LA GRANDE DAME*

 * The Old Girl in French

The Old Girl's birthday is coming up soon. On the 7th of January 2025 she will turn 70 - a real 'grande dame'.

To celebrate this we will of course share a bottle of Champagne but, given the significance of this date it has to be something special. We have a few favourites among the Grande Marques of Champagne and have visited many of them in France. These include Louis Roederer, Lanson, Taittinger,  Charles Heisdsieck, Krug and Pol Roger and we regularly buy these in both NV and vintage form although Krug has become ridiculously expensive in recent years.

For this birthday however I wanted something extra special and have been on the hunt for luxury labels of the Grande Marques. Most Champagne 'houses' have, at the top of their range a super-premium label that is carefully crafted and nurtured and of course is much more expensive than the other labels in the range. These are in a way vanity labels that are intended to carry the prestige of the 'house' and which are in relatively scarce supply making them sought after. All was in balance with these for many years until the obscene wealth of rockstars, rappers, film stars and 'nepo babies' of billionaire parents allowed them to move on to these from Coca Cola. These upwardly mobiles, fuelled by ridiculous spending power have pushed the prices of the luxury Champagne labels up past the normal wine drinkers' reach. Bastards. Some examples of luxury labels are:

Krug - Clos de Mesnil

Taittinger - Le Compte

Pol Roger - Winston Churchill

Moet et Chandon - Dom Perignon

Louis Roederer - Crystal

Charles Heidsieck - Champagne Charlie

Veuve Cliquot - La Grande Dame.

Over the last few months I've been searching on-line wine retailers websites looking for fresh examples of the various luxury labels at sensible prices. I've been often disappointed with most being at astronomical prices ranging from $400 to $1200 a bottle and often with no indication of how long the wines have been sitting in storage. Generally speaking Champagne should be consumed within 12 months of disgorgement (for an explanation of this please go to The Wine Guy's blog: HERE) but good vintages and the luxury labels have a lot more oomph and can be kept much longer. You don't want to take chances though of spending hundreds of dollars for a bottle and finding that it's been cooked by sitting in a hot container, warehouse or worse, in a shop window or on a shelf under fluorescent light.

I thought that I might have to make a special trip to Auckland to a good wine shop but then - like as said to have happened to Saul on his way to Damascus (another of those inventions that came from the Councils of Nicaea in the fourth century) I had an epiphany when spying an offer of Veuve Cliquot La Grande Dame. I'm familiar with the label and we've had a few vintages of this 'over the years' and knew that its current going rate was about $350 a bottle. The wine is superb and probably the reason that it doesn't sell in excess of $500 a bottle is because the rappers, hip hop crowd and rich kids are still guzzling (and vomiting up) Dom Perignon, Roederer Crystal, Taittinger Le Compte and Krug. Last weekend I spied an offer of the wine at $220 a bottle at a massive markdown from its 'normal' price from one of the smaller on-line retailers. Being a bit suspicious I checked out the offer, the vintage, the on-line blurb and the on-line image and am satisfied that the wine is fresh (it is in the most recent livery) and is the real McCoy.

Here's the offer:

I bought a bottle and the wine arrived yesterday (along with a couple of other Rose Champagnes that The Old Girl likes and a few bottles of Moet piccolo (200ml) Rose Champagne) which is prompt and damned good service Thank you The Good Wine Company. 

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

Now here's the kicker. You regular readers (up to single figures now) know that I refer to the love of my life as The Old Girl. This is a term of respect and incredulity as for example Richard uses when referring to his wife as 'Right. I'll do that immediately my love'. 'La Grande Dame' can loosely be translated from French into English as 'The Old Girl'. I was quite good at French at school (not kissing then as after all it was a single sex boy's school) so you can trust me - I was in the 'P' classes after all. The 'G' classes studied geography I believe so to Richard, 'La Grande Dame' probably means some canyon in America or a policeman in France.

So, Veuve Cliquot - La Grande Dame turns out to be the perfect birthday gift for The Old Girl's 70th. The Wine guy might write a report on it.

FA LA LA LA LALLA DEE

 

Readers have been clamouring for new posts, obviously being unaware of how busy I've been.

Over the last two days I've been painting the trellis - 9 sheets, double-sided - about 40 square metres worth. I used the new Wagner paint sprayer I bought from Bunnings which worked a treat and was able to use my new respirator mask. I was hoping to show you images of the installed trellis but I'm holding off nailing them in place until I hear from Northpower about the power line relocation.

I want the power line (supply line) that runs from the street power pole to the house raised for greater clearance above the deck. Options are:

• Underground line
• Another power pole on our property to bypass the deck
• Installation of a mast on top of the house

The underground option is out as it will require two easements with neighbours because there are two concrete driveways that would have to be dug under.

My preference is for a mast on top of the house. I checked inside the roof space at the furthest corner and established that there are sufficient supporting beams to carry a mast. The will require cutting a hole through the roof though.

The other option of another power pole is likely what will be agreed on between the power company, the electrician and the builder. As this will have to be installed inside our fence and alongside the deck though I don't want to affix the new trellis below the deck to enclose the under-deck area in case they need access there.

I'm afraid that readers will just have to wait for updates and photographs or go and read Richards or Robert's blogs. On second thoughts it's better that they just wait.

TRYING TO RELIVE ONE'S YOUTH.

Bruce Springsteen sung about it. You remember ... oh hell, here it is:

 Yesterday Richard wrote a post or two about his reliving past glories as a Murray Robert's van and truck driver. Frankly I'm just amazed that he can remember to put his pants on the right way around but that's another story.

Anyway, it's good to remember but reliving* can be another matter. Things are different 50 years later as Robert has found when trying to identify van manufacturers.

FORD (according to Robert)

No doubt Richard discovered that when you are a septuagenarian it's a good idea to stay near to conveniences whether private or public. Driving for hours away from these can result in a very uncomfortable feeling holding it in when needing a pee.

"When I said can you lend me a hand ..."

* Not relieving.

COMING UP ...

 

I bought a WAGNER W100 paint sprayer today and some white paint to spray the trellis I bought recently.

Thinking safety first for a change I bought a CITECO half mask respirator as well as modelled above.

This is cool. I might take to wearing it in supermarkets, concerts and churches instead of a COVID face mask. What do you think?

I didn't do any painting today. I'll leave that for tomorrow or later - no hurry.

GETTING THERE

 I know that you want an update on the path building - even that old knocker from Wherethehellareweoata. He's been making silly and scathing comments about my path building calling it the path to nowhere or something.

Well - here's where we are at present.

All the paving stones are in place and the surrounds filled in with the old lime chips. I just have to do a bit of levelling and tidying up before adding new lime chips.

Hey! I'll take some photos when that happens and post them for you.

That's it for today. We've been busy sorting and packing and, of course, I did some path work. The cricket is going well.

HERE WE ARE NOW - ENTERTAIN US

OK, I know that I've written about this before, see: 

HA HA YOU'RE DEAD

... and:

CALL ME AN OLD FUDDY DUDDY BUT ...

... but trivialising murder just isn't funny to me.

I have been watching, and am not sure if I'll continue to the finish, the Netflix series BLACK DOVES.

"Black Doves is a British spy thriller television series created by Joe Barton. The series, starring Keira Knightley, Ben Whishaw and Sarah Lancashire, is developed by Sister and Noisy Bear for Netflix. Ahead of its premiere on 5 December 2024, it was renewed for a second series."

There's some pretty good acting in this, especially from Ben Wishaw and the production is slick and accomplished but ... as often is the case nowadays the plot is a bit silly and the narrative has huge gaps in it. I guess this doesn't worry younger viewers who are unlikely to have read classic literature or watched high quality TV drama series and films and who are addicted to social media 'sound bites'. Often there is an unwillingness to show realism when it comes to violence and murder. Whether this has a connection to the silly fantasy films and plethora of vampire, zombie and super-hero entertainment over the last couple of decades - I don't know. It is becoming the norm though for murder to be shown as funny. In Black Doves the protagonists are flippant when it comes to killing people and there are a couple of 'Killing Eve'-type female assassins who make bad jokes when shooting, strangling or stabbing people. To me, this just isn't good enough.

I just finished watching The Day of The Jackal series on TVOne with Eddie Redmayne

"The Day of the Jackal is a British television series, based on the Frederick Forsyth novel of the same name. It stars Eddie Redmayne and Lashana Lynch. It is written and created by Ronan Bennett, produced by Christopher Hall and directed by Brian Kirk, Anthony Philipson, Paul Wilmshurst and Anu Menon. The first season began airing in November 2024. That same month, it was renewed for a second season. The Day of the Jackal received positive reviews from critics and received two Golden Globe Awardnominations, Best Television Series - Drama and Best Actor for Redmayne."

 This is classy stuff with outstanding acting from Redmayne (although Lashana Lynch doesn't add anything at all). The plot is a bit stretched and has no connection with the original story by Frederick Forsyth and the subsequent film but it is crisply directed and filmed in stunning locations. In some ways it reminded me of the good films and TV series based on the John Le Carre novels. In this series the protagonist is a contract killer, an assassin with no conscience and he murders a lot of people. In no way does he or any of the other characters think that this is fun and the killings are not trivialised. They are brutal and evil. The series is all the better for this.

We are living in fast-changing times and I fear that basic human values are slipping and are being replaced by expediency and entertainment.

As a counterpoint I also just finished watching a National Geographic documentary on Disney. It was

9/11: One Day in America and was done very well in a far superior way than many of the trite American documentaries that are churned out. The interviews and commentary were poignantly and sensitively  handled with the result that a strong sense of humanity came from the senseless violence and 3000 lives lost. Does it take real catastrophes to make us think? Sadly I think it does.

WORK IN PROGRESS

 I know that you're wondering what I've been up to. 

I have mentioned that I've been digging and paving but didn't go into sufficient detail for my news-hungry readers. I'm sorry about that and that you've had to satisfy your cravings by reading about Robert's garden pool extension. Never mind - here's an update on my excavations.

I laid a path with concrete pavers and lime-stone chips after digging out a channel below the deck about couple of years ago. See: HERE

I've now decided that the path is too low and, after the landscaper terraced the front garden, I built up the edges of this path with some left over wooden edging posts.

I lifted the concrete paver, scraped away the lime-stone chips and have been filling in with more earth to an extra depth of about 15 to 20 centimetres. I then cover with more weed mat and put the pavers down as you can see in the photos (3/4 done). I'll let these settle and weather in before adjusting the levels and orientation later.

I'm doing this because, although the deck has been compliant with regulations (minimum of 1.5 metres from the ground) I wanted the height to be even lower to the ground so as to be well within regulation. I've closed the gaps between pavers as well, having bought three extra ones and 3 more bags of lime-stone chips which I'll spread liberally.

It doesn't look like much but there's a lot of work to do here digging up about 3 cubic metres of dirt (about 16 tons) from below the deck and raising the level of the path. The concrete pavers are bloody heavy and manhandling them (The Old Girl didn't qualify for this job) into position has again munted my back. The rain yesterday and today has allowed me to take a breather but I'd like to get it finished by the end of the weekend.

I'll take some more photos then for you to drool over.

No need to thank me.

"DO THE BULLETS GO IN THIS END DAD?"

I note that Richard, who has been experimenting with humour has now given cartooning a try. 

The drawing reminds me a bit of the old Victoria University's monthly comic 'Craccum' in its naivety but does show promise. Obviously he's given up on the humour thing as the narrative shows and on-line designers need have no fear that he will oust them out of a job in photo-editing.

I do think however that it's best not to fiddle about with things you don't understand. Best to leave that to the big boys eh.

"Don't touch that son. Best to leave that to the big boys eh."

SNAKES

 Ha ha, my eyesight must be worse than I thought. I thought I was writing a post on this blog but used the Religious History Curmudgeon’s blog instead. See here:https://thereligiouscurmudgeon.blogspot.com

NEW POST - THE RELIGIOUS CURMUDGEON

 

'JESUS CHRIST' WILL SOON BE 1700 YEARS OLD

"ROLLIN' ON A RIVER ..."

 At Christmastime we get a lot of new craft anchoring in the bay. They range from pokey little yachts and motorboats to grand catamarans and luxury motorised yachts. It's always interesting to see them and generally the people onboard are well behaved. It's the idiot 'sales managers' who tow their speedboats and jet skis behind their company cars who create the problems.

Today a houseboat chugged into the bay and dropped anchor.

It's quite nice looking and, while not being much of a sailor, this is the sort of craft I'd like to be on.

I've stayed on houseboats in the Murray River in South Australia when I was in the wine industry. It's quite relaxing and a hark to the past. 'Sailing' in comfort while enjoying a nice glass of wine is my sort of travel.

NO LONGER THE POOL ROOM

 

GOING

GOING

GONE

The snooker table removal guys came today and dismantled and removed the snooker table for the new owner.

One of the guys. the owner of the business, remembered delivering and assembling the table for us nearly 15 years ago. He commented that the table was in good condition and still 'played' true.

We now have an empty 'front' room at the back of the house*.

After 15 years the legs of the heavy table made deep impressions (depressions really) in the carpet which looked like crop circles,

This afternoon I vacuumed the carpet and used my crafty trick to get rid of the depressions. I primp the depressed (compressed really) area with a fork, gently probing and turning the tines to release the pile before pressing a hot iron down on a wet cloth over the carpet for a few seconds. The resulting steam plumps up the pile which will, over a few days go back to normal

Much improved

The room, while looking great as a snooker room will, with new lighting and minimalist furniture look quite grand and will help with the sale.

Another task ticked off.

* Our house is a back- to-front villa. Villa's normally have kitchens at the back and front rooms - well, in the front but when this one was relocated a few decades ago the owners wanted a view from the kitchen over the bay.

AI IMAGING: YOU CAN GO BACK BUT WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO?

 There's a tsunami of AI imaging on the information networks now with photos, videos, gifs, reels and others, all showing idealised people scenes and scenarios.

At first this was novel but now it is becoming the norm.

But then, for the Luddites amongst us there are still the old 'analogue' images like this:

I know which I prefer.

YEP - I SEE THE RESEMBLANCE

Richard created an image of me or what he thought I might look like if I had his body. As if!

RICHARD's POST

I think that this is a better fit for me:

 

Can you see the resemblance?

Here's the whole thing:

 

This is what The Old Girl sees when I get undressed for bed - the lucky woman.

"ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS DOESN'T REALLY MATTER TO ME"

 

In 1974 I still lived at home. I was 21 and turned 22 in August  a mere 12 days before Richard. Robert was lagging behind by a couple of years. They both lived at home too. Our poor parents - becoming poorer I guess with having to keep us in food, clothing and other things.

It was my fourth year at university and I was shifting and changing direction in my studies, choosing to fail a new discipline each year although I did later excel at history, art history, and education (the theory). I should have made a go of these and got a degree although it doesn't really matter now.

Richard sailed through his Music degree and, in 1974 was adding Honours to his B.A. Well done that man - not being in 3P didn't cripple him completely.

That's all really. I just liked the cartoon that I found on Neighbourly. Carry on.

BACK THE TRUCK UP*

* Not something that Robert said to me back in the 1970s.

In explanation, at Murray Roberts the Wellington Wine and Spirit Merchant, when I decided to seek promotion from shop assistant to the lofty position as a delivery driver I was put under the tutelage of Robert, at the time the senior part-time truck driver.  Richard, Robert's older and wiser brother had moved on and Robert the - well, you can work it out - stepped into Richard's shoes (boots really, and usually unlaced). I don't know why but he was trusted and this was years before anyone suspected that he was a Christian. Robert had a HT licence which in those days marked him as one of the cognoscenti. They didn't need Masonic handshakes or weird Illuminati rituals those truck drivers, they just needed a HT licence and, of course, plaid shirts, jeans, boots (unlaced) and a decent smattering of body odour.

As Robert's pupil I had to sit in the passenger seat of the 'big truck', watch what he was doing and endure his endless monologue on safe driving techniques, best gear changing practices and secure loading. Yes, yes, yes but I wanted to drive. Badly. And I did - later - drive badly. Robert was appalled at some of my antics when he, begrudgingly, let me get behind the wheel of the big truck (not the smaller Bedford). See: ROBERT . He would allow me, under supervision to drive forwards but would never condone me reversing the vehicle.

Anyway, what this post is about is that we have a hiccup in our house sale plans. It looks like we will have to have the overhead power line removed and underground power line installed. I don't know how long this will take but I'm not holding my breath. I told The Old Girl to forget about listing the house before Christmas as it might be a couple of months before we get the job done. I started the process with phone calls to our electricity provider GreyPower, the lines provider Northpower and an electrician but can already see that we are going in circles with the looming form-filling and consent process let alone factoring in a time for a work crew to dig channels etc. The neighbours who recently put in a concrete driveway which is in the way won't be best pleased either. Hey ho.

SORTING

The house-moving exercise is slowly gathering momentum.

The gardener has mostly sorted out the front garden and will return next week to install some railway sleepers and then sort out the back garden.

The handyman has been tremendous and after a week away will return next week to complete the patching, painting and tiling.

The plumber returned today to install the new toilet in the second bathroom.

We've been busy sorting, selling, giving away and dumping the contents of the attic, the basement, the sheds and the cupboards. Really - I didn't know we had so much stuff.

I think we've 'broken the back' of it though (as well as our own backs) and will be able to get an appraisal and a listing going by mid-December.

As I said earlier, if nothing happens re the sale we will at least have benefitted from a good tidy up.

I had my 12-monthly check-up at the doctors this morning and my blood pressure is normal and the results of the blood test good. That's nice to know but as I haven't been eating raccoons so I'm not surprised.

FINGER LICKING GOOD

I AM THE REAL THING

 

So, what's that about?

Well, Richard  made this comment to Robert on his latest post:

He's right on.

DRESSING FOR WELLINGTON

 The Old Girl is sorting through the clothes in the cupboards and storage boxes. We will keep some items aside for taking to Wellington and will give the rest to the OP shops.

She  found a few items of mine that I'd forgotten about and I asked her not to throw these  away as they will no doubt come in handy in a Wellington polar blast. There are a few decent jackets, some Icebreaker woollen under garments and this fur hat that I last wore in Canada.

Is this what the 'cool set' is wearing in Wellington?

LOOK, WE'RE ALL GETTING SILLIER, I KNOW ...

Robert's soaking his feet in cherry juice and Richard forgets not to lick his fingers after applying cream to big boy's bums. OK - I get it. They're old and becoming dolally.

As for me, I've been struggling for the last day and a half to get Microsoft 365 going on my computer.

A couple of years ago I subscribed to Microsoft 365 as I needed WORD to write the old folk's (not Richard and Robert) newsletter. I also used the EXCEL spreadsheets for home budget. After I finished with producing the old folk's (not Richard and Robert) newsletter I found that the subscription fee (about $12 a month) was too expensive so cancelled it.

With our proposed shift I now want to use EXCEL for spreadsheeting the costs of the move and to calculate incomings from Trade Me sales etc. Instead of re-subscribing to Microsoft 365, as they now have a buy forever option, I took it and bought for $259. All good? No - I can't get it to bloody work. Microsoft has quickly taken my money but haven't responded to my requests for assistance or, my latest request to REFUND MY BLOODY MONEY!

They, and similar software providers have all sorts of on-line assistance (no real people) programmes that just make you go in circles. Every time I follow the links it asks me to enter my account details and when I do tells me that my subscription was cancelled two years ago. I know that as I cancelled it. There is no mention on the on-line assistance that I've actually now purchased the programme. When I go to the confirmation e-mails it clearly shows that they acknowledge my purchase, have provided an access key and ask me to enter my account which I do and ... you guessed it, I go around in circles again!

Really - it's enough to make me want to soak my feet in cherry juice or suck shit off my finger.

WAKE UP!

 Robert the catholic hospital food eater in his latest post has expressed an interest in reading literature.

I suggested that he has a look into Jack Kerouac and James Joyce for a different perspective in writing styles. He went straight into a talking book of Kerouac which kind of defeats the purpose of trying to learn from written grammar of renowned authors but ... it is Robert we're talking of here. His understanding of Christianity, Catholicism and theology is percolated or should we say 'effused' down to him from The Vatican via the Sunday sermons he listens to. Not exactly reliable.

Anyway, I suggested Finnigan's Wake (James Joyce) as a starting point. The nonsense in it should make him feel right at home:

" ...riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe totauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface. The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoord-enenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes:and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since devlinsfirst loved livvy.What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! Where the Baddelaries partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons catapelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod’s brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling. Killykillkilly: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetabsolvers! What true feeling for their’s hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of soft advertisement! But was iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish. Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen’s maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofar-back for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very water was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edifices in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your part inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin ’twas born, his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating from next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitec titiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop and with larrons o’toolers clittering up and tombles a’buckets clottering down. Of the first was he to bare arms and a name: Wassaily Booslaeugh of Riesengeborg. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant, argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutschum fessed, with archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you’re going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday morm and, O, you’re vine! Sendday’s eve and, ah, you’re vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you’re going to be fined again! What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thundersday this municipal sin business? Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the thunder of his arafatas but we hear also through successive ages that shebby choruysh of unkalified muzzlenimiissilehims that would blackguardise the whitestone ever hurtleturtled out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search for tighteousness, O Sustainer, what time we rise and when we take up to toothmick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and at the fading of the stars ! For a nod to the nabir is better than wink to the wabsanti. Otherways wesways like that provost scoffing bedoueen the jebel and the jpysian sea. Cropherb the crunch-bracken shall decide. Then we’ll know if the feast is a flyday. She has a gift of seek on site and she allcasually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed ! It may half been a missfired brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it. (There extand by now one thousand and one stories, all told, of the same). But so sore did abe ite ivvy’s holired abbles, (what with the wallhall’s horrors of rollsrights, carhacks, stonengens, kisstvanes, tramtrees, fargobawlers, autokinotons, hippohobbilies, streetfleets, tournintaxes, megaphoggs, circuses and wardsmoats and basilikerks and aeropagods and the hoyse and the jollybrool and the peeler in the coat and the mecklenburk bitch bite at his ear and the merlinburrow burrocks and his fore old porecourts, the bore the more, and his blightblack workingstacks at twelvepins a dozen and the noobibusses sleighding along Safetyfirst Street and the derryjellybies snooping around Tell-No-Tailors’ Corner and the fumes and the hopes and the strupithump of his ville’s indigenous romekeepers, homesweepers, domecreepers, thurum and thurum in fancymud murumd and all the uproor from all the aufroofs, a roof for may and a reef for hugh butt under his bridge suits tony) wan warning Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. (There was a wall of course in erection) Dimb! He stottered from the latter. Damb! he was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see...".

"Oh God!"

 

GETTING THINGS DONE

All is good up here other than some kind of spam thing happening on the blog. Some stuttering fool keeps making inane comments which consist mainly of the word 'the'. What's that about?

The snooker table sold yesterday on Trade Me above the reserve price so we're happy. I won't celebrate yet though until the buyer deposits the money into our bank account. He could always default.

The landscape gardener arrived today and started the clearing part of the operation before terracing. Hopefully this will go OK as 'kerb appeal' will help sell the house at a price we want.

It's the third day with the handyman. He's a great worker and way more methodical than I am. He's identified many small things that needed doing and has fixed most already. Even if we don't sell we'll have a better house for it.

The plumber will return tomorrow to connect the new cistern in the rear bathroom. It'll be interesting with all three tradesmen jockeying for position for their vehicles in the driveway. 

I'm keeping out of their way and continuing to sort out stuff indoors. This is a bigger job than I envisaged but we'll get there. It's a change for me throwing stuff away instead of hoarding it.

That said though, we identified an indoors tiling job - about 6 square metres - that we'll get the handyman to do. The Old Girl suggested going to the Tile Warehouse to buy tiles but I remembered some that we've had in the basement for the last 15 years. These were left over from the house alterations we had done for our Point Chevalier house. They are brand new and unused. I rediscovered them this morning and they will be ideal for the job. She's happy with them which means that I'm happy too.

It's nearly lunch time. I'm going to make a toasted sandwich with cheese, onion, tomato and left-over mashed potato. The Old Girl thinks this is a disgusting combination which I'm happy with as she won't want to pinch half of it. I wonder what Robert's having. No doubt he's been skulking around hospital wards swiping food off of patient's plates. 

AN OK DAY

It's been an OK day so far today. After a severe storm yesterday and through the night, today broke with no rain but a lot of wind (not from me in case Richard was wondering).

The 'handyman' (not James Taylor came early and has been busy doing jobs around the house - scraping and painting window sills, frames and replacing putty etc. I have a big list of jobs for him which will probably take a couple of weeks. I can then have him 'on-call' for anything that goes wrong or what we want tidied up before putting the house on the market.

I've been indoors sorting stuff and listing some items on Trade Me. I figure that anything we can sell will assist with the removal costs. The trick is to price items cheap enough to gain interest but not too cheap as to not be worthwhile. It still doesn't stop tossers from making ridiculously low offers though.

I just made myself a delicious tomato sandwich from the beautiful Molenberg-type loaf I made this morning. Yummy. I had a craving for some reason, for one of those St Pat's tuck shop gravy pies. I've never found anything like them since. These were the ones that Richard - correct me if I get this wrong - said in one of his posts or a comment on mine a while ago that the woman who ran the tuck shop caught him licking the tops of the pies that were in the back of her van! Incredible.

"You tell all your friends, they'll come running to me."

A QUICK QUESTION

 I'm watching the rugby - NZ vs France and what a game it's proving to be.

There are some things that I still don't understand though as the rules keep changing. Maybe Richard could assist me. He was, after all, one of those players who stood around doing incomprehensible things - forwards they called them. I don't know what position Robert played at school rugby - probably leading the rosary at half-time.

Anyway, I remember there was a rule that called for a penalty for 'putting the ball beneath your own hooker's feet' in the scrums. Has this gone now? Every time a half-back now puts in the ball at a scrum, he (or she) clearly tosses the ball beneath his own hooker's feet. What's that about?

I will have more questions but as the half-time break is finished I have to get back to the match.

WE'VE GOT A MAN IN ...

 ...well, a man and his wife actually.

As a compromise with The Old Girl, instead of having new bathrooms and a kitchen built (her idea) we are installing new toilet pans and cisterns and I put in a new mixer tap and replaced shelves in the kitchen. I thought that this was a good result.

Installing new toilets is a job too far for me so we contracted our local plumber to do the job. As he has some health issues at present his wife is acting as plumber's assistant for him.

They arrived first thing this morning and are busy with the installation. As expected this requires a bit of adjustment with new holes being cut in the floor and wall so there's a lot of electric saw noises. Luckily The Old Girl's away and not working in her office (my study) which I've temporarily reclaimed.

I don't have any photos to show you yet but, fear not, there will be a follow-up to this post.

When the saw noises stop I can hear them discussing the job and the problems. Being a very old house there are always problems and I cross my fingers hoping that all will be OK. My ears prick up when I hear them say "Damn - this doesn't fit" or "I was sure that the pipe would go that way". In these instances I'd rather be the one who is away and get back when the job is finished but ... sometimes you have to 'man up'.

Oops ... I have to go and fix up some extra lighting for them. My apologies to that old whingeing guy who doesn't like half posts ....

WHO'S A CLEVER BOY THEN?

Before you readers argue amongst yourselves about this let me tell you that it's me. I'm the clever boy OK? 

You will remember that, a few weeks ago I posted about my kitchen repair job where I replaced the sink mixer. Remember? Never mind if you don't because here's a link to the post. No need to thank me. CHUFFED

While The Old Girl was pleased with my effort and, in fact complimented me on it. She was less than enthusiastic when I announced that I was going to replace the bottom and upper shelving that had been damaged by the leaking water though.

"I don't want a pig's ear made of that matey" she said -

" Maybe you should get a man in to do the job."

Well, I never ...

I'd already bought the replacement melamine boards from the Renovation Warehouse and was ready to go but, after her comment resolved to wait until she was away before doing the job (just in case).

Today she drove off to Russell again where she is attending a concert by The Paris Chamber Players who are flying around NZ on an old DC3.

The pilot of the DC3 is a friend of ours who lives in Russell with his partner of 40 years plus. The group is playing in Russell tonight so Lynn drove up for the recital. Here's a link:

FLYING FRENCH MUSICIANS

Anyway, this afternoon, after the rain had stopped I got out the melamine boards from the basement and set to. The job wasn't easy as each board had to have intricate cut-outs to fit around the water pipes and connections. Originally this would have been done on a fancy fret saw machine. I don't have one of those so just used a hand saw. It was tricky and laborious and a hand saw cannot turn corners like the fancy machines. I persevered (not one of my strongest traits) and, with the help of a couple of sharp chisels got the job done satisfactorily. Once the edges were painted no-one could tell whether a professional had done the job or not. Thankfully the boards, top and bottom, fitted and the under-the-sink area looks great.

Here's a pic:

Well, I'm happy.*

* I accept that some scathing old schoolteachers with nothing better to do will critique this post unfavourably and would have liked some sort of climactic finish so here's something for them (him):

"HELLO! DO YOU COPY?"

 I note that Richard of RBB has been running out of ideas ..... sorry, I realise that that's a given and you're no doubt aware of the fact if you've unfortunately checked out his blog.

If you did this and also checked Robert's blog you will have noticed that the doddery old guy has been writing comments using my initials - TC - pretending to me. While I can understand his aspiration it is a bit sad that he feels that he needs to do this to get attention.

It's raining today so I'll stay indoors to sort out boxes of stuff. The Old Girl has been junking just about everything she has including old photographs and newspaper cuttings.

I managed to take a pic of this before it went into the rubbish. It was from the Christchurch Press in the mid 1990s. I like it for her cheesy smile.

"You are a work in progress" ...

... No, this wasn't said to me by The Old Girl this morning although she has said it a lot in the past but has now given me up as a lost cause - it was said to me by the doctor at the local surgery I went to.

I mentioned a few posts back that I'd had a check out of possible skin cancer problems at Mole Map and was referred to my local GP for follow-up. Nothing was cancerous but a few lesions (the medical people have some much bigger names to describe these) were identified as requiring ointments and one surgical removal. I applied the prescribed ointment to those indicated and waited for the appointment for surgical removal of the one on my rear shoulder. That appointment was this morning which, by chance was the same morning that an old ex-schoolteacher went on a blogging campaign via posts and comments wondering why I had neither posted or commented! Oh well, it's nice to be wanted I suppose although Ronnie Biggs might disagree.

I had my doctor's appointment first thing this morning and dressed in my best shorts and T-shirt and clean underwear*. When I took my T-shirt off and the doc had a look he said that he couldn't find the 'lesion' that had earlier (6 weeks ago) been identified and that it seemed to have disappeared. I asked him if that was a good thing and he, thankfully, replied that yes, it was a good thing. I then told him about a 'lesion' that I had just recently become aware of on my front shoulder that was itchy. He looked at it and said that it was a XXZVBBGBLURGH or something and not of concern but that he could remove it by freezing it. 

"OK" I thought why not go for it I said. He then said that as no 'knife-work' was needed on the 'lesion' that I'd come in for, for removal that he'd freeze a few more 'lesions'. 

"OK" I thought wondering if I'd stepped into a maniac's laboratory.

While he was away (he'd stepped out of the surgery to, I assume retrieve his 'freezing apparatus') I engaged with the nurse-assistant who had remained with me to, I assume prevent me from escaping through the window. 

"Freezing?" I burbled, trying to sound both calm and interested. 

"Yes" she said. "No knife-work today". 

I looked at her closely - not too closely as she was an attractive woman and, you know - 'Me Too' - but couldn't discern anything out of hand except for her nervously fiddling with the equipment.

"Here we go" announced the doctor as he waltzed in with a formidable-looking container that was a spray bottle filled with liquid nitrogen.

He sprayed, in small bursts, the super-frozen nitrogen on the spots on my shoulder (front and back), my head (scalp), another shoulder (as yet unidentified) all the while inviting the nurse-assistant to come closer to have a look.

"You have to be careful with this stuff" he said " as if one sprays too long and too wide it causes problems". 

To demonstrate he sprayed a big spray on to the vinyl couch I was sitting on and it froze a huge area which then kind of puckered up and changed colour. He then sprayed a tiny point on to another section which I guess froze it but didn't pucker it OR FUCKING KILL IT!

"There you go" he said.

"Bloody hell” I thought.

When he'd finished and I was dressed and leaving he said.

"You are a work In progress".

I thanked him and quickly moved off to reception to pay for the treatment ($79) and, while waiting for the receipt (which enables me to be reimbursed by AA Insurance) overheard my nurse- assistant conversing with other staff members.

"So, how'd the knife-work go?” asked an admin staffer.

"No knife-work unfortunately, Doc used nitrogen" she replied.

I scooted out of there.

* I actually wear clean underwear every day and have a great selection of Swanndri ones in red, blues and greens.

LOGIC

A new Cory Mohler cartoon came today with the theme of LOGIC using Bertrand Russell as the protagonist.

I recalled Robert recently using controverted logic to try to explain some Catholic nonsense but when I did a search on his blog I couldn't find it. See:

Oh well, that's logical.

To be fair to Robert though I checked out Richard's blog to see if there's any logic in his writings. The answer, sadly is also a no:

Maybe there's something in the water down in greater Wellington.

Here's the Mohler cartoon. Click on it for clarity:

"When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh, it was beautiful, magical
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh, joyfully, oh, playfully watching me
But then they sent me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh, responsible, practical
Then they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh, clinical, oh, intellectual, cynical ..."

EMPIRICAL KNOWLEDGE

It's a gloomy, dreary and rainy day here today - quite suitable for Armistice (Remembrance) Day.

The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month has just passed. I noted that National Radio devoted about 5 seconds of silence to commemorate the fact which sadly is becoming the norm where indifference has overtaken remembrance and caring.

Good old Richard cares though and he and Shelley will be no doubt making loud noises somewhere in Wainuiomata - not outside the RSA which by all accounts has been closed though - further evidence of the decline of the remembrance and caring.

I get it that young people don't see the relevance of these things particularly as they don't have the close or closer connections to the events of the First and Second World Wars where people of my age had grandparents, parents and other family members involved but its a shame. The indifference unfortunately comes hand in hand with forgetfulness of the dangers of radical thoughts and actions. The rise of nationalism and white supremacy (fascism and authoritarianism) seems to have come around over the last decade and the results can be seen in far right governments around the world, even in countries that had direct suffering from Nazism, Stalinism and the fascist regimes of the early days of the last century. The rise of these cancers in the 1930s has parallels with what has been happening in Europe, South America, Asia and USA especially underscored by the 2024 USA election. "Oh, when will you ever learn?"

My tip-run plans for today are on hold so I'll be sorting out stuff indoors. Yesterday, after completing the deck-staining project I brought down about 30 crates and boxes of stuff from the attic. The day before I completed the courtyard brickwork job (grouting and then chlorine washing) so that's another job ticked off the list.

I advertised on Neighbourly today for a landscape gardener to terrace the front garden and for a handyman to help with outdoor house-work like scraping, painting, bog-filling, board replacement etc. There are just so many things to do.

When will I ever learn?

MAINLY FOR ROBERT

 I wasn't going to waste my time in my posts talking about the disaster that's USA politics and the 2024 election fiasco but ... this might interest you, especially Robert.

Forget the debates about schools, religion, abortion, the border etc. and look at what Trump and his cronies were really about. Power and money. This is what turns them on.

TRUMP'S WIN ENRICHES ELON MUSK AND OTHER BILLIONAIRES

We've seen this with dictators and oligarchs for centuries. Think Hitler, Goering, Amin, Peron, Marcos, Putin and all the other greedy people in positions of power who have lined their own pockets and those of their 'friends'.

Joy Reid's latest presentation gives us a look at this. I hope that you have a look at the link.

FUCK THE MACHINE

 Fuck off!

I have a love-hate relationship with machines and work tools. Whenever I need them most they've got rusty, are broken, have run out of vital fluids or just stubbornly won't do what I want them to. What's that about?

Some recent purchases have proven to be better than others in particular my EGO lawnmower, chainsaw and weed trimmer - that is until recently.

Last week after I'd loaded the line spool on the trimmer head of the weed trimmer and started cutting, the line spool flew off and components went everywhere. I was able to find all the pieces except for the compression spring which operates the line bumper. Bugger.

Yesterday,  when in Mitre 10 I asked if they sold EGO components looking for a replacement spring. Of course they don't. I had to buy a replacement trimmer head kit which cost $43.

Today I took off the old trimmer head and fitted the new one. After clicking the line spool in place I tested it out. Guess what? The line spool flew off and components went everywhere. I was able to find all the pieces except for the compression spring which operates the line bumper. Bugger. I called The Old Girl who has eyesight worthy of an eagle and even she couldn't find the spring.

I'm not going to buy another kit as soon I'll be selling all of the power tools. Even though the weed trimmer cost several hundred dollars I'll be lucky to get $50 for it. It's just not worth spending another $43 just for a spring. I'll sell all 3 of the machines as an 'as is' bundle.