Sammy J on converting Aussie references for a UK audience

‘Sorry mate … what’s a Dunkaroo?’

Dammit. I’m barely two minutes into an interview, trying to charm the UK podcaster with my cheeky childhood anecdote, and they’ve just zeroed in on yet another Australian reference that needs updating before I hit Edinburgh. 

Add it to the list. At the time of writing this, I should be packing clothes, confirming my travel visa and spending quality time with my children before I hop on a plane. But sorry kids - Dad’s got to spend a few hours researching what the UK equivalent of Dunkaroos is so he can update his script. 

‘Local references’ have, of course, been standard fodder in live shows for centuries. When Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet first played in Cornwall in 1598, I imagine the actors changed the line to suit the coastal climate: ‘a hardy geranium by any other name would smell as sweet.’

But to localise or not to localise? That is the question. When the same play found a global audience, nobody dared change the location from Italy - because everyone knows where Italy is. (Except Baz Luhrmann, presumably.) The broader the reference, the broader it lands. When you go specific, you have a higher risk for a higher reward. 

But what happens when the reference is so specific that it alienates the crowd? In that case a comic can quickly find themselves up shit creek without a paddle. Which, for my UK readers, roughly translates to ‘up the Thames without a punt’.

To bring it back to Dunkaroos (a phrase never uttered before); they were a popular Aussie lunchbox snack in the mid 90’s. Little kangaroo-shaped biscuits next to a toxic dipping paste in a range of flavours. These were the biscuits I was eating, alone, in my school playground in 1996 moments before my life changed - the beginning of the story I tell in my show, Hero Complex. It’s a tiny detail but it says all I need to say: I was a weird, loner kid, and I was eating the kind of snack that a weird loner kid would eat. 

But now I’ve been told that nobody in the UK has ever heard of Dunkaroos, I’m faced with a quandary. Here are my options, as I see them:

Option One: Back it in. No apologies. No explanations. Let my audience enjoy the sound of the word ‘Dunkaroos' (say it out loud now - you won’t regret it), and move on with the show. This risks alienating a large portion of the crowd, but any Aussies in the audience will get a very specific kick out of it. This is the ninja-assassin-specificity joke, designed to take out one audience member at a time. 

Option Two: Update it to something everyone can understand. My research has led me to Dairylea Lunchables as the best UK equivalent. Now, on the upside, the phrase Dairylea Lunchables is objectively 300 per cent funnier than Dunkaroos. On the downside, my story takes place in an Australian primary school. To throw in a British snack in a pathetic attempt to impress my audience would be dishonest and, from the look of the product, far less tasty. 

Option Three: Combine the two. Make the reference, then explain the reference, then get a laugh out of explaining the reference. This is the solution employed by 90 per cent of touring comedians. It’s honest, it’s fun, and it brings the audience along for the ride. It does risk diminishing returns, however, if you need to do it multiple times throughout the show. 

But that’s the fun part. Travelling 10,000 miles to tell jokes on stage, we often won’t know how a crowd will react - if at all - until we’re standing in front of them. I personally love the thrill of discovery. I’ll be mixing and matching the above options for all my references over the first few nights, trying to keep enough authenticity without shutting anyone out of the story. I’m already training for it - as you can see, I put the distance at the start of this paragraph in miles rather than kilometres. You’re welcome.

And I’ll always remember that specificity - despite being a difficult word to pronounce - is so often the key to a great laugh. Despite what Meta would have us believe, audiences are very smart. They can fill in the blanks, they can add their own context, and they can appreciate jokes and stories outside their immediate experience. Dare I say, that’s kind of the point of art.

I think I’ve figured out a good joke for Dunkaroos now. You’ll have to see my show to hear it. But if that’s not your thing, full respect. You can always catch me in the meadows each lunchtime snacking on Dairylea Lunchables instead. 

• Sammy J’s Hero Complex is on at Underbelly  Bristo Square at 19:40 during the Edinburgh Fringe

Published: 12 Aug 2026