Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Packing my bags, climbing on a plane and going to hang with my family, eat delicious food, attempt to drink my body weight in wine, laugh till my belly hurts, and then will head to an East Coast beach to drink up summer.
I hope you all have great Christmases and New Years and I will be back to torture you with beach photos soon. (Sorry all you people who are trapped in winter, but I'm nasty like that).
Oh and the title of this post? It had been my intention to do my own version of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas', I got as far as
'On the first day of Christ-mas the whitetrashneighbours gave to me
A baby bo-gan in a lowered car.'
But then I got bored and stopped .
If I wasn't such an underachiever I would makeself finish it off, but we all know I'm far too lazy for that type of carry on.
P.S If you're really bored, you could always try this. It is the reason our office sounded like a farmyard yesterday. I am delighted to inform you that I am currently top of the table with a score 0.1882 and hold the status of rocketing rabbit.
My, did I crow about that.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
This happened to Tinman the other day and he suggested that any song could be cured with 'I Will Walk Five Hundred Miles', I've tried that, but it doesn't appear to be budging.
This song has tunnelled its way deep deep into the centre of my mind and my brain is gaily playing it on high rotate.....and slowly torturing me to death.
Last week it was Prince's 'Alphabet Street' which I kind of enjoyed for the first twenty-seven times.
But not this song. I cannot stand this song. I hate the words of this song. I hate everything about this song.
If this song does not evaporate from my brain soon I'm scared I shall turn into a homicidal maniac.
Just one problem with that - I have a feeling, 'Beyonce made me do it' won't pack a whole lot of punch as far as my defence case would go.
See? She's getting to small girls as well.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
I reckon it looks like my sister is saying, 'Pull my finger'.
Friday, December 19, 2008
How on earth can you associate 'elegant' with 'chilled cucumber soup'?
All it conjured up was images of something with the consistency of wet tissues that had been soaked in cream and chicken stock. Gakety-gak.
I would be filing chilled cumcumber soup under Menus For People You Don't Ever Want to Accept Another Invitation For Dinner.
And on that note and just because I'm little Miss Gloaty Pants and have worked out how to post video, (I know I am so 2003) here is another ad I like.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I can slap up a meal and my guests will say lots of nice things, however the more cynical of my friends will be mumbling quietly 'Yeah, just don't invite yourself around for dinner next week, cause you might find that you will be feasting on exactly the same menu.'
Despite having a very limited cooking repertoire I am going to share a recipe that is bit like the Christmas decorations - it gets pulled out and dusted off each year. I know I've already shared it with many of you, but I know there's new people visiting who won't have read about it before and besides, I'm lazy like that.
This one is an absolute winner. It's so simple it's almost criminal. It's a Richard Till creation design and he reckons it used to pay the rent in his restaurant.
Salmon Hash Browns.
You will need:
Frozen supermarket hash browns
Salmon - either smoked or hot smoked or left over salmon from Christmas day
Oil and vinegar dressing which you have also hiffed some seedy mustard, fresh mint and chopped garlic into.
You will need to:
Cook the hash browns (either in the oven or the toaster). Now here's the trick - make sure they go from being soggy and light brown and get to the crispy and darker brown stage. (The one in the picture could be crispier, but it's a personal thing).
Smear over some cream cheese.
Plonk and amount of salmon on top.
Plonk a caper or two on top of that.
Drizzle over your dressing.
If you like salmon, this is to die for. Bite me, it's good.
There is something decadently luxurious about the textures.
For the last few years I have been a bit of a hobo over the Christmas/New Year period visiting friends and family scattered around various beaches, and whenever I have whipped up these I have generally had my stay extended.
I think the most satisfying time I ever had them was two years ago. A team of friends from university had gathered for New Year, and after a lengthy night of channelling our inner rock star (and not enough sleep) we eventually tucked into these late on New Year's day morning. They were sensationally perfect.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Blee! The luddite can upload video! Who-hoo! Call a public holiday!
Yes, a little overexcited.
Anyway, this ad hasn't played here, I discovered it yesterday and I think it's fab.
It looks like it could have been filmed in New Zealand.
Apparently there wouldn't have been a whole lot of change out of one and a half mill, so you'd be hoping it shifted some beer.
Hmmm, call me crazy, but wouldn't they have run out of questions by now?
What make were the shoes?
What size were the shoes?
Where were the shoes made?
That was quite some throw, are you in a cricket or baseball team?
If you were aware that the President's reaction was going to be quite that swift, would have you aimed a little lower?
Were those the shoes you were wearing, or did you bring an extra pair?
In your opinion were size tens the most size appropriate shoes to hurl, i.e did you calculate the speed weight velocity of that shoe ?
Were you pleased with the result?
And having asked thoses questions I would have thought, 'Right, sick of shoes, what's for lunch?' and promptly wound the session up.
Oh hang on, is he being held for questioning or questioning ?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My cousin, her husband and their two small people's house.
My cousin's husband (MCH) and one of their cats, Angus ( the mental one whose been on Prozac due to trying to lick all his fur off).
Angus: Meow! Meooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww!
MCH: Go away!
Angus: Meowwwwwwwwwww. Reowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
MCH: You've been fed, stop being so needy, please go away!
Angus: Meow, meow, meow.
MCH: YOU ARE JUST DOING MY HEAD IN !
A few minutes later.
MCH leans forward, put his hands up so Angus can see them. Wiggles his thumbs in circles.
MCH: Hey look Angus! Opposable thumbs.
MCH: Na ni na ni na naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I've got opposable thumbs, you haven't. Heh! Observe.
MCH picks up remote, changes channel. Sits back in chair, very pleased with himself.
Cat skulks from room.
Friday, December 12, 2008
So if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to join the circus.
But not before I go swimming with the seals.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
WARNING:SOME REPEATED MATERIAL AHEAD. (Just think of this blog like a radio station, due to a limited number of songs-some tunes are on high rotate).
When they were brand new state-of-the-art technology, the video recorder came home when my mother claims she didn't give him a long enough list for the supermarket. When the microwave came home, she stamped her foot and said, 'If you've bought a bloody microwave, I'm going to China!' When the breadmaker came home, she refused to lay a hand on it and he, the man who I don't think knew where the kitchen actually was, began a long career in making bread. Two breadmakers later he is still going strong. There was the first espresso machine, which was chased up by the second espresso machine, and let's not forget the coffee grinder. There's the paper shredder, ('Pop, you do realise you're not the president?'), oh and, the GPS.
His latest gadget however, rates as my favourite. A scanner that scans slides.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Well, pah! I can still post links.
Anyway, here's an ad that I am going to share with you. I think it's fab and it cracks me up every time I watch it.
Not sure what that says about me, but hey, go have a watch.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Call me crazy but shouldn't they be saying, 'Hey!Buy stuff you can't afford and don't pay for it for two and half years - when you really can't afford it- and it's most probably broken anyway. I know it's a little bit mean of us but, hey, we need to move stock and we love that we can exploit the fact that you're a possibly a little bit short sighted and that you're overwhelmed by consumerism. We don't care that when you actually end up paying for it, it is most probably going to have to come out of your weekly grocery budget, because you couldn't afford it in the first place.
I know we claim we're helping you but actually, we're not. We're just helping us because as far as we're concerned we just see Christmas as a massive opportunity to convince people to buy stuff they don't need, and that just means profit, glorious profit.'
Don't you just love the festive spirit?
Saturday, December 06, 2008
I got a bit of a fright thinking, 'Shit, that child nearly took me out. Well stopped, over confident speed freak.'
Then I took a closer look.
It wasn't a child.
It was a dwarf.
Holding a leprechaun outfit.
Friday, December 05, 2008
There's a reason the for that. My toe hurts. It woke me up.
Let me explain.
It is a fair to say that I have not been born the most logical person on the planet. It's almost as if, when God was wiring me up, the two logic wires were put in the wrong plugs.
Oh hang on, I don't think I can let God take the blame on that one, that sucker is all mine. 'Oh, I know it says that, technically, turquoise should go into turquoise, but it's going to be so much prettier if I put turquoise into the red one. Shag the instruction manual.'
Needless to say, I have been paying for my colour co-ordination mix-up ever since.
A little bit of evidence :
When I was a little girl I distinctly remember asking my mother why the left indicator on cars indicated that you were turning left. I thought that it should have been the other way round, when you indicated left, you should turn right.
Having said that, I wouldn't have used 'left' or 'right' in that question - I cannot tell my left from my right. I have a mole on my index finger of my left hand but unfortunately, when it totally disappears, I shall be fully screwed. Oh and don't give me any of that 'Put your hand up and make see if it makes an "L"', cause it just doesn't work.
I am quite fond of not putting dishes away where they are supposed to live. Don't ask me why, but sometimes I just like to mix it up. It's a bit like giving pots and pans a little bit of a holiday. I used to get phone calls from my ex-boyfriend, 'Kate, I can't find my big frying pan, could you give me any clues here?'
'I climbed up on the bench and put it in the very top cupboard.'
'Of course you did.'
Because I make telly, I have to deliver paper edits to an editor. Most people deliver them on a nice printout with lots of nice numbers beside neatly printed instructions. I have tortured myself in an attempt to create them like everyone else, however I have finally given up and accepted that I am just not made like that. The editors I work with are faced with decipthering these...(That's seven minutes of telly, by the way).
When I go to bed, instead of doing what normal people do and starting by turning the television off, then the lights etc etc, I like to do it backwards. I turn all my lights off, stumble through the room, locate the remote, turn the telly off last and then carefully make my way out of the room (in the dark)to the bathroom. I don't know why I do it, it's just some stupid little routine I enjoy. At least I until last night.
Cause here's the thing . And it's a really hard thing.
And when you kick it at speed, first with your toe, and then your with your knee - it becomes a really really hard thing.
The chair ended up half way across the kitchen floor and I ended up in small heap writhing in agony, clutching my toe IN THE DARK CAUSE SOME FUCKING IMBECILE INSISTS ON TURNING THE LIGHTS OUT BEFORE SHE TURNS OUT THE OTHER APPLIANCES IN THE HOUSE, CAUSE IT'S SOME CUTE LITTLE GAME SHE LIKES TO PLAY.
Honestly, when I get my hands on her, I am going to wring her illogical little neck.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
However, the fifty something female Buddhist with flowing robes and shaven head was way out of left field.
She was kinda cool, though.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
But when she got there she discovered that they had already been bought.
'Ohhhhhh! They've been bought by my delightful husband, haven't they?' She squealed, all excited like.
'Well', said the sales person, 'if your husband is a short Indian man then, yes, they have.'
As her husband is tall and English, she didn't go home expecting to be surprised by him bearing a small, expensive gift in the near future.
You can imagine her delight when she unwrapped said earrings first thing this morning.
Oh, how I love stories like that.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Monday, December 01, 2008
'Oh, she's on the Internet looking at where she's wanting to travel to next.'
'Where's she looking?'
So I know it's technically not the correct '-istan', but guess whose getting Borat for Christmas?
Friday, November 28, 2008
I am God, do not fuck with me.
P.S Do you like my tag line? Catchy, isn't it? J. Walter Thompson doesn't sit round doing nothing in heaven, you know.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Now this dress is a floral summer number, made out of the type material that my brother Sunshine would remark, 'Been flogging Great Aunt Beryl's cushions again, then?' It's retro design, made in France and possibly makes me look like I'm off to church in the fifties. And I absolutely love it, one of those dresses that puts a wee spring in my step.
Anyway, I thanked the woman for her compliment and continued on my walk to work.
But here's the thing.
She was wearing boots that were a little shinier and a little longer than these.
She had teamed them with teensy tiny wee shorts. I can't remember what top she was wearing, but her makeup had seen better days and she looked in desperate need of sleep and the cigarette she was smoking.
But it was kind of like the obese guy saying, 'Can I have four burgers, six scoops of chips and a diet coke?' Bad analogy, I know - but you get the picture ( I am poorly attempting to draw).
Regardless, I 've never had a compliment from a hooker before. I'm taking that and running with it.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Call me crazy, but I thought it was quite simple, 'Don't get banjaxed and make a twat of yourself.'
Or, 'Don't get banjaxed if a jolly good banjaxing is likely to make you make a twat of yourself.'
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
And this is just so you can see just how fetching John Key looked in his poncho.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I am sure this won't really make the slightest bit of difference to those who regularly travel with five suitcases jammed full of designer outfits. However for those poor clods like me who (for work) travel with, oh, about a pajillion different pieces of luggage, budgets are going to be seriously slammed by these charges.
Gone are the days when the nice Air New Zealand lady would assign your excess luggage kilos to other passengers who had already checked in.
I have always advocated that they should make the travellers jump on the scales along with their luggage and just allocate an overall amount of kilos your person and your luggage combined can be. (Obviously I only say this because I am a short arse and know where I could be saving myself some money).
And then I read here that the Supreme Court of Canada has ruled that obese people have the right to two seats for the price of one on flights within Canada.
Which raised a lot of questions in my tiny brain. They included:
So if you're a fattie you can fly for free but if you're a workie, you can't?Could someone please explain the logic?
Would it be possible to hide excess luggage under an enormous frock and then waddle on board?
If obese people get two seats, do they get the extra meal?
What are the wider ramifications of this ruling? I.e does that mean alcoholics get an extra crack at the bar service?
Has this ruling just opened a whole can of whoopass?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
(She's wearing Karen Walker, by the way).
I admire him for not saying, 'For god's sake, if you ever want me to be taken seriously as the leader of this country, lose the bat and the glasses.' Or maybe he did, and she ignored him.Regardless, I admire her for her spunk and I like her style. That's a fifteen-year-old with 'tude.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I was told they auditioned more than sixty psychics across Australia and New Zealand and the crew who work on it fully believe in it. Apparently, recently they were working with one of the psychics who told one of the guys that he had trouble with his prostate and he should go and get it checked out. He did as he was told and discovered that he had the very early stages of prostate cancer.
So process that information as you will, but if they can detect prostate cancer, why the hell can't anyone find Madeleine McCann?
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Happy birthday Chuck.
It's kind of weird to think that he's five years younger than Mick Jagger.
But you have to feel for him, just a tad. I mean for one, he has to survive on a paltry sixteen million pounds a year but then, the real kicker is that Mummy won't let him do the job he was born to do.
Think about it, all his life he has been told, 'When you grow up, you shall be King.'
And sixty years later, he's still waiting. Do you think he wants to sidle up to his mother and whisper in her ear, 'Err, Mother, you know that, er, King-thing lark. Don't you think it's my turn now? You must be sick of it, surely.'
'No, dear, just a few more years, when you can prove you're really grown up.'
If I was first in line for the throne, I would totally understand my parents holding out on letting me take the top job because they would know that once in power I would immediately set about ordering that the Guards of Buckingham Palace incorporate a waddle into their changing of the guard routine and hiring Ricky Gervais to write my televised Christmas message.
But it doesn't appear that Chuck has the maturity of a seven year old, so I am a little bewildered as to why Queenie isn't budging on handing the mantle over.
If driving a taxi was the family business, Prince Charles is effectively driving around in the passenger seat, with his mother at the wheel. Cause let's be honest, if you're a bloke (who likes to drive) in your twenties and your mother is driving, you're always going to be a little bit uneasy about it, cause it's not that cool. So I'm picking that after a good forty years of sitting in the passenger seat, he's starting to feel like a little bit of a plonker.
But then again, if your mother has the power to have your head chopped off, I suppose you're not going to put up too much of a fight.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Anyone have any idea?
Sunday, November 09, 2008
I tried to not watch the election, I really did and it worked for, oh, about three minutes. It was kind of like watching a telethon. But it took a while to get started.
The coverage on TV1, 'I'm coming to you live from the National Party headquarters in wherever they are, and so far there's a strong media contingent and a big empty room with blue ribbons and balloons.'
Over on the other channel a teensy bit later, 'We're at the National Party HQ where John Key is expected to turn up at about 10.30. Not too many people here, TVNZ is over there and that's about it so far.' Empty rooms tend to be rather dull, until the party arrives.
I remember working an election, so fresh out of journalism school that the paint hadn't even dried and, at the end of the night, filing a report from the women's toilets of the community centre to the local radio station. Oh glamorous times. I attended both party's knees-ups to get comment from candidates and seem to remember the Labour Party party was a hell of a lot more lively. And they'd lost.
And it was mildly amusing turning on the tele last night and seeing one of the print journos who was also covering the area at the time(he'd done the journo course the year before me) was being employed as a political commentator for the night. Who'd a thought all those years ago, eh? Where we'd end up? Him being asked to politically commentate this election and me, um,.....pass the nuts. Oh, I really must stop being so ambitious.
But what stayed with me from that night was coming across a car accident on the way back to work. It was on the open road and there was just one car and it was upside down. The journo in the car ahead of me immediately went to the car, and I rang 111. Then a bleeding drunk guy asked to use my phone, I had to dial it for him cause that was beyond him at that stage. He radiated alcohol and his words kept colliding into each other. He also he did a sensational job of getting blood all over the work truck, which was white.
The people in the car weren't seriously hurt but they were moaning, drunk and trapped.
In what seemed like an age (but I am sure was only about ten minutes) people in vehicles with sirens and flashing lights arrived, and we were able to leave the scene.
I would be really happy if that is the only time in my life that I am one of the first on the scene of a car accident. It was really horrible, and there are two things I will never forget about that accident, the fear that people were going to be seriously hurt and that I wouldn't be able to do anything to help them.(Yup it's all about me). I think it is an innate human instinct to want to help another human in distress and it is really disempowering and scary to not be able to help. And I will never forget that smell of burning metal.
Anyway, back to what I started talking about. That's another election done and dusted. And you know what that means? We don't have to suffer through dreary political campaigns for three more years. Yip-freaking-yee.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Friday, November 07, 2008
When it comes to deciding who to vote for, I spend time considering parties' policies, the state of the economy, the personalities, my personal beliefs and then I cast my vote accordingly.
However, being the shallow, fickle person I am there are some things that will make me seriously consider if I should be voting for a candidate or not. A cardboard cutout of a waving candidate smiling with a blank look in their eyes that I have to drive by every single day, regardless of whether there is an election on, will not make me vote for them. It makes me want to take a gun and use their cardboard cutout for target practice.
I really don't get the psychology of it at all, do these people think I am going to be standing in the polling booth thinking, 'Now, let me see, who shall I vote for this year? Hmmmm, red, blue, green or the other ones? Oh I know! I saw those people waving those signs at the intersection. That looked like fun, I'll vote for them, goodo!'
One thing I do like about elections is that they bring out all sorts of people out of the woodwork. Polling booth people watching is sensational, you're always guaranteed to see a whole lot of crazy.
I would be almost tempted to volunteer to do it, unfortunately the reality is that I am far too lazy to do anything apart from entertain the thought.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
But judging by this ('A Vote For My Husband Is A Vote For Me Not Breaking Your Fucking Neck') Cindy McCain is going to be one busy lady for the next twenty years, or so.
Actually, twenty years may not even cut it out, she may have to pass the mantle to mini-McCains to get the job done.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
She is fifteen and had recently had the star role in her local high school's drama production.
Two years ago she and her parents and brother moved to New Zealand from England and settled in the small Northland tourist town of Kerikeri.
Now, Kerikeri is a beautiful little town - and home to some of New Zealand's most historic buildings (remember New Zealand is a very young country) and it has a population of around the six thousand mark.
A few months ago the Templeman family moved to Auckland where her father is a property valuer and yesterday Liberty was to start at her new school, Rangitoto High School.
Except she didn't - because she was murdered in the weekend.
She had travelled up to Kerikeri to spend the weekend with friends and was last seen about
7pm on Saturday when a friend left her outside Kerikeri High School.
She is believed to have been going to walk across the school grounds and the Kerikeri Domain to meet her boyfriend at the nearby New World supermarket, where he worked.
But she did not arrive and police discovered her body on Sunday evening lying face down in a local stream.
Police have not released details of how she died, but given that someone reported hearing screams coming from the area she was believed to have been, chances are her death was horrific and it will haunt her family, friends and the local Kerikeri community for the rest of their lives.
There hasn't been a murder in Kerikeri for twenty years.
Last night I was watching the late news and the newsreader asked the reporter in the field, 'So can you tell me, what is the mood of the town tonight?'
Excuse me, but did you really say what I thought you said?
Let me see, how many ways can I answer this, 'Well, Greg, on one hand they are having on a bit of a downer because it appears an innocent popular girl was slaughtered, but on the upside there was a third division Lotto ticket sold at the local dairy so, you know, swings and roundabouts.'
Greg, the murder of an innocent teenager just occurred in tiny wee tourist town, whaddaya think the mood will be like?
THEY WILL BE BRICKING IT. And feeling sick, I should imagine.
It's the equivalent of asking these poor girl's parents, 'How are you feeling?'
Shudder, shudder, shudder.
'And tonight on State the Bleeding Obvious at Ten, we will ask questions that you already know the answer of and we also have an uncanny gift making you squirm...'
I generally always watch the competition's news and last night's broadcast just reaffirmed my viewing preference.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Question: if the world economy does collapse, what will it sound like?
Being the naive Pollyanna that I am, I am always looking for silver linings or good news. And today I've found a piece that I am going to share.
(Insert name of a brainy man) recently analyzed 255 examples of recessions in 17 western economies between 1871 and 2006. Nearly 65% of them lasted for one year, with the majority of them being over in two.
I know this could be a one-in-a-hundred-year-type recession, but if you're going on the law of averages, chances are things will all be peachy by this time next year.
That's my predication and I'm sticking to it.
Sigh, sometimes is really good fun being stupid.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
'Oh well', he started cheerily, 'I've had a wee stroke since I saw you (I had a meeting with him last week), so I'm a bit weak down one side, can't see out of one eye, my hand doesn't work very well and I'm not allowed to drive for a month, apart from that from that I'm just fine!'
I suppose when your year includes open heart surgery, a stroke and your fortieth birthday - every day is a good one.
Friday, October 31, 2008
And their pet panda.
Yes. You read that right.
Their larger than life pet panda. He was built like a brick shithouse: think Jonah Lomu, double him in size, chop off his legs, imagine concrete has a high nutritional value and understand that is his food of choice, add some razor sharp long ninja-like claws, now cover him in black and white fur and you'll start to get the picture.
Needless to say I was a little dubious about this panda. Especially as I needed to get past him to get a book to read to one of the boys, and he also had his eye on one of the books.
'Don't worry about him, he's harmless,' assured Father-of-four-boys-five-and-under.
But I knew otherwise, I knew that that panda had the ability to turn me into sashimi or gently squash me to death and get out of it by it by claiming he was only giving me a bear hug.
And then the dream ended.
I text the short version of the dream to the Mother-of-four-boys-five-and-under.
'Were we having a nice holiday?' She text back.
'You were having a lovely old time. But I wouldn't trust that bear as far as I could kick the fucker.' I replied.
Last night I was around the Family-of-four-boys-five-and-under and Mother-of said to me, 'Oh my god, you have no idea what the five year old came home with.'
She said he came home from school yesterday, 'Mummy, Mummy - look what I did today!'
Yup, you guessed right.
It was a picture of that panda bear.
And the five year old hadn't heard about my dream.
That bear is messing with my head.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Her grandfather has also been separately charged with assaulting and injuring Nia.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The story goes that my grandfather, as a small boy, once instructed a poor soul in their household who didn't have a clue what to do with a fresh catch of them, that she had to gut them and prick their eyes out with a needle.
I am not sure how many she got through before being rescued by my great grandmother.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Having said that, I am vaguely concerned how we (literal translation: I) are going to alight from one of those vessels onto a chaseboat mid-sail - without coming a huge cropper.
All I can say is the fact that we weren't blessed with hindsight is possibly a good thing, right now.
I interviewed the guy nearly ten years ago, when he was an emerging artist.
'And can I just get the correct spelling of your name?'
'As in, just the one?'
'And Money. M-O-N-E-Y.'
'Great, think I can cope with that.'
If anyone would like any pointers or lessons in How to be Seriously Uncool, feel free to ask.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
I do think this is the only place that when, on being offered more crayfish, I have said, 'Please go away, because if I eat anymore I think I am going to vomit.'
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
'You're looking well.' He says.
What do you say to that? He could have meant it or it could have just as easily be a euphemism for 'Jeez you're looking a bit rough, love.'
I say this because I brightly said, 'So are you!' (Which was a euphemism for 'Where has all your hair gone?)
This is the guy who, in our first year at varsity, attempted to drive his scooter by standing on the seat (I wouldn't recommend you try that at home). Needless to say the scooter won that competition by a country mile and my mate woke up in hospital possessed by a grumpy old Scotsman.
For an entire week.
Fortunately the Mr Scottish Grumpy eventually left the building, and my friend has no recollection of him ever being there, or how he became possessed but it was certainly one of the more bizarre weeks.
Anyway, our conversation today was kind of littered with pregnant pauses as neither of us wanted to be ruthless enough to say, 'Okay nice to see you and we both know we don't need to organise to catch up, cause in our heart of hearts we know we don't have much to talk about.'
Except he is more polite than me and he said, 'I should get your number so we don't just keep on bumping into each other in cafes.'
I wrote it down for him, handed it over and we went our separate ways.
Ten bucks says he threw it in the bin after he got back to work.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I went over and was staring at the page and I saw words like, 'can get passport' and 'foreign money' and my initial thought that he was on a site for fake passports and counterfeit money (he is an arms dealer, after all).
After a moment the words stopped colliding into each other and started to make sense.
It was his invitation to his work conference.
Jammie and bastard.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
It got me thinking that gravy was the cuisine equivalent to curiosity. But a little research reveals that it's not that underrated, a guy called Dave Axworthy from Nova Scotia legally changed his forename to Gravy because he was infatuated with the stuff. And in Australia you can get yourself some gravy flavoured chips. (I remain a little dubious about those).
If you want the one of the best gravys in the world, make this roast. It's Richard Till's recipe. And oh my that gravy is sensational, the onions, oh the onions. You could throw away the meat and just drink the gravy.
1 leg of hogget.
3 lg onions
½ bottle of red wine, plus some more for gravy.
Salt and pepper
Flour for gravy
This is important! Slice onions into thin crescents. Slices from top to bottom rather than across into half rings. The onions break down, sweeten and brown much more easily when cut this way.
Make a bed of onions in the roasting pan.
Season onions with 1 ½ tsp salt.
Place leg on onions.
Tip over ½ a bottle of red wine.
Cover and seal tightly with foil.
Put into 160 C for 5 hours.
Loosen the foil in a corner, to allow steam to escape, for the last hour.
Take meat from pan, cover and rest in warm place.
Carefully tip of excess fat, but leave some in the pan to brown the flour in.
Put on an element and add flour (about 4 Tbl)
Cook, stirring and taking great care that nothing starts to burn in the pan, for a minute, until the flour is cooked, then add water and a cup of red wine.
Simmer, check seasoning, tip into gravy boat and lick pan.
Meat will cut with a blunt spoon.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Mr Dentist discovered I had a hole that needed to be filled.
So I went back this morning, endured all sorts of discomfort, had my mouth filled with weapons of mass destruction in order to have said hole filled.
If you're trying schedule a really horrible day it would start, 8.30 a.m. Dentist appointment. 9.30 Important meeting that you haven't prepared for. 11 a.m. Meeting with the accountant. And your day would slowly disintergrate from there.
But the thing that gets me is that I had to pay the equivalent of a decent pair of shoes for the priviledge of all this dental horribleness.
How does that work ?
Shouldn't dentists being paying us?
Sunday, October 05, 2008
I know that curiosity killed the cat - but have you heard of the come back line to that proverb?
Satisfaction brought it back. ( I am not sure if the cat is still dead at this stage, or not.)
Now, my fruitcake mother is a very cool lady. My brother, sister and I lucked in. All my friends throughout my life rate her as do my brother's and sister's friends. One friend of mine went and stayed with my parents when he started his first job as a lawyer, he was going to stay for a week and left three months later (and later repaid the favour by shouting me a return flight London to Chicago! Result! All I did was lend out my parents). And today all of our friends will go and visit our parents when we aren't there. All her nieces and nephews think she is a rock star, as do her grandchildren.
My mother often shows me up as the slack friend that I actually am, recently one of my oldest friends had a terrible time and ended up spending about four weeks in hospital. We live in different islands, so she got regular phone calls from me - but got regular letters from my mother.
Letters? Remember what they were?
Anyway, I was thinking what it is that makes her so cool. She is: kind, thoughtful, naughty, funny, she doesn't judge, she is wise, she can be delightfully insane, she is self deprecating, she knows so much about the world, she doesn't impose her views and opinions on others and will respect an opposite argument even though she doesn't agree with it, but when I really think about what makes our mother so unique is that she is incredibly curious.
She is so curious about the world and the ways people live. She is interested in the people she meets and fascinated as to why they are the way they are. It's not a judge thing, it's an understanding thing. 'So why do you think like that? What is your story? Oh, you look interesting, tell me your back story.' This is the woman who would rather get a bus than a taxi so she can look at all the people. Honestly, park the woman up at an international airport in the arrivals lounge and she would be so excited about what she was seeing, she would forget to eat.
That's why I wasn't surprised when she told me that she was attending a series of university lectures for the 'third age'.
'What, university for old bastards?'
'Yes darling, and there are some that are about hundred and three. They're the ones who sit up the front and ask all the questions.'
Bloody mature students, no matter what age they are, they always sit up that front and make the slackers down the back look bad.
I asked her what exactly were these lectures she was attending.
'Ohh' she said, her voice full of anticipation and delight, 'I've never understood the Middle Eastern situation and its history so I'm going to a series of lectures about it from various different perspectives: religious, political,geo social....' And then she started saying words I didn't understand and I stopped listening.
'So once you've done these will you be able to tell me if there will ever be peace in the Middle East?'
'From the way it's going I think we will be holding hands across an electric fence hoping no one will turn the current on. That's not an entirely accurate analogy but it means I don't know what will happen and I don't think they do, either. What I do know is that it's going to be fascinating - if I can remember what any of the lecturers say. That's going to be the interesting thing.'
I do like the way her brain works.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Can't imagine they have changed much, since.
Somehow (the loss of human life and all, aside) pyramids and colosseums seem so much cooler than sky scrapers.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
It's an article by Times columnist Carol Midgely and it starts like this, 'Sometimes I need only glance at the title of a book and immediately I hate the author. This is because it is such a brilliant idea that I wish I'd thought of it myself but didn't get round to it because I was too busy checking the Coronation Street website or wondering whether I should put another wash on.
It's the same now with Richard Wilson, whose new book Can't Be Arsed: 101 Things Not To Do Before You Die makes me want to kick my own backside around the room until it's black, blue and begging for mercy.
Why didn't I write this book?'
She then goes on to compile her own list of 'Can't Be Arsed - 29 Things That I Couldn't Give a Toss If I Never Did Again. Why 29? I couldn't be fagged thinking up 30.'
Mr T suggested I should compile my very own list which, naturally, filled me with glee. I am going to change the list a little to 'Can't be Arsed - Things I Can't be Arsed Doing - or Doing Again.'
So in no particular order, here we go.
1. GST returns. Help. Me. Someone. Every two months they drag around with monotonous regularity and it's only the thought of the fine that drags me to my desk to do it. Yes, I could pay someone to do this task for me (errm, possibly should pay someone), but it's a bit like eating your broccoli - I am sure it's good for me, somehow.
2. Eating chicken. I really can't see the point. I am mostly a fish and vege girl anyway but, if I have to, could you pass me the freshly dead lump of red meat. At least it tastes of something. Chicken - nup. I am sure this will be of absolutely no help to me whatsoever when I die and discover the afterlife is run by chickens.
'Please be nice to me, I didn't really eat you.'
'Yeah, only because you claimed we tasted like shite. You're spending eternity at Club Battery Farm.'
3. Being P.C about children's playgrounds. Why are schools insisting on wrapping playgrounds up in cotton wool so the wee darlings don't hurt themselves? Pur-lease. Let them learn how to fall. We did.
4. Being P.C about winning and losing for kids. If you come first, you win. Simple. If you didn't, you didn't win. Deal with it. My six year old niece recently came last at her cross country. She knows that if you're smallest in your class by at least three boat lengths, chances are you're not going to win the cross country. (She didn't care about coming last, the thing she was upset about was that she didn't win any points for her house, which I thought was beautiful.)
5.Bungy jumping. Never have, never will. Been offered free ones on many occasions but always gratefully declined. Call me crazy, but the thought of hurling myself of a bridge with an elastic band tied to my feet puts the fear of God into me. It just sort of goes against every natural instinct. And those screams you hear? The first screams are fear 'Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggghhhhhhhh'.
Loose translation, 'IamgoingtodieIamgoingtodieIamgoingtodieIamgoingtodie!'
The second lot of screams after the bounce?
Loose translation, 'IamnotgoingtodieafterallIamnotgoingtodieafterall!Iamtheluckiestpersonontheplanet,Icheateddeath!'
I really don't need to put myself through that.
6. Going to do exercise. So can't be arsed going to do it. However the feeling after doing it regularly drags my sorry arse off the sofa and out the door.
7. Seeing Mamma Mia. I have talked about the horror associated with enduring twenty minutes of this film, before. And I don't want to talk about it again. Please go away, memory. Delete, delete, delete.
8. Sleeping in a tiny wee ger, on the ground in deepest Mongolia, in the middle of winter with eight Mongolians, four of us and two mismothered baby goats. Never before has goat stew seemed so appealing. Those goats owe me a night's ( baaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ) sleep. It's lucky our hosts knew not a word of English and therefore had no idea what, 'I would like to wring those fucking goats' necks,' meant.
9. Eat/drink anything coffee flavoured unless it's hot and wet and just coffee. OtherwiseI don't get it.
10. Spend thirty-six hours flying (via three different countries) to a country because you have a deal with an airline, when there's a seven hour direct flight available with the competition. That is simply not fun.
11. Celebrate New Year's Eve. Admit it, the evening would be much more fun if it wasn't New Year's Bloody Eve.
12. Bored yet?
13. Saving the planet. Oh well, I will do my bit if I have to, but it's just kind of dreary.
15. Suffer through the political campaign before our next general election. We're faced with months of politicians' election promises. Please understand that Wikipedia defines a promise 'whereby the first person undertakes in the future to render some service or gift'.
I think election promises should be defined as , 'saying shit to make you vote for them, but with absolutely no guarantee of actually carrying them out.'
Okay, I will stop there. I've just seen the time and if I don't stop now, I could be here for days.
Tootle-pip. Please feel free to add to my list.
Monday, September 29, 2008
'Why? What was wrong with him?'
'He had cancer and he was eighty-three. Apart from that, he was fine.'
No prizes for who I was in that conversation. (The person not in possession of all the relevant information).
For me, Paul Newman will always be the guy in 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.' I loved that film, but it's one of those ones I am a bit scared to see now as I suspect that I will feel a little disappointed. It's a bit like candy floss - tastes great if you're a kid, but as an adult you feel like you are eating a sugar steelo pad.
I was a big fan of 'Raindrops Keep Falling on Your Head' and an even bigger fan of the Manic Street Preachers' version of it.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Even though television was available in New Zealand from 1960, the first time a New Zealand version was made was in 1984. Since then thirty-nine episodes have been made, featuring such luminaries such as Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, Sir Peter Blake , Sir Edmund Hillary, Peter Snell and Charles Upham.
And then on Sunday it featured racing car driver Scott Dixon, who this year has taken out the Indianapolis 500 and the Indy Racing League in the US ( for the second time, the clever clogs).
But there's just one thing.
Scott Dixon is, um, twenty-eight years old.
Shouldn't it have been called 'This Is Your Life, So Far'?
If I was Scott Dixon I would be thinking that having a programme like 'This Is Your Life' made about you at twenty-eight would indicate that the programme makers have a feeling that you're not going to be around for much longer.
'We'd better knock him off now, cause chances aren't high that he'll still be here when he's sixty.'
But he's not the youngest victim of one of these shows. Brit model Twiggy had one made about her when she was twenty. 'And what about the time when you were fifteen that you grew a metre in a week, but stayed the same weight as when you were ten?'
I have a theory on why she featured on a show that generally featured people above the age of fifty.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Other times your dingy loses its air, and it's no longer seaworthy.
Right now I am the proud owner of a deflated piece of rubber.
Might have to take up flying.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I know people will say I talking a complete load of crock, but I reckon they've been done good and proper.
So of those of you who don't live in New Zealand and haven't heard this story on every news bulletin for the last three days - they're embroiled in a milk scandal in China.
I understand that the word 'milk' before 'scandal' doesn't actually pack that much of a punch but if you add 'baby' into the sentence you'll begin to understand where I am coming from.
Two babies in China have died so far from having contaminated milk and, as of yesterday, 1253 children had been diagnosed with illnesses linked to the milk powder - with 340 still in hospital.
This has all been blamed on infant milk made by the Sanlu Group in the Gansu Province of China. Where does a New Zealand dairy company come into all of this?
It owns forty-three percent of the company.
What exactly was wrong with the milk?
It appears a couple of farmers who were pissed off after their milk had been rejected several times by the Sanlu group decided they would get their own back on the company by poisoning other milk they sold to the group.
I'm sorry but what evil, stone hearted, twisted mofos seek revenge on a huge corporation by poisoning babies?
I'm trying really hard to think of a more heinous crime, but I don't think it comes worse than any type of abuse of babies.
I reckon even the Devil would draw the line at that.
But get this, it's not the first time this type of thing has happened in China.
Hell no, in 2004 at least thirteen babies died and more than one hundred were severely malnourished after being given fake milk formula. In some cases the milk formula had little more nutritional value than water.
Even worse, the formula was sold to impoverished farmers who then started to wonder why their babies all started to develop what became known as 'big head disease'. What these poor people didn't realise was that their babies had big heads because they were malnourished.
What went through these people's minds?
'Hmmm, how are we going to make some money?
Sell fake bags to stupid tourists?
Rob stupid tourists?
I know! Strip nutrients out of baby formula and sell it to poor people who won't know any better. Genius.'
I realise that with a population of one point three billion, you are always going to get a few colossally poisoned apples but, let's face it, this mud is going to stick like cement.
After all, you shag one goat.....