Thursday, 17 January 2019


"Subliminal sublime deep rumbling, Euphoric trumpets welcoming...
Not today.
I counted to twelve then home.
Sublimely swallowing Obolon or whatever is close.
Euphoric bubbles burping, beckoning!
In dizzy frenzy documenting.
Lounging, lasonia lazily digesting.
Bear Grill's snobs and workers watching. Waiting. Willing. Killing?"

So said Robert in his latest post on his (amazingly long lasting) NOTHING TO DO WITH RELIGION blog HERE

This is preferable to the execrable and fawning religious claptrap that he normally expounds.

While still making no sense this latest offering however is up there with the psychedelic works of Aldous Huxley, Gertrude Stein and his own favourite Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Robert could of course have been influenced by his readings of John in The Apocalypse.

My theory though is that he's been getting too close to those cleaning chemicals he uses.

Wednesday, 16 January 2019


I miss my dad's shed. The 'shed' I mean, I guess was the garage and the basement in Vogeltown.
he had a couple of sheds up the back of the property but one was for chickens and the other for explosives - see HERE

Dad's garage had all sorts of things  in it both useful and junk that were great to pick through whenever we wanted to make something.

My grandad on my mother's side had a great shed as well. This was on a farm and was an old shearing shed. The stuff in  this was different from the city stuff and more exotic. It didn't take much digging in the dust to find live bullets for example.

Nowadays I don't have access to a shed. I've never been a 'handyman' type person so haven't built up a big collection of tools and all of the bits that go along with them. The 'bits' are those boxes and jars full of nails, screws, nuts and bolts and every sort of plumbing, building, electrical and mechanical bric a brac that comes in handy.

The few 'bits and bobs' that I've had in the past all disappeared when we went overseas for a couple of years and put all of our good possessions in storage. Now, when I want to repair something I don't have a ready made repository to access. It's annoying when all I want is an eye-hook or a nut and bolt to have to go to a hardware store to buy it. I want to make a blowgun to fire chickpeas at the seagulls. In the past I'd be able to fossick in dad's or the old girl's fathers garages or sheds to find exactly what I want. Now I'll have to go to a builder's supplies yard or hardware place and end up buying much more than I want.

I miss my dad's shed.

Tuesday, 15 January 2019


* No doubt that got your attention.

We couldn't decide whether this post should be published by either the Religious Curmudgeon of the Music Curmudgeon so it is here under The Curmudgeon.

I'm sure that both Richard and Robert will find this article interesting albeit that they will take different sides - Robert being with the 'first class citizens whose virtuous lives earned them passage to the uppermost heights' and Richard down below where stringed instruments produce the most hellish sort of cacophony, 'a fitting accompaniment for the horn whose bell is befouled with the arm of a tortured soul'.

Monday, 14 January 2019


Reacher sat on the bus after all of the passengers got off.
The bus driver looked around at him and said "Hey Mac. This is the end of the line. You getting off or what?"
Reacher looked at him, holding his eye and said "You're driving a Dreamliner MCI D4505 made by Motor Coach Industries at their plant in Pembina, North Dakota. The MCI series was developed from a 1988 Canadian government request to develop a wheelchair-accessible intercity bus. The prototype was apparently developed from the MCI 102C3 with a 102B3 nose and extended to 45 feet 5 inches. A large wheelchair-accessible lavatory was installed in the rear. The prototype was completed in 1990, but couldn't enter service in the US because it was too long, until the 45-foot length was approved in 1991. Changes were made for the production model. The engine was upgraded to the large new Detroit Diesel Series 60 and received a bigger rear end with powerful radiator and intercooler.  This coach has a curb weight of 35,100 pounds.  Wi-Fi is free and all of the buses have personal power outlets, reclining leather seats, extra legroom, no middle seats, overhead storage, on-board restroom and are eco-friendly. They also have a kneeling setting to make it easier for elderly people to get off so DROP THE DAMN BUS!"

The driver pressed a button and the coach 'kneeled' to allow Reacher to step off easily on to the curb.

Reacher stood and looked about. He needed a toilet. He hadn't wanted to use the one on the coach. That was public and it was just something he didn't damn well do. He saw a coffee shop on the corner and thought "Coffee shops have toilets. They call them Rest Rooms. I won't be using that. That's for damn sure".

Reacher saw a cheap motel on the other corner and hobbled off to check in. He flashed his Gold Card and got the senior rate - $35 cash. He grabbed the key and shuffled as quickly as he could into the unit and into the bathroom. He just made it with only a bit of leakage. "That'll wash out" he thought to himself "and a walk down to that coffee shop should dry the damned pants".

Reacher had no luggage. He never did preferring to travel light. He emptied the contents of his pants pockets into the bedside drawers.

He only had his passport, a foldaway toothbrush, $75 in notes and some change.

He also had his Gold Card and a medical ID card. He put those in the drawer.

In another pocket he pulled out a packet of travelling wet wipes, a tube of pile cream and a small flask of Metamucil. "Just as well I bought those cargo pants with all the pockets" he thought.

From another pocket Reacher pulled out a bottle of beta blocker heart medication. He put that on the bedside cabinet alongside another bottle of blood thinner tablets. Alongside these went his statin tablets for managing high cholesterol and his diabetes pills. The top of the bedside cabinet was covered so the reading glasses from another pocket had to go in the top drawer along with the elastic knee brace that he carried. He tossed out the bible that was in there to make room.

Reacher stopped for a moment and then stretched and yawned. And scratched. "Damn" he thought as he gave his arse a good scratch "I'll have to get some more of that topical steroid ointment that the doctor gave me".

"Getting old sucks" he thought as he made for the door to go to the coffee shop before ducking back into the bathroom for another pee.

Hope for the best. Plan for the worst.

Sunday, 13 January 2019


I mentioned in an earlier post the problems that I have with marauding seagulls that eat the sugar bread I put out for the little birds.

I toyed with the idea of buying a shanghai or a spud gun but toying with the idea was as near as I got because old fashioned toy shops that used to sell these things are no longer around having been replaced by 'toy' departments in large format rubbish shops like The Warehouse and K-Mart. These only sell cheap plastic toys that don't suit my requirement.

The next level up is a sporting goods store that can sell BB guns, airguns and hunting slingshots that can be lethal and so are also no good. I want something that will deter the seagulls without hurting them.

While clearing away some junk today I found a hollow steel tube that was part of a foldaway wardrobe of The Old Girl's. As she's not here today she hasn't seen that I've purloined it and have been experimenting with its use as a blow gun.

I've been using almonds, peanuts and chickpeas which all work but they don't have the right size and spherical character to create a snug fit in the tube. A snug fit is essential for air pressure. The nuts will fire but they lack the necessary force. I fired at a cheeky seagull that was sitting on the deck rail, it hit it on the beak but all it did was to seem to make it angry. I need something better.

Jaffas would be ideal but I suspect that the diameter of the pipe I have is too small to accomodate a jaffa. I'll have to try other lollies.

I'll have to find one of those shops that have lots of different lollies in all shapes and sizes sold loose.

I can just imagine me going in with my tube and experimenting in the shop with different ones.


Well it is Sunday so The Religious Curmudgeon has a new post:


..... Donald Trump is a Russian plant.

You've read or heard the news about how the FBI last year investigated whether Trump had been working with Russia in the sacking of former CIA Director James Comey:

Last year The Irish Times posed a question on whether Trump was a Russian spy:

And your own The Curmudgeon had similar concerns which fell on your deaf ears:

Wake up readers. Why read Richard's Bass Brag* which is full of old news and self aggrandisement when you can get the scoop from following what's happening in the world via any of The Curmudgeon Inc.ⓒ's informative posts.

* The original Bass Bragging site.

Saturday, 12 January 2019


..... bar.

On our walk yesterday we met two Brits who have been coming to the Heads every year for years. They said that they used to own a property here with a batch on it and have since sold it. We swapped news and they asked who we knew at the local club. I hardly ever go there but there were a couple of people we knew in common.

The local club is like a cosmopolitan club with lots of those high tables with stools around or that you can lean on.

Like this only our club has lots of windows with nice views over the bay.

I don't know what the percentage is of Brits who live out at the heads but the percentage of Brits who make up membership of the club is very high. It seems that local pub going is more of a British custom than a New Zealand custom.

The Brits we met on our walk spoke enthusiastically about the club and looked forward to going there on their holidays (they live in Coventry in the UK) - to socialise with other Brits. Go figure.

It reminded me of that great Monty Python sketch about British people on holidays:

Also, I'm reminded of a great British comedy series, Benidorm which lampooned working class Brits on holiday in Spain:


Yesterday we went for a nice walk to Smugglers Bay. The weather was stunning and the walk, while strenuous for me in my unfit condition, was good.

We walked the track around the old gun emplacements and up and over the hill to Smugglers Bay.

There's a lovely beach here where sometimes we swim but had decided to delay our swim until we were home and to swim in the bay outside or house.

I was standing at the end of the boardwalk overlooking the beach and The Old Girl came up to me and reminded me that we weren't stopping and were off over another hill to the carpark.

"I was just thinking of sitting on the sand over there" I said pointing to a prone figure lying on a towel.

She looked at me and said "Why? Do you think that woman in the water might be naked?"

I said "No, but that one lying down is" pointing to the prone figure on the towel.

The Old Girl had a quick look and then looked at me quizzically. "Matey, that's a man but if you want to go over there don't let me stop you".

I scrunched up my glasses and had another look and sure enough it was a young guy lying on his stomach getting a suntan on his back. I mumbled something and shamefacedly made my way back along the boardwalk to the track well aware without looking that The Old Girl would be smirking.

Thursday, 10 January 2019


New member of The Curmudgeons Inc.ⓒ, The aluminium Foil Guy, now known professionally as The Aluminium Foil Curmudgeon has written a quick post:

This is a place marker at this stage as he will have to spend some time in researching this subject.


"Subliminal sublime deep rumbling, Euphoric trumpets welcoming... Not today. I counted to twelve then home. Sublimely swallowi...