Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
I think the thing that makes these lights even more special is that they're only on for the month of December, they're not trying to muscle into November or January and that's a good thing.
Friday, December 09, 2011
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Monday, December 05, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
I had never realised the potential of a bag of flour. This is what happens when a three and one year old get their mits on a bag of flour when their mother isn't watching.
Move over bread, biscuits and cakes. Flour now has a new purpose.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Sunday, November 06, 2011
I've noticed that there are an awful lot of silver Subarus in Auckland with number plates beginning with 'F'.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Phew, so the boys in black managed to secure the required piece of shiny loot that the country has been lusting over for the last twenty-four years.
And we only had to sit through seventy-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds (give or take) of vague terror.
However the scary thing I found in all of this was not the mere one point victory, but was what my dream brain did with the Rugby World Cup.
Last night I dreamt that the Rugby World Cup wasn’t just a competition over rugby, it was also a chocolate chippie biscuit competition.
My dream didn’t go into the finer details of the competition but in the ticker tape parade it did have Richie McCaw on a truck brandishing the Webb Ellis Trophy. The truck was also hooked up to a trailer that was carrying the GIANT chocolate chippie biscuit that had won the baking competition. I must say, it was a fine looking biscuit.
Should I be very afraid of my brain?
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Saturday, October 01, 2011
And I'm not sure what the sparkly leaves/acorns/pinecones represent in this photo. Maybe how he'd feel if he won Lotto?
All I'm saying about this one is that I'm really hoping Dad was off to a fancy dress party.
And saving the best for last. I think the children have the 'we-haven't-seen-our-sister-days-and-we-think-we-know-where-she-is' look of fear in their eyes.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Email this morning from my sister with a photo of Seven-year-old niece sans her third tooth. With the amount of indoor-outdoor flow in that child's mouth right now, she could eat a carrot through a tennis racket racket.
What I love is the letter she had written for the Tooth Fairy. In it she said that she and several friends, "are up for training to be a fairy. I'm also wondering if there are any other types of fairys? From Seven-year-old-niece, a friend, another friend, another friend and another friend. PS: Mainly from Seven-year-old-niece!!! PPS: Nine-year-old niece wants to be a fairy too. PPPS: what's the difference between a pixie and a fairy?"
I'm dying to know what the Tooth Fairy's response was.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A friend in England sent me the following letter. In fact, he's sent me so much material, I may have to start referring to him as The English Office.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shown below is an actual letter that was sent to a bank by an 86 year-old woman. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire pension, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only eight years.
You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally answer your telephone calls and letters, but when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become.
From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an OFFENSE under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope.
Please find attached an Application Contract which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof.
In due course, at MY convenience, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me level the playing field even further. When you call me, press buttons as follows:
IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIALING, PRESS THE STAR (*) BUTTON FOR
#1. To make an appointment to see me
#2. To query a missing payment.
# 3. To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
#4 To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am .
#5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
#6. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
#7. To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated to you at a later date to that Authorized Contact mentioned earlier.
#8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7
#9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service.
#10. This is a second reminder to press* for English.
While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call. Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous New Year?
Your Humble Client
And remember: Don't make old People mad. We don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to piss us off.
Don't 'cha just want to invite this woman to Christmas? I reckon she'd be a hoot.
However a quick Google check on this landed me on the Lie Pie, a website that tells me that if you invited the writer of this letter to your Christmas table you wouldn't be dining with an 86 year old woman with a killer attitude. Just another pissed off customer.
Regardless, I reckon the author of this letter would be an entertaining addition to any dinner party.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
I'd like to introduce Mr-Casual-Soviet Dude.
Or then there's Mr No-Really,-I'm-a-Talent-Spotter.
Ladies, ladies, ladies try and resist Mr I'm-a-Devil-on-the-Inside?
Unless of course Mr I-Will-Protect-You-for-Eternity-and-Beyond floats your boat?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
An Antarctic blast, which the Metservice is describing a one in fifty year event, is currently bitchslapping the country. It's been greeted with delight by those regions who never get to see snow while others, understandably, are a little snow weary.
Look what I thought tonight.
‘Snow flakes, flattening themselves on my kitchen window.
Do they want to come inside, to be warm and dry?
Shouldn’t think so – that’ll make them dead.
They probably just drew the short straw – onto a window, slide down, that’s that, end of commitment, next please.
Can’t you just hear them - “Head Office never told us what very mucky windows we could encounter.”
“Think how clean we’ll leave them.”
“Pollyanna yourself. I’ve had my photo taken.”
“Why’d anyone want your photo? You’re just a smear down a glass slab.”
“He took a photo with a flash. That means – in case you didn’t know – he would get all my individual shapes. My own pattern will be captured – for ever –. He’ll very probably post it on Twitter and I’ll be immortal.”
As she slid into wet oblivion at the bottom of the window, she looked sideways. He was all crumpled and out of shape.
Smiling to herself, she gathered her sides to her middle, shut her eyes, and glided into history.’
I might make more of this, but can you see them sliding down the window?
I LOVE that story, unfortunately I'd better head for the hills, cause she's going to have my guts for garters when she discovers I've posted it.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Due to the fact that I am such an organised type, two days before I wanted to go out for dinner, I leapt on the phone and rang round the four remaining restaurants in town seeing if I could get in anywhere.
No, no, no and you’ve got to be kidding. At the place I really wanted to go to, I left a grovelling message leaving my name and number on the answer phone… and started contemplating dinner in Ashburton.
You can imagine how happily gobsmacked I was when they rang me back the following day and told me that, yes, they had one table left and they could squeeze us in at 8.30.
I was stunned at my luck.
So off we went and, ten minutes after we arrived at the restaurant, the chef/owner came over to our table. While the personal touch was very nice, didn't he have more important things to do? Like cook for the rest of the packed-to-the-gunnels restaurant?
And then it all fell into place.
Doing his best to (*cough*mask his disappointment) explain his presence he said, ‘Oh! I was just coming to make sure you’re not the other Kate Mylastname.’
‘Sorry, I’m another one. We’re common as mud. We’re everywhere'.
He then proceeded to try and convince us to purchase an extraordinarily expensive bottle of wine, before making a hasty retreat to his kitchen.
Sometimes, just sometimes, sharing the same name as the local restaurant critic does have its benefits.
Monday, August 08, 2011
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
Monday, August 01, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
It's at this point I ask myself: just where does this shit come from ?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Monday, July 04, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sorry, still nothing...
*Wonders when the nightmares will start*
*Books herself in for therapy*