good"," "Kei te..." "Kei te pai," June repeated, then "Eat the pie!" She hooted like a happy ruru and so, of course, did I. "Ka pai, ka pai," I said quickly, just to prove I had more in my kete than just "kia ora" - though, frankly, not much more and this made her laugh even harder.

It is one of the many chagrins of my life that I am, despite my (admittedly slapdash) mahi, bloody hopeless at te reo. My excuse, as I explained shamefacedly to June, is I wasn't taught any of it when I was at school in the 1970s and early 80s.