Just dashing off.

Okay people, off for a spot of sheep shearing, falcon spotting and shark swimming.

Back soon.

However if it all goes horribly wrong,no doubt my brother in law will let you know about the latest family joke.

You get yesterday's news here, tomorrow.

I know everybody dissected the Oscars, like, on Tuesday but the news you get here broke so long ago that it has already been glued back together again.

But that's not going to stop me. Here is my not-very-informed take on the Oscars.

Actor in a Leading Role: Sean Penn, Milk.

Can't comment on this this one, only to say that I can't bring myself to watch Benjamin Button cause it just seems too creepy. Oh and whenever I saw Micheal Sheen on Frost Nixon, all I could think of was him when he played Tony Blair in Queenie's film.

Actress in a Leading Role: Kate Winslet, The Reader

If only to stop everyone banging on about the fact that she had been nominated six times and still not taken a statue home. Martin Scorsese, anyone?

Actor in a Supporting Role: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight

And not just because he's dead.

Actress in a Supporting Role: Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona

I reckon if an alien landed on earth and was wanting to look up in 'The Handbook to the Earth' the definition of Batshit Insane Crazy Mentaller it would say 'See Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona.'

Earrings in a Supporting Role: Angelina Jolie

What are they? Where did they come from? How can I get my hands on them?

Everything else going to Slumdog. Oh yeah.

I reckon they deserved an Oscar for having the balls to actually shoot it in Mumbai. It reminded me of that quote that says that most of the greatest things man has achieved has been done by people not smart enough to realise quite how impossible what they were attempting to achieve actually was.

Pure class, that film.

Whose nest did the goose shit in?

'Have you seen the clicky thing?' I asked Numbers (the accounts guy) as I moved my fingers and thumb together in a clicky type fashion.

He looked at me, shook his head, 'You're such a fucking goose.'

And then it occurred to me, how come geese get such a bad rap?

See, I can understand people being called turkeys.

I mean, I'm not even going to start to describe them cause that's going to generate whole lot of traffic I don't care for.

I can understand being called a goat, because they eat stuff like rubbish and clothes. (Even though I am informed by a person of high goat authority that goats are, in fact, very intelligent and curious, not to mention good at climbing trees.) However I remain suspicious.

I was in the bowels of the museum yesterday surrounded by many many stuffed dead birds and I came across the toucan. I mean, seriously, who was on what type of acid when this bird was created ?

And how come nobody, when they're looking for the stapler and can't remember its name ever gets told, 'You're such a fucking toucan'?

Why is goose the euphemism for dipshit?

I love parties.

I went to my cousin's fortieth in the weekend. Now, my cousin knows how to throw a damn fine party and this one was no exception. It was held in the country, we all donned our finest, drank champagne and feasted on salmon and other gourmet delights under a marquee and pretended we were grown ups (which lasted a good, oh, about thirty-five minutes).

On the invitation, she stipulated no presents, but that was never going to happen. Amongst her goodies was a little book, I can't remember the name of it, but it was full of fashion and beauty tips for women once they were beyond forty (and its name was along those lines). It was a beautifully designed book, except I think they got the title wrong. I'm thinking a more appropriate title would have been,

It's All Downhill From Here, Honey.
Hints and tips on how to make you not look like you've been bashed by the ugly stick as you edge closer to the grave.

Yesterday I packed my hangover into my case and caught the train home. The train was jammed full and as I got to my seat I motioned half-apologetically to the (sixtyish,maybe seventyish) woman who was sitting in the aisle seat. She had the air of a governess from 1930 and looked at me like I was covered in cat shit.

'So you've got the window, then?'

Now, if we'd been on a plane on a trip that I had done before, I wouldn't have hesitated in giving up the window. But I knew the window seats come with more real estate than aisle seats, and I wasn't prepared to give that up. Besides, it wasn't as if I was going to block her view.

'Erm, yes, sorry.'

I got into my seat and set about working my way through the Sunday paper, Metro magazine and a book.

By three quarters of the way through the trip, and without saying a word to her, I knew this woman was: a New Zealander, wheat free, that she inherited a 'legacy' and went to Paris for ten days, she was doing another train trip today, she often does tours around New Zealand and she didn't care for the Australians and Canadians in the seats one over because they didn't stop talking.

She turned to me and said in a loud, condescending voice 'You must know this scenery well, because you have been buried in your books all trip.'

I didn't say, 'What's it to you, you miserable, opinionated old goat?' because I'm not rude, so instead I said, 'Yes I have done this trip a number of times, and I have done this same trip by road many, many, many times.'

She sniffed and looked at me, 'Are you a student?'

I was tempted to say, 'No, but I have the hangover of one.' But I didn't because, being the fickle person I really am, suddenly I wanted to like her.

Now I would stay and gloat about how delightful it is when old people mistake you for being way younger than you really are, but I'm off on an archaeological dig. You never know what we may dig up, personally I'm holding out for Lord Lucan.

Another reason to love Australians.

Jetstar hopped across the Tasman and opened doors for business in New Zealand this week.

(Literal translation: Jetstar hopped across the Tasman and opened doors for business this week, thoroughly pissing of Air New Zealand who have smugly being charging people far too much for flights for far too long).

The Australian reports, 'Air New Zealand responded quickly and vowed to compete vigorously against Jetstar, touting its own low-fare credentials and greater frequency on routes targeted by its competitors.'

(Literal translation: Air New Zealand will be to forced drop their fares if they want anyone to ever fly Air New Zealand again. And they are really hoping New Zealanders will forget all those years of fare abuse they have suffered in the hands of the airline).

Jetstar kicked off their 245 million dollar expansion into New Zealand by offering one dollar fares between Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch and Queenstown. The offer was Internet only and you had to book between 12 and 2 p.m.

Naturally wanting to get a piece of the $1 action I jumped on the Internet. Got about five minutes in to my booking and, crash!

Second attempt. Three minutes in. Crash.

Third attempt. New computer. Two minutes in. Crash.

You get the picture. Basically if you try and to jam the population of Tokyo into cars, and then send them down a dusty two lane road, you're going to get a traffic jam. But I'm suspecting Jetstar knew that already.

But they didn't count on little Miss Terrier Pants wanting to get her hands on a $1 fare. Hell no, too much traffic on the dusty road wasn't going to deter me.

I rang their toll free number. Disconnected.

I tried again. Disconnected.

I tried again. Busy.

I tried again. Busy.

About five calls later I got through. A recorded message talked to me and I was put on hold.

FOR TWENTY-ONE MINUTES. (Luckily, speakerphone has been invented).

So I managed to make my booking and the woman said, 'Now I'm sorry but there is a fee for a phone booking, so the full charge to your credit card will be $3.'

I told her I thought I could wear it.

A quick scan of the Internet tells me that if I wanted, I could pay Air New Zealand $434 for the very same flight, should I desire to part with the cash.

As I am writing this I've just heard that Air New Zealand has just announced $3 fares.

Jetstar, I think I love you.

Peter Jackson, eat your heart out.

I found this sensation when I was searching for the building (that I failed to find) I refer to in the previous comments. It is home to Nikolai Sutyagin, a former gangster, in Arkhangelsk, Russia. He had meant it only to be two stories but got a little more ambitious when he went to Norway and Japan and decided he hadn't used his roof space efficiently enough, so continued to build. He added three more floors, thought it looked like a mushroom so continued to build some more. As you do.

Unfortunately after some time in the slammer, the multimillionaire lost all his ill gotten gains and he now lives in the bottom floor with his wife while the rest of the house decays around him.

I wonder how they would have gone shooting Lord of the Rings in Arkhangelsk?

More fantastic houses here.

Stories like this fill me with joy.

Wellington's new state-of-the-art hospital? $346 million.

Fact that twenty-eight rooms are too small to fit new beds?

Priceless.

People rock.