HAPPY NEW YEAR...

...suckers.
Commerce, politics and religion promises you new and exciting discoveries and wish fulfillment. In reality it will be the same old crap, slightly differently packaged but will cost you more. People younger then you will see these offerings as having a bit of pizazz but you, a year older and a bit more jaded will start to see through the flimsy wrapping and frayed edges but, to keep face, will grin and bear it.

Anyway, have a god time, don't drink too much and remember to check the local council regulations before letting off those fireworks.

Full House

Counting The Old Girl and I we have 9 adults and one child staying with us between Christmas and New Year and another 2 coming on New Years Eve. I'm glad that we have 'more than one pot to piss in' to paraphrase Man Of Errors and that we have enough room to fit everyone without feeling cramped. We feel that we have given the house a good work-out.
The weather has been pretty good so that kayaking, swimming, fishing and walking have been the daily activities. TV has only been on once (Mad Men on Sunday night). Eating and drinking has been high on the agenda in the evenings with everyone retiring relatively early, exhausted after a big day.

I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE

There is something infinitely relaxing about being beside the sea (unless its Bali on Boxing Day). Tidal changes, the sounds of lapping water, shimmering reflections, diving gannets, jumping fish and bobbing boats all offer gentle distractions. We lived by the sea in Point chevalier also and enjoyed that as well. What I have noticed already over this holiday period is a different sound. The sound of children. Children screaming with delight. Children play-fighting. Children arguing. Children forging new friendships and alliances. Children enthusiastically embracing what is around them. Where were the Point Chevalier children? I know that they existed as every school morning their mothers blocked the streets with their 4W-drive vehicles delivering them right to the school doors. After school and on weekends the precious babies were locked up inside or barricaded in back yards (never front yards) for safety. Are these the same children that the parents have brought on holiday? I don't think so. These kids have the confidence to jump off the diving platform, paddle kayaks, snorkel and to ride horses. I love their sounds of laughter.

BEING HERE

Having moved North I am once again astounded at the different reality that can be found in such a small country as New Zealand when you move from one part to another. I first discovered this when we moved from Auckland to Christchurch for 6 years. (Previously, moving from Wellington to Auckland was not as fraught as I had not reached an age to be 'settled' much as Richard found I guess when he went to Taumaranui). Christchurch society was so different to Auckland and was aggressively defensive - something that we were bewildered by since I was born in Wellington and Lynn in Aberdeen so we didn't see ourselves as Aucklanders or indeed as having any particular 'place' that defined us.

In Northland we haven't found the aggressive anti-Auckland attitude yet but have noticed many subtle differences. I am already aware that I have done more than physically moved location, I have stepped into a different way of thinking. At Lynn's company's Christmas dinner the other evening, when asked what I am doing I responded that I was being a kept man. This, in place of perhaps the usual "I am unemployed' response found great favour at the dinner table with architects and engineers all wanting also to be 'kept men' and imploring their better halves to oblige.

This reminded me of that great Peter Sellers film Being There (Hal Ashby dir.) where Chance the gardener (Sellers), after a lifetime of tending a secluded estate ventures into the 'real' world. Chance's naive comments are misinterpreted by worldly and jaded politicians as being visionary (the satire is in that modern politics and media hinge on 'sound bytes' and slogans because audiences cannot concentrate for more than 15 seconds).
I felt that I was in the mirror image of this movie in that I am going to the garden not leaving it but the 'worldly sophistication' of Auckland gave me the pithy 'kept man' throwaway that hit the innocent spot.

POOR ROBERT

Poor Robert.
Its not just Richard but now even Vicars are making fun of his God.

OK I'm old but I'm still lucid.
I do find it hard to adjust to the confusing proliffeation of television programmes now that overlap so much that it is hard to keep track of start/stop dates.
In the past great series like Brideshead Revisited, Smiley's People, Edge of Darkness, Cracker, Boys from the Blackstuff, Auf Wiedersehen Pet etc. were easy to follow as you knew which channel they were going to be on, which day of the week and at what time. Nowadays, with 27+ channels to choose from and with them all repeating programmes and series very quickly and with great frequency it is difficult to identify the important three Ws - which channel, what day, what time. There are some great new series on (somewhere) but I am never sure if I have caught the first or last series. Also, the very best of them, probably because high quality means low ratings, are on at godawful times (The wire for example was screened at 1AM on a major channel.
Its like The Pictures (or cinema definitely not movies) screening times (don't get me started! - ed). In the good old days you knew where you were. The Pictures were on at 11AM, 2PM, 5PM or 8PM. You couldn't get it wrong. Now they are all over the bloody place. Jeez!

AN APOLOGY IN ADVANCE

Christmas is almost here and once again I won't be properly prepared for it. It is very unlikely that I will send out Christmas cards; I will not create a Christmas letter; I will forget to buy presents for some people; I will forget to telephone others; I will most likely get grumpy later in the afternoon on Christmas Day; I will probably drink more than is good for me; it is possible that I will say 'Bah Humbug' at least once over the Christmas weekend.

I know that this will annoy and even upset some people. I will be adding to the sense of loneliness and isolation that some frail souls feel. They will feel neglected and be miserable.

I should do something to stop this happening but I am lazy and self-centred. It will be my fault entirely.

I am truly sorry for what I will do and I beg you all to forgive me for this.

I promise that next year I will be better organised and that this will not happen again.

I will try and make up for my actions, perhaps by purchasing some gifts in the New Year sales or sending out an Easter card.

Mea Culpa.

LIKE SHIPS IN THE NIGHT

We've all heard of books like "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, ' and some of us have read Gloria Steinheim, Germaine Greer and Erica Jong. Most of us of a certain age have seen the cultural changes that successive generations, even decades, bring.

The difference between the sexes always makes for fascinating reading - whether they exist or not.

The old attitudes (not entirely extinct) of a man's place and a woman's place being separate and distinct and lines not to be crossed was alive and well through the 50's and only just starting to show cracks in the 60's (watch Mad Men on TV which handles this well). Generally now, in Western Christian countries these attitudes are seen as out of place and inappropriate.

Poor old men though can never get it right. They are always out of sync. A SNAG (sensitive new age guy) probably thinks that all his empathy, understanding, sensitivity and 'honorary womanhood' puts him in good stead with women. The problem is that women have moved on from the 'pretty in pink' objectification to a much stronger and confident role that does not put up with the past modelling. Men adopting such a stance are reviled. Maybe in another couple of hundred years men and women can just be themselves and hopefully get on well together. Mutual respect is the key.

I PREFER 'SNAG' AS ANOTHER NAME FOR SAUSAGES

This from:www.heartless-bitches.com

The Myth Of The Sensitive New Age Nice Guy Fact, fantasy, or just another asshole
in a different clown suit?
by a woman who "is not bitter"

The sensitive new age nice guy, generally wears his hair in a ponytail, and is in touch with that side of himself he thinks of as female. Although he says he wears no armor, he wears his issues on his chest; and so to have conversation with him, you must get through that invisible chain mail vest. He reads an awful lot, about what women want, in fact -he reads too much. (I heard one quoting pages once, and couldn't swallow my lunch.) Where he gathers all his information, has left him with a rather stunted imagination he's an impossibly boring new age creation completely incapable of cerebral masturbation. But he is a master of doormat manipulation Some might say I'm being a little rough, after all he's just trying to be kind, a gentle, sensitive, understanding, sweet man is really a good find. A genuinely caring man, Well, of course there is nothing wrong with that, It's just the lines falling from his mouth come out sounding..... really flat. He's having a hard time with his identity, he talks about his different boundaries he never yells, always says please, and around him all you feel is guilty, guilty, guilty. Now as much as I'd hate to hear: "Hey baby what's your sign", it's no more entertaining than a self help book quoted line for line. He likes to cook, he likes to clean, he has a very low self esteem. He finds it difficult to be prince charming But I'm not Cinderella, honey, and the prince is so dull it's alarming. He doesn't understand why women don't like "the too nice guy" overlooking of course, what the "too" might imply. In fact it's one of his most annoying traits, besides "The Joy Of Sex" quotes he makes. Almost as bad as the "I'm a lesbian in a man's body" fakes. He'll just never understand exactly what it takes. "Touch yourself and show me how you like it done" "I'm not hurting you now am I hon.?" SHUT THE F**K UP AND LET ME HAVE SOME FUN !!! (Some new age nice guy sex-therapist-with-a-book is the real guilty one!) Now, caring about how your partner is feeling Is definitely an idea that is very appealing, yet if this is what a woman is screaming: ( While ripping off your clothes) "Oh Yes! do it! F**k me now!" simply shut up sweetheart, and do what you are told. He finds with women he better relates, and yet somehow he rarely dates. He says he understands women's issues, he also knows what it's like to be used. He cries at soppy movies so you'd better have some tissues. He knows EXACTLY how you feel ( he secretly reads Daniel Steel) And though he'll never pass a watermelon through his rump, nor does he bloat during that time of the month, he has noticed that on a regular schedule he gets into a grump! He's secure in his masculinity, so he's not threatened by a dominant personality. He's attracted to women who come off assertively, and since he can't make a decision for himself it works out perfectly ...at least theoretically. He's supportive of your sarcastic angstful poetry, but, even so, he just won't find it very funny. He'll point out the spelling mistakes rather promptly, but not because on his ego you just went stompity, stompity, stompity.

HARK THE HERALD ANGEL SINGS

Remember when news at six was important. Worth watching. Informative. Those were the days.

Today news at six, 5.30, 7, anytime is a patchwork of cobbled stories. The producers of this crap admit it themselves in that they put in the rider ' full coverage of this story can be found on the website www.....). They know that the viewers are bombarded all day by 15 second 'sound-bites' on radio, TV, cell-phone, websites, blogs, Face book (Faeces book - ed), Twitter and all sorts of 'noise'. It used to be that the true stories reached people by 'village' news. Well today 'village' news doesn't stand a chance.

This why we get rubbish on Headline News about whether Tiger Woods' wife clobbered him with a golf club and breaking news about some silly tart who let her 2 y.0. lock her in a cupboard. Firstly why didn't the stupid slag boot the door open (leveraging the body against the back wall and kicking with the feet can break through virtually anything) and secondly how come crap stories like this take precedence over important political, social, humanitarian and economic issues. At least it puts to bed the urban myth about desperate mothers lifting cars to save their babies I suppose.

To save readers time I have written your comments of umbrage already.

PHOTOGRAPHIC SKILLS

This picture makes me laugh. That kid surely will grow up making a fortune (and no friends).

Its the modern equivalent of Richard standing under the stairs at primary school.

EOPHYTES

Eophytes grow in our native trees. They are a sort of parasitic plant that attach themselves to the branches. The picture is of a Pohutakawa tree at the water's edge just down the road. It is quite striking.

Talking of striking, Eophytes growing in tall bush trees (Rata, Kauri and Rimu etc) were known by the early settlers and gum diggers as 'widow makers'. This was because they could dislodge themselves in windy conditions and fall down on an someone sleeping beneath a tree.

There is a jetty at the end of the road I live in where people successfully fish morning and evening. They tell me that snapper is easy to catch. I think I'll give it a go as soon as I get a fishing rod.

FAIR WEATHER SAILING

The water was so still on Wednesday it was perfect for kayaking. Even Robert wouldn't tip out in these conditions. When you visit Robert we will go out (when the water is like glass). The mist created an ethereal effect. It was quite still and beautiful.

MEAN JESUS

Jesus seems a bit pissed off. He came to me to ask that I get a message to Richard. It seems that not only has Richard been making fun of his birthdate he has been pandering to that Jesus hater Bin Hire. Jesus says that Bin Hire's philosophy on life is very suspect. He also says to Bin Hire good luck in finding 23 virgins in heaven when he gets there - he himself has never seen any where Bin Hire lives. (Boy is he pissed off).

WORK IN PROGRESS

This post is only intended to be a work in progress

WHEN RATINGS FAIL...

....resort to pornography and salacious pictures of scantily clad women.

Nicola's Supermarket bag tried this although without success as I see very few bloggers bothered posting with Bin Hire commenting twice.

I see that Richard, in order to boost interest has encouraged porno scrotes to add their images. Admittedly they are more interesting than those boring pics of bass bags and Jesus etc. but it does somewhat lower the tone.

Oh well. Desperation demands some action I suppose.

SETTLING IN

It has been a busy couple of weeks moving all of our stuff into the new house and getting settled in. The Old Girl is back at work. She has been splitting her time between the office up here and Auckland. We may have to consider buying an Auckland apartment if she spends a lot of time there. The Wine Guy has been a pain in the arse. He is moaning because there isn't a wine cellar in the house like the custom built one we had at the other place. I dumped all his boxes of wine in the basement below the house and it is now all unsorted in wooden crates which makes it a bit of a lucky dip when selecting a wine. I wish he would piss off.

PASH ANYONE?

I've been quietly looking at job sites to see what employment may be on offer up here in the far north. There doesn't seem to be a lot except for medical, car sales and engineering so I may have to re-list myself as a marketing consultant. What I have noticed is that a good few of the advertisers preface the job availability with "Are you passionate about...". What? Passionate about selling vacuum cleaners? Are you passionate about driving a night soil cart? Are you passionate about manning a vodafone kiosk? Give me a break. Maybe, given the standard of job search personnel I could become one of those.

MEAN SPIRITED BASTARDS

On the weekend I noticed that a car had hit a ditch or something on a country road and had seriously damaged its front wheels and suspension. It was parked by the side of the road and apart from the front damage was relatively unmarked.

A couple of days later the car was totally trashed.

Every window had been smashed. Wheels had been stolen. The bonnet was missing and components of the engine stolen. Most of the panels were damaged.

What the hell possesses people to do this? They are probably the types that piss in telephone boxes and steal the directories.

IF THE NAME FITS..

McLeod Bay where I am moving to I am happy to say has a sort of historical connection with me. I really like the place and in a strange sort of way it is like going home. The bay is named after Rev. Norman Mcleod who, in 1855 settled there with a large group of fellow Scots. These Scots originally came from the West Coast of Scotland and at first emigrated to Nova Scotia, leaving there after drought and famine decimated the community before sailing to Victoria, Australia and ultimately New Zealand. My lot, the McDonalds were part of that journey and, as they were boat builders, would have been involved in building the sailing ships that took them from Nova Scotia to Australia and New Zealand. The McDonalds that I come from stayed on in Australia (farming at Tullamarine, Melbourne) before finally making the journey to Marlborough. Other McDonalds, some sort of kin, made the earlier trip with the McLeods and settled at Whangarei Heads. There is a McDonald's Island in McLeod Bay - a sort of gigantic sand bar that disappears at full tide. I like this connection. The place name suits.

I have been making a few trips up to McLeod Bay over the last week, taking up possessions and generally getting to know the area a lot more. I have noticed that there is a small place near Te Hana on the way up to Whangarei named Kuntara. Now, if Richard ever decided to to settle up North.....

Dethroned

If the best blokes attend Tony's wedding wearing the regalia of The White Sport Coat and Pink Carnation Society it might be embarrassing for Richard given his last placing in the pecking order. He was the self-appointed king in the society after all.

LAST PLACE

Tony and Alison are getting married in February.

It won't be a traditional wedding and instead of a 'best man' Tony will have 'best blokes'.

Today we had a BBQ lunch at their place and selected the pecking order of the' best blokes'. Mike and I will share the first place. Richard, who didn't show will have to be last.

PACKING

There are many packing styles. Here are two of them:

First method is to gather together like items, usually from the same room, carefully wrap them and place in the cardboard or plastic boxes according to function, size or fragility. The boxes are then marked (on all sides) with a number which is cross referenced to a computer spreadsheet which itemises all the contents of the box. The box is also marked with a large asterisk which apparently means that the contents are fragile. The box may also be marked with a circle with a dot in it which apparently means that the contents of the box will not be required immediately at the new house!

The second method involves grabbing anything and everything within reach and stuffing into a carton which is taped and stacked for removal.

I have one method and The Old Girl has the other. I wonder which will prove to be the best at the other end?

MAKE THEM EAT CAKE

"The prisoner who walked away from a minimum security prison yesterday was a murderer and double rapist whose crimes shocked the nation more than two decades ago."

NZPA report this morning.

What's wrong with this statement?

A murderer and double rapist (the crime was extremely horrific - the guy is an animal) is in minimum security that he can just walk away from.

This presupposes that mere armed robbers and vicious assault criminals are kept in day care kindergartens or similar.

Things like this make me think that Garth McVicar is on the right track.

SOLD

I've sold the picture framing gallery. This means I can leave for the North without having to worry about it anymore.

I enjoyed the experience, learning a new 'trade' and interfacing with customers again after many years absence. When I settle in McLeod Bay I'll have to take up something else, maybe musical instrument making. I mean, how hard could it be to knock up something like a double bass. Its not like the sounds coming out of it are important and as they always seem to be stuck way at the back of orchestras and bands they don't have to look that flash. Any commissions?

WE'VE DONE IT NOW

Sale and purchase have both gone through. We're committed now so will be at McLeod Bay on 30 October. Will look forward to visitors - we have the room.

RETREATING TO THE NORTH

I may be a Curmudgeon but underneath I am quite sensitive. Richard and his sidekicks' disparaging comments about my picture framing has finally got to me. I am abandoning the picture framing. Today we sold our house in Auckland and bought another one in the far North to get far away from all the derisive laughter and snide comments.

Satisfied Richard?

"GET A GIG....GET A GIG"

Things are a bit slow in picture framing world which is a natural follow on from the recession. I guess that framing pictures is not high on the list of essential household spending. The heavy rain that we have been experiencing also means that customers don't want to bring their artwork out (except for watercolours and that 'Monsoon Girl' print. Ha Ha ... that was picture framing humour).

I was talking to Richard of Richard's Bass Bag (the original one) today and he unwittingly (easy for him to do - ed) gave me a good idea - busking. Richard said that he is going to do some busking including performing in restaurants. I thought that if restaurant customers could sit there and be rendered senseless by listening to boring bass playing then why can't they sit there and be entertained in other mind-numbing ways. The answer is a picture framing demonstration. I think I'll pack up some materials and go visit some restaurants and pitch my idea to them.

...DON'T KNOW WHEN I'LL BE BACK AGAIN..

The Old Girl went to Christchurch this morning on the 6.40AM flight. She'll be there for a couple of days on business. Last week it was Rotorua and a couple of weeks ago it was Wellington. Air travel, indeed any sort of travel is so commonplace nowadays that we no longer think that of it as special. When I was younger it was special. Even when I was at University if I went anywhere it would have to involve the relatives at the destination meeting me at the airport and farewelling me there as well. I couldn't go anywhere without my mother saying "you must call in on Aunty So and So". As I've said before - things have changed and not necessarily for the better.

GOOD TIMING JOHN

A week after John Key sends more troops to Afghanistan to help the Americans and bends over on the Letterman show saying that New Zealanders love America, Osama Bin Laden sends out a message warning countries to not forge alliances with the United States and to withdraw their forces from Afghanistan.
I guess that we’re off his Christmas card list. What do you think Bin Hire?

26 SEPTEMBER 1944

The gunners manning the 88 flak gun now configured for ground attack were dirty and tired. They were part of 8 Company, II Battalion of the German Fourteenth army. They had been driven north after the Anzio landings and now were engaged in the fighting retreat going up the Eastern coast. They had been pushed over the Arno River, surrendering Florence to the Allied 8th army and were now defending the approaches to the Uso River. Having arrived there with some time to spare before the approaches of the New Zealand Division who were leading the extreme right flank of the advance, they had created their firing plan and zeroed in their targets – the river approaches. All they could do now was to sit and wait.

‘A’ Squadron of Divisional Cavalry, now part of the New Zealand 6th Brigade was making a slow and expensive progress after the battle of Rimini towards the mouth of the Uso. The enemy had laid a great deal of demolition material (obsolete bombs and shells) and many mines. Already a couple of Staghounds and some trucks had been destroyed with some loss of life. ‘A ‘Squadron needed to clear a path for the tanks and armoured cars and to find safe crossing of the rivers with the Uso now of paramount importance. Orders were coming down from RHQ to push on so, after quickly clearing the remaining mines Lieutenant Spiers and Sergeant McDonald went ahead on foot to reconnoitre the approach to the river. They met up with 10 others from other units and began to work out a crossing plan.

A single 88mm shell burst amongst them. Spiers and seven of the men from the other units were killed instantly. Patrick (PHA) McDonald was lucky to be amongst the four who were only wounded, if being knocked unconscious and having your arm sliced open from wrist to shoulder is lucky.
Pat awoke to a medical orderly helping him into a vehicle. The man had roughly bandaged his arm and taken steps to stop the bleeding. He looked around him and saw the broken and bloody forms of his comrades. They were being hastily evacuated from the dangerous position with the helpers warily looking out for any further shelling. He was taken to Florence to 6th NZ General Hospital where his wounds were operated on, dressed and his arm put in plaster. The analgesic medication relieved the pain but also made everything a bit fuzzy around the edges. When Jane put a soothing hand on Pat’s brow and asked how he was feeling he was a bit disoriented. He thought that he was back in Marlborough and that he must have fallen off his horse. Jane was his sister you see, Senior Nurse Jane McDonald. When he realised where he was he and Jane had a great reconciliation, swapping stories of their respective campaigns. Pat was the envy of the other patients as he definitely received preferential treatment. All too soon though he had to leave the hospital and rejoin his division. There were many more rivers to fight over on the way towards the Po river and ultimately Trieste.

LET THEM EAT CAKE

Someone you don't want to invite around for a 'pot luck' dinner or to involve in a staff get-together is Richard (of Richard's Original Bass Bag).

While other people spend hours planning and cooking an interesting dish, Richard looks for the specials at Countdown and buys cakes that are past their use-by date.

Just be thankful he doesn't bring along any wine.

NUMBER 8 WIRE

Times are changing and not always for the best. I grew up during a time when anything was fixable and you didn't need to be a rocket scientist to do so. We could recondition our cars at home and there wasn't much we couldn't do to keep household appliances going. A fix-it standby was often wire. If there was nothing suitable in the garage there was always a coat hanger in the closet. These multi-purpose items could help get better TV reception, substitute as a car aerial, temporarily hold together broken furniture and unblock drains. Last night the dishwasher went on the blink. I knew what was wrong with it - there was a blockage somewhere inside in the drain pipe. I went to get a coat hanger but was dismayed to find that all of the hangers we have are 'newfangled' contraptions made of wood and or plastic that are totally useless for anything other than hanging clothes on. What is the world coming to?

SOMETIMES BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN DEEP

I can't stand those beautiful women who have gone through life expecting everyone to defer to them. This is most noticed when they are in queues, cars or as pedestrians. They blatantly break rules and are used to people (males) letting them get away with what they are doing. They generally have a big smile on their face. Yesterday I had just one such who decided to cross the road in front of me while I was turning with the lights. She stepped out in front with a big toothy smile. I gave her a dismissive gesture and the smile changed to a scowl that would curdle milk.

HE STROKED IT GENTLY AND EASED IT BETWEEN THE POSTS

No, not a line from a Mills and Boon novel but Murray Mexted waxing lyrical about one of Giteaux' penalty kicks in the Australia New Zealand game last night.

I thought that I'd had enough of rugby, having been disappointed at how the All Blacks have been playing. Too many new players, too many mistakes and not enough razzle-dazzle. Well, last night's game has given me a reason to follow them again. Its not just about the winning (although that's good) its about how the game goes and whether it makes for good watching. I enjoyed it.

ROGER

Roger is a friend of mine who was one of my workmates at the wholesale wine & spirit business.

Roger was crazy and probably still is even though he has a responsible job in Government.

Here are some of the things Roger did:

At Te Horo beach one night when we were having a bonfire/BBQ casually said that we should take cover as he had thrown a box of sparklets (the CO2 cylinders used in soda dispensers) into the fire. We ducked as they successively exploded sending burst metal cylinders flying like shrapnel, each one capable of taking a head off.

Pillioned us down Taranaki Street to Courtenay Place on his motorscooter. There were 3 of us.

Made a bomb and blew up a neighbours front door.

Dropped full cartons of Nederburg sparkling wine off the mezzanine floor down to the warehouse below. The trick was to see how many corks blew off. The top of the carton was opened and, if the carton fell perfectly even and hit the floor square then at least half of the corks would fly straight up.

Set fire to a kitchen at a party we had gatecrashed by lighting Bacardi 151 (75% alcohol spirit).

Would set his stereo blasting from his house in Wadestown, drive across the valley to a reserve and listen to the music which he said sounded marvellous, particularly Arthur Brown. Did this several times until the police followed him to the reserve and said that the neighbours were complaining.

Made a blowgun out of PVC piping and fired lollies at a traffic cop sitting on his bike across from the wholesalers causing the traffic cop to fall off his bike.

Much, much more.

THE MAN WHO TURNED INTO IRON

My GP gave me the news recently that I have a genetic blood disorder and made an appointment for me with a specialist. Being a hypochondriac the idea of a rare genetic disorder had some appeal and had the promise of calling in more favours from the Old Girl than just having 'man flu'. The specialist said that I have Haemochromotosis and that it affects 1 in 400 people to varying degrees. Not so special after all. Basically it is an accumulation of iron in the blood which can, if untreated damage internal organs. Good old fashioned blood-letting is the solution so I have been going weekly to the Auckland hospital out-patients to give a pint (a whole armful) of blood.

Interestingly one of the side affects of this disorder is that mosquitoes don't like to drink it. Maybe its too heavy and they can't fly away. A walking mosquito can't function too well.

BIG FIGHT AT THE PICTURE FRAMERS

Things are usually pretty quiet at the picture framing gallery - its the nature of the business. The most exciting thing to happen is if a pane of glass cracks.

Today there was a real drama. Two elderly customers got into a heated argument over the selection of the mat colour for a watercolour they wanted framing. I distinctly heard one of them say to the other "Muriel, you MUST see that pink doesn't suit either the frame or the picture"

I didn't get in between them. I ducked for cover. After an uncomfortable quarter of an hour a compromise was reached and Gladys agreed to 'Colonial Rose'. They headed off home. I bet that Muriel didn't get a chocolate biscuit with her mid-morning cup of tea.

FIRE!

Wikipedia says:

"Book burning (a category of biblioclasm, or book destruction) is the practice of destroying, often ceremoniously, one or more copies of a book or other written material. In modern times, other forms of media, such as phonograph records, video tapes, and CDs have also been ceremoniously burned, torched, or shredded. The practice, usually carried out in public, is generally motivated by moral, religious, or political objections to the material.
Some particular cases of book burning are long and traumatically remembered - because the books destroyed were irreplaceable and their loss constituted a severe damage to cultural heritage, and/or because this instance of book burning has become emblematic of a harsh and oppressive regime. Such were the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, the burning of books and burying of scholars under China's Qin Dynasty, the destruction of Mayan codices by Spanish conquistadors and priests, and in more recent times, Nazi book burnings and the destruction of the Sarajevo National Library.
Some particular cases of book burning are the result of unacceptable material according to generally accepted moral, community and or religious standards; for example child pornography.

Richard's bass bag has contravened all moral, community and religious standards (with the exception of child pornography). Maybe its time to light those fires.

THERE'S A JOKE IN HERE

FOR ROBERT

I think he's going through that pink phase again.