Thursday, 18 June 2009


Nuts are good and not just for scratching, Richard. The other day I found a wheel nut from the Rover on the driveway. On checking the wheels I found that the rear right wheel was only connected by one nut - the locking nut. As I'd just been driving at 100k+ on the motorway this was disconcerting. A few days earlier I had had the brakes checked at our local garage. Maybe they didn't tighten them properly. Years ago in Wellington I had a tyre change done on my Ford Escort before driving up to the Otaki Forks to go tramping. I drove on the highway at 100k+ for some time until turning off to drive on a gravel road to the forks. Halfway along the rear left wheel fell off. I was only going at about 60K but it gave me a hell of a shock. Believe it or not when I walked back to collect the wheel I found the hubcap with all the wheel nuts in it so I was able to put the wheel back on and continue the journey. The tyre change people hadn't tightened the nuts properly. Thankfully the wheel hadn't come off when I was driving on the main road.

re the latest event I went back to the garage to see if they had forgotten to put the nuts on. They assured me that they hadn't taken the wheels off to check the brakes and that someone may have been trying to steal the wheels but were stymied by the locking nut (which requires a special tool to get it off). I'm not sure about that explanation but the thought of some weasel out there trying to steal my wheels and leaving the car unsafe pisses me off. If the wheel had come off on a 4-lane motorway it would have been disastrous and not just for me.

A happy ending to this story is that when I went to Tyre Plus in Grey Lynn to buy some replacement wheel nuts the guy there gave them to me and fitted them for free.

Sunday, 14 June 2009


I went to the gym this morning for the first time in nearly two months. I did all my usual cardio and weight routines albeit a bit slower than usual. I feel better for it although that could be just psychological. I don't think that one session has radically changed my body shape.

Saturday, 13 June 2009


Richard (fairly) accused me of overusing the word 'scatology'.
I used 'scatological' in my previous post so apologise for that.
I was thinking about the word and it came to mind that one of the most dire forms of music (except for Polka and any bass solo's) is Scat.
Wikipedia describes scat as "a kind of vocal improvisation common in jazz"
The godawful Mel Torme made a career of it and even greats like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra dabbled.
The person who penned the name may well have been an inspired cynic with a great understanding of language.


Richard, in his usual scatological way, penned a blog about shit. Robert, the sensible younger brother observed that we eat food grown in shit. I wondered how much shit is best so looked it up in my 'How to do just about anything' book.
With cow, pig, horse and sheep manure you need between 2 and 5 kg per sq m.
With chicken shit you only need between 270g and 400g.
Why is that? Is chicken shit that much more concentrated? It made me think. If Richard is so full of shit if he crapped in someones garden we might have a return of the Triffids.

Friday, 12 June 2009


The other night when we came home The Old Girl checked the phone messages and stood listening with an amused expression on her face. She called me over and replayed the message which went along these lines. "Hello Lynn. Your husband is having an affair with my wife. I caught them". The voice was slurred and youngish. It could have been a hoax perpetrated by some drunken idiots or it could be a lot sadder with someone going through the phone books searching for the name he knows. Our answerphone message is "Lynn and Peter are not here..." so that is why he had Lynn's name. Lynn didn't kick me in the goolies as she knows that I would not cheat on her. A phone message like this could however have disastrous consequences if the recipients were in a shaky relationship or one that was full of doubt and mistrust.


Or perhaps serendipity. A strange thing happened today. When I was sorting out some old framing manuals and product catalogues I saw the name and address of one of the previous owners of this picture framing business. The address is the same address that we live at. I have never met these people. They owned this business years ago and certainly weren't the people we bought our house from. Was it predestined that we would buy the picture framers?

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


Why is it that women have to redo everything a man does? They want men to contribute to household duties but invariably find the result lacking and will do the job again.
If I make the bed the Old Girl will make it again. If I vacuum she will go over it again. If I iron anything it is wrong and gets done again. Folding clothes, towels, bedsheets is a no no. Loading the dishwasher? Forget it. I do it all wrong and it gets done again. Last night I made a cheese souffle and a rocket, Parmesan and pear salad for dinner. When the Old Girl came home the first thing she did was change the salad bowl I had selected. At least she didn't interfere with the souffle which was delicious.


Well why not since Robert's been banging on about the Catholic Catechism and its virtues even while there's a backdrop of priests, b...