And it's a 'no' from Little Miss Yippety Yap.

A restaurant in New York has just opened up that specialises in...

...wait for it...

*whispers*

...silent dining.

Yup, you go along and enjoy your meal...without saying a word to your dining companions.

I am sorry, but that's my idea of hell. 

Crikey, a dinner party there would be a riot.

Even worse, imagine being invited to that dinner party? It really would say a lot about what your hosts thought of you. 

'How were the Browns?'

'Well, George looked like he chewed on the steak and Mary couldn't get through her duck -  took home a doggie back. Apart from that, couldn't tell you. They looked well enough, though.'

Apparently the chef was inspired after a trip to India after he saw Buddhist monks eat their meals in silence. 

But what I want to know - were those monks smiling?

In simpler times...when you could see if things were broken....

I have been working on a project that involves sending large files across large stretches of water and different time zones.

Today we received some graphics through that interweb tunnel-thing that just refused to work for us. Which isn't entirely ideal as we've got our noses pressed up against a deadline.

Anyhou, it was no one's fault, just came down to technology.

I sent an email this morning, 'If only corrupt files could be fixed with gaffer tape.'

Which is the same sentiment that a friend said recently, 'You know you've moved into a new age when your car needs at IT guy to fix it and not a mechanic.'

Crikey, listen to me, soon I will be saying, 'In the olden days I used to share my gumboots with my brother and hop to school.'

What is it they say about filming with children and animals? Cause I clearly didn't get the memo...

In the last week I have filmed with: a mouse, a yowly Tonkinese, a paper shredding Burmese, a toy poodle type dog, a grumpy Persian cat the size of a small dog, a couple of sheep, a Husky dog, a couple of Devon Rex cats, Kunekune pigs, a shoulder-perching chicken, a miniature pony, three children and a stuffed dog.

And I didn't even go mad. 

They Can Both Fly.....

I have talked before about my brother Sunshine and his love for attempting to fly, multi sports and carrying on in the face of pain  (a few years ago he managed most of a 15k run, 18k bike and a 10k kayak with a dislocated shoulder). Here's him attempting to fly in Puerto Rico a few years ago.

So it really shouldn't surprise me to learn that he discovered one month after a skiing accident, a month that included one eighty-five and two one hundred kilometre bike rides as well as two days skiing that he had actually broken his shoulder in two places. 

I suppose what really shouldn't surprise me more was that he actually asked his surgeon if he could continue his training so he would be able to compete in said bike race.

And it's very clear he's handed his ability to bounce on to his son....

I already feel sorry for what Angus's body is about to go through, going forward.

Hide the Needles and Stand Back from the Knife.

Recently I was lucky enough to go along as a friend's plus-one to a fashion show.

Oh, what's not to like?

Pretty frocks, complimentary champagne, goodie bags - all on a school night.

But what I wasn't prepared for was the extra treat - the massive smorgasbord of bad plastic surgery and botox that was on show.

Oh. My. Stars.

It was stunning.

Don't get me wrong, there were loads of women who looked stunning and who clearly had a bit of work on the side. It's not these women I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the women who went that extra mile - whose faces were so obviously plumped with poison or stretched and slightly twisted by surgery that they were left with a contorted/stunned/doll like appearance.

And many of them looked far too young to have started to make themselves look like Halloween Barbie. It was just looked like they hadn't learnt how to say, 'Thank you but I've had enough.'

My friend and I were like a coupla kids in a candy shop, 'Oh wow, look at her!'

'Yeah nothing moves except the bags under her eyes!'

It was a fascinating spectacle, one I wouldn't have missed for the world. However at one point during the evening I leaned over to my friend and whispered, 'I'm really pleased I'm me.'

Needless to say, my lines don't have to fear being blown back into my youth.

Shoes: they're hell of a way to inject life into Friday afternoon.

Picture this. Friday afternoon in a large open plan female skewed office.  Everyone weary from the week, gasping for wine o’clock to roll around and the minute hand on the clock making like it’s trapped in Monday afternoon after a long weekend. 

Into this situation bursts a cameraman… not with a camera but laden with boxes of shoes. All sorts of shoes. Shiny ones, high ones, flat ones, boot ones.

On my. It was like flies to a honey pot. Suddenly he was surrounded by a gaggle of excited women pawning over his wares.

‘This is waay better than wine,’ was one of the calls that went up.

It has to be said, importing shoes is not the most obvious income stream that springs to mind when considering what a cameraman could do in his down time.

‘How do you go from cameraman to shoe salesman?’

‘In New Zealand you guys get so ripped off with shoes, they're so expensive. And I was just really sick of my wife spending so much money on them…so we decided to do it ourselves.'

Genius.

Byte Me

Boy oh boy I’ve felt like my head has been about to explode of late. Talk about being busy, Trev.

The guilty culprit is work - finding myself in the unenviable position of dragging two series of television across the line at exactly the same time.  

This scheduling clash could not to be avoided and I could see it looming like a great time-hoovering juggernaut  on my horizon. And, after the last three weeks, I have come to a conclusion - my brain is simply too small. 

I need a geopbyte.

In the interim could someone pass me a cup of tea, a lie down and Spring?