NEVER LET THE TRUTH GET IN THE WAY OF A GOOD STORY

"NEVER LET THE TRUTH GET IN THE WAY OF A GOOD STORY" I told Richard in a comment on my last post.

This has been a mantra of mine for many years and I say it when The Old Girl catches me out in a lie or, as I prefer to see it, an embellishment.

The original saying is attributable to Mark Twain that irascible old tale teller but has been used by many people including my dad who I first heard it from. Thanks dad.

As I said, I've used it as long as I've known The Old Girl which is 32 years (the anniversary of our first meeting is next week) and even longer given that it's been a staple of my marketing, sales and promotional career. It has also come in handy when putting together financial documents, creating budgets and strategic plans and writing reports, employee assessments and other business type things in my general management career. Thanks Sam (Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain).

Richard, I'm certain has used the principle in his working career, musical history and personal life even if he has been unaware of the saying or its origin. I know that many of his blog posts have a bit of blarney in them.

Robert, Mr Holier Than Thou would of course never admit to ever making use of the principle even though his absurd religious beliefs are based entirely on it.

I mentioned that I used it in marketing. Marketing wine and other alcoholic products to be precise. Proof of this can be seen in any back label of a wine, beer or cider product where the marketers basically 'take the piss' out of the consumers with the garbage they write.

'AVING A LAUGH

While I was good at marketing and there have been a lot of bloody good marketers over the last century (watch the series Mad Men) I and everyone else have been totally left in the dust by religions especially Catholicism. Has any other religion or any product manufacturing company, political state, philosophy, fashion trend or other popular movement including music come anywhere near what Catholicism has done?

Normally marketing and advertising is applied to a created or existing product and the trick is to polish up and embellish the message. Catholicism doesn't even bother with starting from a product. It just makes things up from the start and keeps making things up as it goes along. The most brilliant ploy it uses, if things look a bit sticky, is to say "if you don't have faith you can't believe' and other circular, non-sensical 'arguments'.

Brilliant!

NEVER LET THE TRUTH GET IN THE WAY OF A GOOD STORY

THE ROAD TO PREDATION REDOUX - UPDATED

MID 1970s

Peter followed Richard, Robyn and her sister into the foyer of the Cosmopolitan Club. There was no-one in attendance but Richard seemed to know the ropes and signed in his visitors in a large book placed on a pedestal. He then led his entourage into the bar and dining area. The after-work hubbub of voices, clacking pool balls, clinking of glasses and laughter gradually subsided to a deathly silence.

Richard went to the bar to order some drinks. The now silent people in the bar area could clearly hear his order:

"Four glasses of chardonnay please"

An audible gasp came from the people in the bar. All men.

The barman, surprised, dropped the glass that he'd been spitting on and stammered:

"I c.c.c.c.c. can't ....."

The visitors weren't sure what the barman couldn't do or say as just then the club president (not a king Peter noted) came up to them and identified himself. He ushered the little group into a side room which he generously described as the salon. It was a small room with no windows. Some furniture was stacked up in a corner and there was a general feeling of neglect and  a smell of un-vacuumed carpet and stale beer.
"I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen but we think that you'd be better in here" he said, wringing his hands.

"Why?" Richard asked.

         "Er... because there are certain types of visitors who aren't allowed in the main bar area."

he replied.

"What type of ....... Oh, you mean guys from the big city?" asked Peter.
"Er, no, I mean, um, ladies." said the clearly uncomfortable president.
"Women he means" said Robyn, sternly looking down at the little man wringing his hands.

"let's go back to your place Richard." she commanded and the thirsty quartet went out and back to Richard's car.

Richard stopped off at the local bottle store and bought a half dozen of DB Lager and a bottle of McWilliams Cream Sherry. There was no chardonnay to be had in Taumaranui it seemed.

"We'll make our own party" 

he said rakishly and threw his car (1964 Skoda) into gear and took off back to the motel reaching upwards of 30 mph at some points.

Arriving home Richard quickly unscrewed the cap from the sherry and poured three large glasses - one for Robyn, one for her sister and one for himself. Peter assumed that the DB Lager was then for him and declined, pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. The water was pretty good he thought, not like that chlorinated city water.

Richard was in a good mood even though the trip to the club was a disaster and poured more sherry. He started singing some old Marty Robbins songs in an attempt to get the party going. Peter noticed that he was edging closer and closer to Robyn and that Robyn's sister was giving both him and Robyn the evil eye.

"This'll be good" 

Peter thought then another thought came to him. He moved over to Richard when Robyn and her sister began some sort of argument and pulled him outside. Reaching out he took Richard's glasses off him and held them up to the streetlight.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "Rose. Rose coloured glasses!"

**************

JANUARY 2020

Peter walked down to the Thai restaurant just off the main street. He ordered and ate pad kra pao gai (Thai Basil Chicken). He didn't go looking for the Cosmopolitan Club (Aaaaargh!) and simply went back to the motel and left early the next morning for the drive to Auckland.

THE ROAD TO PREDATION REDOUX*

This post will use a clever split time device in keeping with the wanky title and the film references in the way that that plagiarist Quentin Tarantino famously does. SEE HERE

MID 1970s

Richard ushered Peter and the two women out of the door of his motel unit which he'd been living in for some months since he had taken up the music teaching position at the local high school.

"We have to hurry along" he explained "the club doesn't like people to eat too late. We are in the King Country you know"

 He giggled at something that Robyn and her sister didn't understand. I did. Richard, when at university had self-titled himself as The King of The White Sports Coat And The Pink Carnation Society which is another story.

Peter waited while Richard was locking up and noticed that he was wearing glasses or some sort of sunglasses.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses? It'll be dark soon" he asked.
"Um, they're special glasses that Robyn posted up to me in advance of her visit. She asked me to wear them" he said.
"Fine, no worries" said Peter, looking askance at Richard and then having a closer look at Robyn.

He shrugged and joined the two women at the car. Richard was driving as only he seemed to know the way to 'The Club' in Miriama Street. In typical Richard fashion the half a kilometre drive took about a half hour but it was still before 5 O'clock - tea-time in rural communities. 'The Club' turned out to be the Taumaranui Cosmopolitan Club. It wasn't the grandiose edifice that Peter was hoping for with images of London gentlemen clubs filling his mind.

NOT THIS

THIS

"Oh" he said.

Richard parked out front of the club, hopped out and opened the doors for Robyn and her sister. He left Peter to open his own door and fussed and fumbled around the women. Peter didn't mind as he needed to make a quick change of clothes which he had with him and dressed in 'rural chic' style.

The image above isn't accurate however as it is one that Richard provided. Peter, at the time in the mid 1970s had a physique normally seen in reproductions of Donatello's sculptures.

Like this but with clothes on

Richard hustled everyone into the club and Peter caught him eying up the women lasciviously.

This is what Richard saw:

 Peter in turn looked closely at Richard and the dribble of saliva going down his chin and wondered. He wondered about those glasses.



JANUARY 2020

Peter had driven from Wellington, leaving The Old Girl to settle in to her new apartment. In the old days he would have thought nothing of driving straight to Auckland but age and increased traffic made him decide to break the journey in two. He went straight ahead at Bulls instead of turning right and drove to W(h)anganui the city that now has an extra and unnecessary 'h' in it. Quickly driving through the city he found the route to Raetihi and drove through the Para Paras, a windy road through the W(h)anganui hills. He passed the area where he, Richard, Chris, Sue, Sue's sister, Tony, Mike, Noel and maybe some others (Robert?) had two years in succession attended the Wanganui (as it was spelled then) folk festival. He smiled at his recollections of the folly of some of the group. Not his own of course. He was learning from Robert how to be 'holier than thou'.

At Raetihi Peter filled the car with petrol and had a quick look for the Raetihi cottage hospital where he had spent a week after a bad skiing accident in 1986 (skiing off-trail on Mount Ruapehu). He couldn't find it. It was gone, another victim of centralisation and cutbacks. They had treated him well there in a time when compassion and human interaction was more important than cash-flows, budgets and profit.   SEE HERE
He arrived in Ohakune soon after and looked for accommodation. Three motel/ski lodges he checked out had unmanned offices with no sign of anyone wanting to deal with a visitor. He kept going to National Park where all of the lodges were occupied (it was after 5PM) and at one that he asked about a deal the helpful woman said that they were full but she looked up accommodation options in Taumaranui.

"I'm an ordinary joker, growin' old before me time, 'cause me heart's in Taumarunui on the Main Trunk Line. In Taumarunui, Taumarunui, Taumarunui on the Main Trunk Line! You can get to Taumarunui going North or going South, you pull in there at midnight and there's cinders in your mouth. You've got cinders in your whiskers and a cinder in your eye, so you pop off to Refreshments for a cuppa tea and a pie, in Taumarunui........ " But that's another story.


Peter drove to Taumaranui, arriving around 6PM and had a look at Kelly's Motel which had been recommended. He asked for a deal and the sensible proprietor gave him keys to the 'family villa' a two bedroom unit with separate kitchen and living room. The cost was $100 down from the normal $180. After a quick shower and feeling refreshed Peter set off to explore the town and find a nice eatery. Memories of the mid 1970s flooded his mind. Some of the memories were of the mid 1970s in this very town - memories that he thought he had expunged from his consciousness. Taumaranui. Richard. The Taumaraunui Cosmopolitan Club! Aaaarggghhh!

(To be continued).




* A little etymological joke there.

THE ROAD TO PREDATION*

Peter and Noel at the Upland Road flat.

Richard called. He sounded desperate and needed help. Peter knew Richard from school and university in Wellington and often took what Richard said 'with a grain of salt'.

A grain of salt

It was usually more advisable to take what Richard says with a decent glass of alcoholic beverage but that's another story. Richard, in short was a fantasist.

"What's he imagining now" Peter thought as he busied himself with some housework in the flat he shared with Noel. Noel, in short wasn't a fantasist. He was just short.

Richard's appeal did sound a bit desperate though and a trip away would be preferable to scrubbing Noel's pee stains off the bathroom floor so Peter packed a bag, making sure that he had a good stash of that 1974 San Perino Sparkling Chardonnay, from a little known wine region in France but near the Italian border that Richard had discovered. He winced at the thought of drinking it but thought that it would be a step up from the usual crap that Richard drank like McWilliams Cream sherry HERE

Richard had left Wellington to go with Tony to Christchurch Teacher's Training College. I guess that he thought there would be young women on the course, something that he hadn't yet discovered while doing a music degree at university. It seemed that all the women he met on those courses preferred to have a cello between their legs.

Peter smiled at the thought and, for some reason thought of Robyn who was an ex 'girlfriend' of both Richard and Tony. She was a lot of woman that one so no wonder she needed a couple of suitors.

Richard was now working in Taumarunui, having completed his Christchurch studies and was setting out on that road to ........ no, we're getting ahead of ourselves there ...... he was embarking on a teaching career that would take him to far flung places of the universe the world New Zealand mostly forgotten New Zealand. Richard was a bit odd, a fantasist as said earlier and had grandiose ambitions (he once declared himself a king!) but he was a friend and friends helped each other. Peter set off for Taumarunui in his trusty Hillman Super Minx.

Note: The brakes had been repaired after Mike burned them out at the W(h)anganui folk festival.

Richard, meanwhile was fussing and fretting in his motel in Taumarunui. He was too agitated to go to school for his classes and had telephoned in pretending to be ill. Miss Daken, the old battle-axe who worked for the principal Mr De'ath took the call and sneered "I'll tell him but he won't be pleased". This agitated Richard further so he had to have an aspirin and a wank to calm his nerves. The reason that Richard was agitated was that Robyn, who he knew from Wellington had tracked him down and said that she was on her way for a visit. With her sister! Richard hadn't met the sister but went white at the thought. 

Robyn on her own had nearly killed him. Now there would be two of them. He needed help. He needed Peter.

Peter, unaware of the danger was steadily making his way to Taumaranui. Actually that wasn't strictly correct as at that time Peter drove his car really fast. He was rapidly making his way to Taumarunui, smiling to himself at the recollection of an epic crap he had at Roger's parents holiday house at Mangaweka as he barrelled past the little Rangitikei village.

When he arrived at Taumarunui and eventually found the motel that Richard lived in, given that Richard's directions were like the score from a Penderecki composition, he discovered that Richard wasn't alone. Robyn answered the door to the unit and was flanked (if at all possible) by another woman who she introduced as her sister. She was taller than Robyn but not as broad but both of them completely filled the doorway.**

Lurking in the background, just visible and visibly nervous was Richard wearing his standard uniform of the time - car dealer pants, paisley shirt and tie and a vest.

He tittered and said "Hi, um, thanks for coming, um, let's go ...... let's go to the club"

(To be continued).




*With apologies to Sir Sam Mendes


** It must be said that both Robyn and her sister were really nice women and completely undeserving of mockery but this is a blog and the rider at the top of the home page states: 

THE CURMUDGEONS INC. wishes to advise readers that any news, snippets of information, comments, editorials etc in this blog is near enough to the truth but we cannot guarantee accuracy, fairness or unbias. In the interest of satirical humour we expect readers to understand this.

FINGERS CROSSED RELIGION

I thought that I'd discovered the basis for a new religion but a Google search showed that the Catholic church had already covered this.

Crossing fingers for good luck seems to have its origin in pre-Christian times where the crossed fingers concentrated the good spirits and acted as some kind of protection. Christians as per usual adopted and adapted this making it up that the crossed fingers represented a fish which was an early identification sign for Christians (our local vicar has a little fish symbol on the back of his/her car).

Anyway, I used my crossed fingers yesterday and had a good result.

I had driven to Auckland from Wellington on Sunday and stayed the night in the apartment. On Monday, after visiting Tony and Alison with Mike I started loading up the car with some bits of furniture and other things to bring back to Whangarei. I had the car parked across the road and noticed a stormwater drain just at the rear. "I'd better not drop my keys down there" I though to myself, remembering a work colleague doing this years ago and the problems he had in retrieval.

When loading some more items, I unlocked the car with the 'smart' clicker fob and lifted the rear door putting the keys safely in my pocket. A second or two later I heard "Clink, clunk, splash". The key fob had gone straight out of a hole in my pocket and down the drain.

FUCK!

For years I've been wary of stormwater drains and have always securely clutched keys, cellphones, wallets etc as I've stepped over them. I've even lectured The Old Girl about being careful around them. Now, here I go and drop my keys down one. I studied the drain closely and concluded that there was no way that I would be able to get down it to search for the fob. It was narrow and deep.

I thought about what tools I had to use but nothing was suitable. We had taken a lot of things from the apartment to Wellington and in the car I had a chest of drawers, two suitcases, a lampstand and an ironing board. I considered going to Rebel Sport to buy some sort of fishing net on a pole but I'd have to walk there with no guarantee of success. I rang the AA.

The woman at AA was very helpful and suggested sending a locksmith. I thought about this and decided that this would be no good (as the AA officer who attended confirmed) as the Toyota fob is a 'smart key' device that can only be supplied by the car dealer. This was on a holiday Monday (Auckland Anniversary Day) and I didn't hold out much chance of finding the dealer open. I asked her if a regular serviceman might have some sort of retrieval device in his wagon so she arranged for one to call which would take about an hour. She did mention in our conversation though that the Auckland City Council might be able to help.

I waited by the car, looking at the drain and thought "what the hell" and searched the council website on my phone for a phone number and rang the council help line. Another helpful young woman answered my query and when I described how the key fob dropped in the drain she laughed. She immediately said that she wasn't laughing at me though as when she put the stormwater drain location into her computer it told her that keys dropped down was a common occurrence. She made arrangements for a contractor to call around which would take about an hour. Sure enough, 5 minutes later I got a call from a Downer's contractor who said that he'd be there in half an hour.

I waited and the AA serviceman arrived first. He had a long piece of wire (number eight) with a hook on the end and a torch and proceeded to fish around for the fob. He said that he'd successfully retrieved keys before using this method but the water had been clean and clear and he was able to see what he was doing. The water in this drain was black and impenetrable. While he was trying the Downer's contractor arrived. I greeted him and told him the problem. "No worries" he said "I've done this before". I asked him if he had special equipment for the job and he winked and reached into the back of his truck bringing out ............ a garden rake.

He also had a strong magnet on a pole but didn't want to use that as the magnet would interfere with the settings on the electronic fob and possible render it useless as the fob has a built in engine immobiliser.

He proceeded to gently rake the bottom of the drain being careful, as he said, not to bury the fob in the silt or send it down the outlet pipe which would mean that it was history. He kept drawing out piles of rubbish and dumping on the footpath. This went on for about 10 minutes with no sign of the fob. I crossed my fingers.

Both hands.

I didn't pray as Robert would have as I don't believe in that. I subscribe more to pagan superstitions.

I waited.

Eventually the fob appeared. The contractor cleaned up the mess on the footpath and the AA serviceman carefully washed the key fob in water from his drink bottle, pulled it apart and dried the interior. He said that often the fobs were damaged after immersion and he too said he was going to cross his fingers as I started the car. It worked. I profusely thanked both men and drove off back to Whangarei feeling very relieved. I've gone to the AA, ACC and Downer's websites and written very positive comments on their feedback pages. This was exceptional service done promptly and efficiently.

I also believe that my crossed fingers contributed.

NEW POST - THE WINE GUY

The wine Guy wants to get something off his chest:

HERE

ANOTHER SERIES? - KITCHEN UTENSILS?

Well it's past the middle of January already in 2020. Time is flying.
I note that I've been a bit slack in the posting game recently so thought that another of those very popular 'series' is long overdue.

You've enjoyed in the past series on:

• Windows
• Light switches
• Nicest people I've met
• Fences
• Truth or lies
• Gardening
• Weirdest people I've ever met
• Coats
• Jackets
• Cars
• Silliest things I've done
• Kitchen appliances
• Connections
• Christmas
• Life lessons for Richard
• Doorstops
• Regrets
• American history
• Strange kids
• Fatherly advice
• and others

I was just pre-preparing tonights dinner (stir fry vegetables with shrimp for me and scallops from our bay for The Old Girl) and was using one of the last two remaining knives we have from a set of four.

Sanelli breadknife and chopping knife

These are magnificent knives from Sanelli the Italian chef knife provider.

I was given these as a company Christmas present from Allied Liquor Merchants (ALM) back in about 1990.

Good friend Tom and occasional reader of this blog was working with me at ALM at the time also received a set of these knives and I know that he still has at least one of them.

The sets were made up of 4 knives:

• Breadknife
• Butcher's knife
• Chopping knife
• Sticking knife

Given that this was now 30 years ago it's amazing that we still have two out of the four knives not only in our possession but in daily usage. It definitely is a testament to the quality of the knives that Sanelli make and also the quality of this corporate gift given that most corporate gifts are crap.

I don't know where the sticking (or paring knife has gone, it's been lost in our various household moves. Its shape was like this:

I remember that this was great for slicing tomatoes and small vegetables and fruit.

The butchers knife was broken by The Old Girl which was unusual as it's normally me who is careless and breaks things. This happened about 10 years ago (we had owned the knife for 20 years by then and used it regularly). She was crushing and chopping garlic using the knife - see:
CRUSHING GARLIC WITH A KNIFE

- but the knife broke as she should have been using the shorter chopping knife (see first image above). As a consequence the knife snapped in two. Bummer!

The broken Sanelli knife looked like this:

Still, we have two out of the original four and I find that the chopping knife, which I regularly sharpen is the best knife in the kitchen.
The breadknife, which has never been sharpened in the 30 years that we've owned it still slices bread (and meats) perfectly. As I use a bread-maker to make my own bread a good and reliable breadknife is a must.

Thank you Allied Liquor Merchants.


Please register your appreciation of this post in the comments section below and your interest in other posts on our kitchen utensils.

Thank you for your time.

SOME PICTURES TELL A STORY

Richard (of Richard's Bass Bag) posted a photograph of himself with his brother circa 1957.

They were a funny lot those Garden Road boys probably because of the overconsumption of fizzy drinks.

The picture reminded me of similar ones taken of me and my brother at about the same time so I trawled through the albums and found this one,

This was taken at a Christmas party I think and the overconsumption by us was likely of cream cakes especially chocolate eclairs that we used to make a bee-line for and demolish at functions to the point where mum used to ban us from the buffet tables.

"SCRARK - KWE-AAAR"

I still have my battle with seagulls - actually red-billed gulls to be precise.

When I put some sugared bread out for the little birdies these voracious buggers turn up.

My old pal the karoro (black-backed gull) that lives on the beach just in front of our house doesn't do this. I like him or her. He or she has lived here for years. I don't know if it has a surviving partner.
Karoro say's things like "ga-ga-ga" and "garw-www". I prefer this to the red-bill's screeching.

Heres a clip of me chasing away the red bills. This was captured by the Arlo camera I've installed at the front of the house. The definition is very good. I've installed one at the rear as well.

JUST SAYING*

* Which is something that Robert often writes at the end of his comments on posts.

Here's something that he also wrote in a recent post:

"Please no best wishes, just prayers!"

This is interesting because, to my mind saying prayers for someone is the same as saying "best wishes" to them.

I'll say a prayer for you

Best Wishes

Thinking of you

Cheers mate

Take care 

Oh well. I didn't make a best wishes or thinking of you to Robert's wife who was unwell, on his instructions but hope that he takes for granted that I was.

I certainly didn't say any prayers though. That would be hypocritical.

ORAL FIX ASIAN?

I had my third root canal  session at the dentist yesterday. This cost another $450! Total for the three sessions is now about a thousand dollars. I got $450 back from AA health cover though.

The sessions were each about an hour long which is a long time to keep your gob open while the dentist - Mr Phang from China - and his assistant wittered on about the procedure and their holidays. I hate this part of going to the dentist (and hairdressers).
Every now and then something was said that was relevant to me and my ears pricked up.

Things you don't mind hearing when at the dentist:

• "That's good"
• "Mix some filler now please nurse"
• "We'll just finish up now"

Things you don't want to hear when at the dentist:

• "Uh oh"
• "Oh dear"
• "We'd better do that again"
• "Did you see where that drill bit went nurse?"

I have to go back again for a broken tooth on the other side and Mr Phang said I have a cracked filling on another molar. Bummer! This is going to be expensive. I pushed out the next appointment to February to get over the shock and to save up some money.

Mr Phang is a good dentist - one of the best I've had and teeth are important and well worth spending money on but hell's bells, it's always a shock when you have to fork out a lot of dosh for it.

ART FOR ART'S SAKE ....

..... MONEY FOR GOD'S SAKE*

The above is a great reply from a musician to an advertisement by a Vancouver restaurant wanting to get free music for their restaurant.
I went looking on-line for examples of musicians being paid peanuts for their services and this one fits the bill nicely.
I did this because Richard (Richard's Bass Bag) has been having a blogger tussle with his brother Robert (Robert The Apathetic Sinner - don't ask) about the disrespect shown to musicians in the payments to them as compared to other service providers.

Here's a link: IF YOU HAVE TIME ON YOUR HANDS OR DON'T HAVE A LIFE - READ THIS

Well you could have read it but I guess you weren't quick enough. The old guy, following his brother's example has deleted that post. Never mind. You can go back to watching paint dry. Or grass grow. Or read Robert's blog which he has now renamed 'Robert of Hutt' for some reason maybe he's a relation of Jabba.






* The very brilliant 10cc's  ART FOR ART'S SAKE - 10cc

EGMONT

NOT THIS

THIS

Egmont Street in Wellington is the address of The Old Girl's new apartment that she is signing up for for 2020. I think the lease starts up next week so there will be some 'dead' rent for a couple of weeks until she starts work down there but given the pressure on accomodation in central Wellington it was necessary to make the immediate commitment. It's a 2 bedroom furnished roomy apartment with, I think, plenty of storage space and a carpark.

Here are some pics:

This should be adequate for a year and I'm pleased that she found one that she liked. Some of the offerings were pretty awful and it's important to have a nice environment when you are working and living away from home. I'll be coming down each month so the apartment won't look so tidy when I'm there although the green bathroom will hide any pee, toothpaste, spit and sneeze splashes.

We'll have to get cracking now and quickly sell or rent out our Auckland apartment.

Busy, busy, busy.

I CAN'T HELP IT

I promised The Old Girl after taking a tumble a while ago when looking for golf balls that I wouldn't do this anymore.

GOLF IS DANGEROUS

I rejoined the golf club before Christmas and have been getting out several times a week to play about 8 or 9 holes. While there I concentrate on my walking (fast) for fitness and my golf strokes and try to avoid going down the creek along the 4th fairway. Even so I occasionally 'have a peek' and have been finding some balls.

Yesterday I emptied out the golf bag as it was getting a bit heavy and took out the golf balls that I'd collected over the last few weeks. I put them in the sink at the end of the house to give them a wash. Yes, you heard that right, a wash. It's easier to find your ball on the fairway if it's shiny and clean.

I did a quick count and there are 118 of the little suckers.

Don't tell The Old Girl.

PASSIVE LANGUAGE ....

.... is a bugbear of The Old Girl. She spends her work-time editing and rewriting CVs and proposals from engineers and when holding seminars tells them to put forward what they can do not what has been done.

"Promote the benefits not the features"  she says.

This 'lecturing' takes place at home as well where I guess she practises on me.

"Don't use passive language" she tells me if I say things like:

It just got lost.

It just got broken.

It must have fallen over - etc. 

I was reminded of this when emptying the dishwasher and a favourite glass of hers 'just got broken'.
No doubt I will be accused of breaking it on her return but I didn't break it. Honest. It just got broken.
Her answer of course will be that I didn't load the dishwasher properly and therefore I was at fault.

Sheesh! Living with women can be really hard.*

Robert, in his latest and probably soon to be deleted post laments how his wife berates him:

"Do you think I could find my 200 mg glass" she said " after I asked you to put it in the lower cupboard. That's why I don't let you do things for me, you don't do them right".

This I understand. Some favourite sayings of The Old Girl are:

If you want something done properly you have to do it yourself.

Did you look properly for it or did you look like a man?

Are you sure you vacuumed?

So that's how you load a dishwasher. Really?

Plus many more. 

* But, it is really worthwhile.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN

I kayaked out to the sandbank, evading idiot boaties on the way. It was like a motorway out there.
I wandered about for about an hour taking some snaps and recording the band playing some Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix and other good old favourites.

WELCOME TO THE MACHINE


PURPLE HAZE

Now the more astute of you might notice that these cover versions were not by STONE BLUE, the band that was playing from the boat at the sandbank. Well done you. STONE BLUE did play these songs quite well and I did record them but my Panasonic camera seemed to have other ideas and there were no recordings when I went to download them.

Bummer!

I did get lots of photographs though. Here are some of them:

There weren't as many people out there as in previous years but I decided to kayak back home early rather than run the risk of pissed-up idiots running me over. I went over at about 1.30PM. It's now 4,30PM and I can still hear the band playing. Soon, as the tide starts to come in there will be a mad scramble to get off the rapidly submerging sandbank (the speed of the incoming tide always surprises people). I hope that they all get off safely.

It's an absolutely cracker day here. It's too hot to play golf but I did get a good workout on the kayak. I'm now enjoying a glass of Optima gewurtztraminer, sitting on the deck listening to National Radio (and STONE BLUE) and doing The Listener crosswords.

How has your day been?