Ever feel like there’s just not enough minutes in the day? Who hasn’t? It seems that busyness has become the new norm. For some even a badge of honour.
“Just not enough minutes in the day!” – declared with a proud smile, a shrug of the shoulders and shake of the head. “I’ve just been so busy!” The words slip off the tongue as easily as a mindless “How are you?” It’s expected.
What happens if you’re in the middle of Auckland with its 60-plus ethnicities and want just a sip, not a bottle of water?
Linguistic confusion. It’s born out of the locals taking their lingo for granted – and new arrivals interpreting what they say, just a little too literally.
There are plenty of things worse than the occasional soft drink. Like Islamic State, or athlete’s foot, or genital warts. Shouldn’t we tax these things first, before we attack those delicious and very reasonably-priced soft drinks that bring such joy to the lives of our beloved children?
Balham, London, 1961. I was twenty and my fiancé eighteen when we decided to get married. London was my fiancé’s home town. Being young and in love we discounted obstacles, the first being my girlfriend’s mother, who was not impressed by the idea. Not only was I from a northern tribe with a Liverpool accent, I was a labourer. We never did become pals but we learned to tolerate each other.
You’ve wanted to paint for years – but always filed it away as a nice thought, one that can wait until say… you were older? Until you realise you’re already there. And once you’ve declared your interest in the craft to an old friend over coffee, you’ve already painted yourself into a corner, because friends being friends, listen.
Jeff’s a junkie, Mary’s an alkie and Angela has something called a smartphone addiction.
Seems like everybody out there has an addiction of one kind or another so I’ll join the crowd and announce mine. It’s not anywhere near as interesting as say, sex addiction, but millions around the world share it. It’s Computer Vision Syndrome.
“Attention Please: We are a safety-conscious airport. Please do not let your children play near the escalators.”
The first time I heard this message over the PA system at Christchurch Airport I was impressed. The woman spoke in dulcet tones and I agreed wholeheartedly with the message. Unsupervised children and escalators can be a lethal mix.
About to visit Auckland? Read on…
If you’re thinking about visiting Auckland anytime soon, think again. The place has been overrun by the Hi-Viz Brigade, men and women whose weapon of choice is the orange road cone. These little pointy heads narrow lanes everywhere, block them in some cases. They choke traffic just about everywhere you drive in central Auckland.
(With apologies to that old song ‘a Gordon for me, a Gordon for me’ etc., here’s a Waitangi Day rendering about the flying pink phallus which hit Economic Development Minister Stephen Joyce):
A Dildo for thee
Was not meant to be,
A Dildo for Key
Was where it should be…