I’m not really a cat person…

…or so I kid myself. Cat people have a reputation for being slightly crazy…or at the very least eccentric. Thankfully, my mother and her brothers always had dogs as pets, when they were children, so it was a natural follow on for me and my brother to gravitate toward dogs first as our choice of pet.

Our first dog was a black and tan Manchester Terrier cross puppy that was given to us in the local park by another boy, whose mother had told him to get rid of it. My mother was pushing my brother in the baby buggy (known then, in England, as a push-chair), as I ran on ahead through the park. By the time mum had caught up to me I was busy fussing this cute little pup, and the boy quickly explained that if we wanted it we could have the pup. Me and my brother then pretty much bullied mum into letting us keep it. You know the thing…”please mum let us keep it”…..”No”….”Oh go on mum please”….”No”….”Oh PLEEEASE mum, we’ll be ever so good won’t we Dave” to which my brother nodded so hard his head fell off….Obviously it didn’t, I was just trying to emphasize how hard he was nodding – but, never mind. Eventually after so many pleases and no’s she could stand no further whining from us and gave in. And let’s face it this technique usually works – it’s been passed down through generations…probably in our DNA….we don’t want it to be passed down obviously. We don’t want our kids knowing that continuous whining is our kryptonite do we? No matter how hard we try to suppress it…it still squeezes through, generation to generation.

At the time, the pup was very young and we weren’t absolutely sure if it was male or female. Turn it upside down and everything’s so small…and at that age they all squat to pee. The lad thought it was male so we called it Timmy – after the dog in Enid Blyton’s Famous Five books. Pretty soon it became clear that Timmy was actually a girl, so a quick name change was required and Lassie was decided on. Those of us old enough remember Lassie the collie dog in the movies….”What Lassie? Tommy fell down the well?”

She quickly became my dog and would follow me everywhere without a leash, although I also trained her on the leash and she quickly learned to heel…and not to tug and pull when we went for walks. She was a lovely, really lovely dog. Affectionate, well behaved. Unfortunately one day she, my mother, my brother and me were on our way home from my grandmothers and it started to rain. I had my bike with me so mum sent me off ahead to get home to shelter. The problem was that mum thought I’d stay on the same side of the busy road that they were on. But I decided to cross it as it would be a quicker way home. Mum was distracted, putting the rain cover over the push-chair, Lassie saw me disappear into the distance, ran across the road to try to catch up to me and was struck by a car. We’d probably had her about 2 years by that time and were all devastated at her untimely death. I never stopped blaming myself.

Next, after several years, came Bess. Bess was a brown and white Springer Spaniel who’s owner, a friend of my mothers, couldn’t keep her any longer as they already had another dog and the two did not get along. The lady insisted that Bess, who was about 18 months old, was a gentle, good natured dog and never did any damage or anything naughty. Pretty soon, after a few pairs of shoes had been destroyed and Bess also tried to eat a corner off the kitchen door, we came to the conclusion that we’d been had. After discussions with people “in the know” we were told that first thing is to move anything that the dog can chew, second thing is to smear the door with something pungent or spicy tasting to put the dog off and thirdly to not let the dog get bored.

Hiding the rest of the shoes, and applying Coleman’s Strong English Mustard liberally to what was left of the door, we thought would soon solved that problem. Turns out that our dog loved spicy food. Loved mustard. Could not get enough! Yum, yum, yum…loved it! Bring on the next course….chicken vindaloo perhaps? Fortunately she loved it so much that she stopped eating the door, just licked off the mustard…..and then squirted diarrhea all over the porch where we kept her. You would not believe how much of that stinky, yellow/green slime one medium sized dog has inside it…nor how far a medium sized dog can project it. Thank God she wasn’t a Great Dane or Saint Bernard….imagine it!

I don’t want to go on about it, but I will because I don’t think you can fully appreciate what a mess it was. You know those plastic squirty bottles that hot dog mustard comes in? Imagine a bottle 100 times the size and then picture a hippopotamus or an elephant leaping from a 12 metre diving board onto it. Actually that’s stupid, how would a hippo or elephant climb up there? Imagine it a hippo climbing a ladder…just not possible is it? OK, so imagine then that by some magical way, a hippo…..or elephant is up there on the 12 metre diving board. Maybe a crane – obviously the machine, not the bird….god imagine the bird flapping like mad trying to lift a hippo…just wouldn’t work would it….ridiculous….so a crane put it up there…or helicopter…perhaps, with a harness….then again hippos and elephants don’t have fingers so how would they unfasten the harness once they were up there? Hard work this. Whatever way it got there a very large animal is up there and leaps majestically into the air and plummets onto the squeezy bottle and well, you can guess the rest.

The porch was carpeted too….yes I know….not pretty! Not fully carpeted you understand we weren’t that posh! Just old rugs laid on top of a parquet floor. My dad years earlier had got hold of this old parquet flooring rescued from some wreck of a building or other and being a true Yorkshireman…never wanting to “chuck ‘owt out”….decided to re-lay it over the concrete flagstones in our porch. You know those little gaps between the slats of wood on a parquet floor? Particularly runny diarrhea can find it’s way into any little crack or crevice. There was no way that dad was going to let us destroy his handy-work so we lived with that particular cologne for years…and years. It’s the scent that keeps on giving.

After that, it became my job to take Bess for long….very long….walks to tire her (and me) out so that neither of us were capable of getting up to any mischief. She became a well loved family member. We spoiled that dog….to the point that she became diabetic. Mum would feed it ice cream for gods sake. So yes, she died of problems caused by diabetes.

Next came Baldrick. Named after the unkempt, slightly smelly, rather stupid character from the Blackadder TV series. And to be fair he did his best to live up to the name. Not a very high target to meet granted. But despite this he was still a lovely and loved pet.

Jumping several years and my brother-in-law ended up living at our house. I won’t go into the how, why and wherefores of it, but while me and my wife were overseas on an extended holiday, my brother-in-law and his son either allowed, or more likely encouraged, a couple of kittens from next door into our house.

Who doesn’t think cats, particularly little fluffy kittens are cute….I think it can be safely said that when it comes to a little pussy….we love ’em don’t we? By which I mean a small cat, a kitten.

Well, it turns out that, at that time, I was not like most people and I was annoyed, nay outraged, that our house minders had allowed felines through the door and into my hallowed space. Rather pathetically I tried to barricade the doorway so that the cats couldn’t get in. Of course as they got older and larger, leaping over my version of the Berlin Wall became like a game to them so, in the end I simply gave in, accepted their presence and – what do you know – the little buggers grew on me.

My wife didn’t have my built in aversion to cats, having owned a cat of her own when she was a child. Actually that sentence is ridiculous, as anyone knows who has a cat as a pet…..it’s the cat that owns you!

Anyhow, my wife soon named the 2 kittens – who were brother and sister and incidentally already had other names – Tiberius and Scarlet. The 2 kittens were inseparable during the daytime and were usually to be found in one another’s company, in a sunny spot in the garden. Although Scarlet would usually go back next door at the end of the day, Tiberius….or Tibs as I shortened his name to because I didn’t want to sound pretentious calling him in….”Tiberius, Oh Tiberius, where are you?” – made our home his in a very short time.

Scarlet on the left and Tibs on the right.

Tibs would come and go throughout the day, but at night time, he’d settle down on the couch and that would be the last we’d hear of him until early morning when he’d wander into our bedroom, jump up on to the bed and then settle down on my chest and push his face into mine, just to let me know that he loved me…..actually to tell me to get up and get him breakfast.

We became firm friends. He was my confidante and we had many a long discussion. Well I talked, he just looked aloof, but I’m pretty sure he was listening to every word. Then one evening in January at 10pm, for no apparent reason, he went out the front window and never returned.

Devastated doesn’t even come close to how I felt.

Oddly the very next morning Scarlet appeared meowing constantly, with a little bundle of fluff in tow. It was as though she was saying “I know Tibs is gone, but don’t be sad, I brought you a gift”. That little bundle of fluff became a regular visitor then a permanent guest when we became official carers for him. I would say owners, but we already know who owns whom when it comes to cats.

Scarlet…the mother cat laying on the chair and our little bundle of fluff Hector (yes, of course, named by my wife).

That was almost 3 years ago. Hector is my present confidante and my new owner. He rules the roost, as it were. He’s more of a night owl than Tibs was and is frequently in and out of the cat flap during the hours of darkness, announcing his arrival with a very loud “I’m here!” – or at least I swear that’s what it sounds like. He brings home “gifts” such as dried flower heads, the occasional rabbit…. or half a rabbit (always the bottom half, never the head)….and mice…sometimes dead but more often than not, very much alive. Hector, it would appear, has signed up for the mouse catch and release program. It seems to amuse him to watch me chase the mice around the house trying to catch them again. He thinks it’s great fun.

When he’s had his fun for the night, and a feed, he’ll jump up on the bed and spread out, so my feet are wedged down a narrow strip of bed so as not to upset his highness. He’ll have a scratch, groom himself and then purr himself to sleep….where as I’ll lay there uncomfortable, very much awake and developing a cramp in my crushed legs.

You’d think that this would piss me off….the constant meowing at odd hours of the night….the mouse hunting when still half asleep and bleary eyed…the demands of “feed me” at all hours…..the lack of sleep. Some would call me insane for putting up with it, but funnily enough if I don’t hear those middle of the night calls for attention I lay awake and worry….where is he, is he ok? Crazy or just a softy? I wouldn’t have it any other way. So, when I say I’m not really a cat person I guess what I mean to say is that I wasn’t, but now I most certainly am.

Me and the boss….Hector.

The Dead Don’t Die – Movie 2019 – review….of sorts.

My wife detests Zombie movies. I find it very difficult to get her to watch one with me, unless it’s a Zombie comedy movie that is. She LOVED Shaun of the Dead, so when she was scrolling through Netflix for a movie to watch and came across this one….a Zombie Comedy – The Dead Don’t Dieby Jim Yarmusch, who is himself becoming quite a cult figure for the quality of his movies, it was she who actually suggested we watch it. After I had recovered consciousness and peeled myself off the carpet, I readily agreed and after a quick viewing of the movie trailer – which looked extremely good – we settled down to be entertained by maestro Yarmusch and his all star cast. Sharing the lead were Bill Murray and Adam Driver – two actors who can really put the dead into dead-pan. Assisted by other names such as Tilda Swinton as a rather unconventional samurai sword swinging funeral director, Selena Gomez as a “hipster probably from Pittsburgh”, Danny Glover is the owner of a hardware store that sells everything you could possibly need to kill zombies with and Steve Buscemi as a red-neck Trump supporting farmer who wears a red baseball cap with Make America White Again as its slogan.

The Dead Don't Die.jpeg

Iggy Pop makes an appearance as a coffee loving zombie, Tom Waits plays Hermit Bob – a bearded backwoodsman hermit initially accused of stealing Steve Buscemi’s chickens – who watches the whole zombie apocalypse unfold from the fringes of his wooded encampment and rapper RZA brings up this trifecta of muso’s….and there are still more musicians who make a cameo appearance. One of these is the Sturgill Simpson who as well as briefly playing a character known as “guitar zombie” also sings the movie theme song “The Dead Don’t Die”……which is plugged several times throughout the movie (whenever a radio is switched on), including one scene where Bill Murray – who plays Police chief Cliff Robertson asks fellow officer Ronnie Peterson, played by Driver “How do I know this song?” – Driver absolutely deadpan replies “It’s the theme song” (of the movie).

Several times in the movie Driver’s character says “This is all gonna end badly”…..eventually Murray’s character asks him why he keeps saying this, like he knows something bad is going to happen. Driver replies “Jim showed me the script” – referring to director Jim Yarmusch.

All this happens in a small sleepy town in middle America with a lot of cliche characters. The basic premise of the movie is that somehow (possibly something to do with fracking at the earths poles) the rotational spin of the earth goes off kilter resulting in watches stopping, weird animal behaviour, it still being daylight late into the evening….oh yes, and zombies reanimating from corpses.

You’ll get the general idea from the trailer – I’ll provide the link at the end of this post. Actually the trailer is so much better than the movie. Save yourselves a lot of time and effort and watch the trailer instead of sitting through the movie.

There are characters in the movie who just seem to be there as a fill in, or as a favour to a mate or something….can I be in your movie…..yes sure I’ll make up a character for you who appears a couple of times but we never know why they are in the movie, or what happens to them during the zombie apocalypse. An example being a group of 3 kids in juvenile detention, who appear in a few scenes. They manage to escape the detention centre when it becomes over run with zombies but then go out onto streets overflowing with zombies but we never find out if they are eaten or survive. There just doesn’t appear to be a reason for including them in the movie at all. There’s no back story and they just go out into the night. AND, when a heavily Scottish accented Swinton is slashing her way through a crowd of zombies and a UFO appears overhead, I almost hit the off button. My wife and I looked at one another in disbelief and remarked “WHAT??!!”

The movie got mixed reviews from critics, most giving it mid range marks….not a great movie but not terrible either. There were snippets of brilliance but not enough to save it from mediocrity. And I must say I haven’t fully made my mind up. My initial reaction is it failed to live up to expectations….was too cliched…too laid back…too deadpan…..but maybe that’s what Yarmusch was going for…in which case it’s genius!. Perhaps I should give it another viewing in a year, or five….when very drunk. Either way, not quite the homage to zombies I was hoping for. I’ll give it a mid range 5.5 out of 10….and put it down to Yarmusch having an off day.

Movie trailer link below.

(5) THE DEAD DON’T DIE | Official Trailer | Focus Features – YouTube

Blithe Spirit 2020 Film Review

This will be a very brief look at the latest movie offering based on Noel Cowards play.

Blithe Spirit was originally a play written by Noel Coward and first performed in London’s West End in 1941. It was adapted for the screen in 1945 for a movie directed by David Lean and staring Rex Harrison along with Constance Cummings, Kay Hammond and Margaret Rutherford.

As with many old movies, it has been revamped and there is now a 2020 version directed by Edward Hall, with Dan Stevens taking the lead – playing writer Charles Condomine who is struggling with writers block and Isla Fisher and Leslie Mann playing his current wife Ruth and first/dead wife Elvira. Judy Dench takes over the Margaret Rutherford role of the medium who conjures up the ghost of his first wife thus causing chaos….which results in a good old fashioned comedy romp.

The review website Rotten Tomatoes gave the movie a miserly 31 out of 100 and commented “An indifferent adaptation of classic source material, Blithe Spirit puts a star-studded cast through the motions without capturing the story’s screwball spark.

Other critics also panned it comparing it poorly with the original 1945 movie. Deborah Ross of The Spectator said “Better if she’d been left to rest in peace, and, after seeing this film adaption, you may well wish the play had been left to rest in peace too. Don’t dig it up! Leave well alone!” And Simran Hans of The Observer (UK) said “Edward Hall’s film attempts to send up Condomine for leeching off a female muse, which clashes somewhat with the source material’s “blithe” mood.

In a way I’m quite pleased that I have seen neither the original play performed, nor the original 1945 movie, so I was allowed to enjoy the 2020 movie as a stand alone creation. What can I say? I enjoyed it. It was light, funny, entertaining. The costumes, sets and scenery were first class and the main actors (ably backed up by the rest of the cast), I thought, did a good job and produced an amusing film.

If you just want to be entertained for an hour and a half by something that’s easy to watch and simple to follow with a few laughs along the way, this may be the movie for you. If however you’re a fan of the original movie….beware.

I’ll provide links to trailers of this version and to the 1945 original for you to judge for yourselves. For my money, the acting in the 1945 version looks wooden in comparison….but that’s just my opinion.

False news….false, false news!

The President and the disputed word

As the president’s official speechwriter I’d like to point out that the president is not offended by the label of “Cockwomble”. This is what he had to say earlier today when Fox News reported that he had indeed been labelled a Cockwomble.


“The definition, given above, of this outstanding word is false news. Very big false news. Very hugely big false news in fact. The term, if you look it up in the official White House dictionary of modern American words, that incidentally I’ve just finished writing….a great great book of wise words…… frankly is actually a compliment. A big and very great, and I must say very apt complement. I’ll break it down for the stoopid journalists among you. “Cock” – well we all know that the cock is in charge of the henhouse. So this just means that I’m the numero uno Rooster in charge of this great great nation…this beautiful and very wonderful land of the free. Numero UNO! As for the second part “Womble” – some people, not all, just the smart ones like me….when I say smart like me of course I actually mean that you wish you were all as smart as me…you wouldn’t believe my IQ if I told you….off the chart…way off…super smart…very super duper smart. But anyway the Wombles were very cute and wonderful creatures on British TV who cleared up other peoples mess ups. Much like I’ve done since taking over the bad…the very bad…the incredible, very bad mess left by Obama. I’ve cleaned up Obama’s mess. Cleaned it right up. I’ve been given China’s mess to clear up, this Chinese virus, started in Wuhan….in CHINA, so it’s a Chinese virus okay. Very deadly, but I’ve defeated it more or less single handed. The WHO and the UN are incompetent and very stupid people. Can’t be trusted. So I’m removing funding. I’ve turned things around again and made America great again…AGAIN. How great? Very very wonderfully super duperly great. Greater than ever actually. It’s an outstanding achievement. Everyone says so. Everyone. All the big, big players say so. America is great, just like Great Uncle Bulgaria of the Wombles was a great great man, that’s why he was Great Uncle….very wise, so very very wise – like me, people come to him with problems and he uses his amazing outstanding wonderful great wisdom to sort things out, so the analogy is quite correct, except of course that I have better hair. God bless America.”

So there you have it Donald Trump, President of the USA and proud to be a Cockwomble.

God help…..I mean God Bless….America.

Again thank you for reading and I’d just like to point out that Great Uncle Bulgaria rejects being compared to Mr Trump……and also rejects Mr Trumps definition of the word Cockwomble.

wombles on Tumblr

The Coronavirus debacle

Before you start calling me irresponsible for referring to what is now, according to the W.H.O. a pandemic, as a debacle, I’m using the word firstly to describe the conflicting, contradictory information and advice we are being given either through the media or from government/health officials and secondly due to the sometimes crazy response from the general public….and thirdly I am writing this a little bit tongue in cheek – because the whole issue is absurd.

Reading an article in the NZ herald newspaper, it talks about a 79 year old grandmother who was scared she may be infected with the virus as she was sitting close to a woman on a plane from Italy who has since been confirmed as having the COVID-19 coronavirus. So far she is not showing any symptoms but since there is an incubation period of between 2 to 10 days she was afraid that she may have already passed on the virus as she had attended aqua aerobics classes with lots of other people. She has since been advised to self isolate for 14 days. But what about those she has been in contact with previously?

Now here’s where the conflicting info comes in. The W.H.O. world health organization says that anyone who doesn’t have symptoms is not infectious. BUT the scientists in China, where the virus originated, have prompted the Chinese health minister to state “that the ability of the virus to spread seems to be getting stronger.” And that “people with novel coronavirus may be able to spread the illness before they even develop symptoms.

Doctors slam face mask price hikes, call for better ...

Similarly there is conflicting information about whether wearing a mask will protect you or not. Officials have said – on the one hand – that masks are ineffective against coronavirus because many of them don’t seal to the face…..and in the next breath they tell us that we shouldn’t stockpile masks because we are causing a shortage for front line health professionals dealing with the virus, and putting them in danger. So….the masks don’t protect civilians, but somehow work for doctors and nurses…..right. Meanwhile Mitre10 and Bunnings Hardware stores along with any other store selling masks of any kind have been cleared out, so you may have to be inventive……and don’t forget about your pets.

You Won't Believe The Items People Are Using As Face Masks ...
Chinese pet owners are creating makeshift coronavirus ...

Similarly there was a rush on supermarkets in Auckland – which has a high Asian population. Security guards were only allowing one person into the supermarkets as one person left the supermarket to save congestion and chaos inside. Shoppers cleared the shelves of bottled water, toilet paper and canned goods. Of course if they had been sensible New Zealanders who should, in theory, already have a stockpile of food, water and other essentials for a minimum of 3 weeks to see them through a natural disaster such as earth quake, volcanic eruption, superstorm etc there wouldn’t have been this panic buying. I mean come on people it makes sense to build up a stock pile over time….a couple of extra cans or packet of dried food every time you go shopping. Be prepared Kiwi’s.

Coronavirus: Empty supermarket shelves amid panic buying - BelfastTelegraph.co.uk

To put things into perspective. Coronavirus COVID-19 has caused about 4500 deaths world wide so far. There seems to be a lot of fuss about something that has yet to cause a single death in New Zealand, and yet the flu causes 500 deaths here on average each year (and about a half million deaths yearly, world wide). Around 400 people die in traffic accidents each year in New Zealand too….and New Zealanders are really crap drivers….but drivers are not asked to self isolate. We also have around 800 to 1000 deaths yearly attributed to alcohol consumption….of course tax on alcohol brings a lovely amount of cash into the government coffers so we can’t really stop people drinking can we?

The “leader of the free world” – cough cough….and no I don’t have the virus…..on the one hand told us that it’s all false news and pushed the problem across the desk for his deputy to deal with, but now has closed the borders to European travelers….as well as Chinese, Koreans and Iranians. BUT he’s allowing travel between Britain and the USA, even though there are already over 200 confirmed cases in Britain……AND he’s not stopping American citizens from going to Europe, or returning. It’s really difficult to understand the logic there. President Trump’s latest brainwave….I call it a “brainwave” because I think he has finally waved his brain goodbye….is to be talking about putting a ban on flights from California to Washington D.C. It’s all very strange. Perhaps he doesn’t realize that California is part of the USA? But its unfair of me to say that because we all know that Mr Trump is a clever…very clever…intelligent….very intelligent, super intelligent man who knows a lot….much more than most people actually about just about anything – he told us that himself….many times, many, many times.

Meantime to counter the US claim that COVID-19 is both the fault of China and originated in China, the Chinese are now saying that the virus was manufactured in the USA, that deaths in the USA from the coronavirus have been happening for a long time (before it broke out in China) but were attributed to the flu. The playground squabbling has begun. “It was him…no it was him, he started it!” Yes folks these are the people we elect to “RUN THE WORLD”…..what a joke!

China, Korea and now Italy have shut down their countries in order to get on top of the coronavirus situation and by the sound of things the USA isn’t far off sealing it’s borders to anyone but US citizens and Brits.

Meanwhile here in little old New Zealand people coming into the country are still not being monitored or examined by health professionals. They are instead given a piece of paper telling of the symptoms of COVID-19 and are told that if they feel ill they should self isolate for 14 days. Of course everyone who comes into NZ are totally responsible and will obey this bit of paper. History has told us how little faith we should put in a piece of paper. Remember British PM Neville Chamberlain with his piece of paper from one Adolf Hitler guaranteeing “Peace in our time”….in late 1938. Oops!

Meanwhile the stock markets are taking a beating and of course this is being blamed squarely on COVID-19 even though the cracks in the world economy were already showing prior to the virus. Some economists were even predicting another crash like, but worse than, the one in 2008. So is coronavirus being used as a convenient, or even manufactured, scapegoat? The conspiracy theorists say so. Naturally “Joe Normal” isn’t going to believe anyone who is a “conspiracy theorist”…..maybe if we changed the name to “Truth Seekers” the public would listen?

I’ll give it a try…see how it sounds….roll it around the tongue.

The Truth Seekers ….oooh yes I do like the sound of that…..The Truth Seekers say that the Corporate bosses and their bought and paid for media are blaming the Coronavirus for all the financial problems that have brought about the drop in the stock market. The Truth Seekers say that this is just a smokescreen so that the public won’t realize that the whole foundation supporting the economy and finance was about to crumble and fall anyway. Like all great civilisations of the past, ours has run its course. The debt part of the Debt Economy has finally caught up with us. The Trillions of dollars of debt finally needs to be paid. Blaming the coronavirus is a last ditch effort to buy time to try to shore things up. And governments restricting civilian movement is the first step in the United Nations agenda 21….now superseded by agenda 2030…the reduction and control of the civilian population. They can’t just close borders and restrict travel or people will complain about their rights….BUT do it as a “safety measure” to “protect the people”…. and I think we may fall for it. And lets face it the public can be sooo stupid! Sales of Corona beer have plunged because of its name…..it’s too much like coronavirus. I kid you not. So there you have it. If someone with such a responsible name as the TRUTH SEEKERS say the economy is a sham, and BIG BROTHER from Orwell’s 1984 is about to come true…then surely it must be true. And it must therefore be time to start anew and find a better way of running things…….right?

Either way….if you haven’t already stocked up on food, water and toilet rolls, for goodness sake don’t forget toilet rolls….AND cleared out your bank account before the collapse….do it now.

Does your vote really count?

If voting actually changed anything, it would be made illegal.

Democracy is not in the voting….it’s in the counting.

Elections are about standing or falling…., the people find out what politicians stand for, and the politicians find out what the people will fall for.

If God had wanted us to vote, he’d have given us candidates worth voting for. – (Particularly applicable to the 2016 US election).

If the people of a democracy are allowed to do so, they will vote away the freedoms that are essential to that democracy. – AND the politicians (and media) will make sure that we do vote our freedoms away, by feeding us mis-information.

Sorry about this folks, but I’m having a bit of a rant. Totally pissed off about the New Zealand political system, be it local or national. Local politics. Does it matter? Does our vote count if the system is not one we subscribe to? How about National politics….does the same apply?

My opinion, and it is only my opinion, for what it’s worth – I don’t pretend to be an expert on all things political – is that the best system of governance is self governance. Being responsible for our own affairs is by far the system where your own needs have a better chance of being met. The current system here, where we have locally a District Council with a Mayor and 14 Councillors, plus a Regional Council with 8 Councillors selected from the various towns and cities that make up our region, I don’t feel works as it should.

We recently, earlier in October, had our local elections and although I did vote, I could not vote for the candidates who I wanted to vote for…the ones I thought would best represent my needs and stood for the same issues and ideals that I have. The candidates who I wanted to vote for were not in my immediate electorate so I had to pick and vote for other people, and basically what it boiled down to was selecting the one I thought would bring least harm to me, my family and our community. In the end, the one person who I felt would have been the best councillor for me and mine, didn’t even get elected, he was in an electorate that was not mine… though we displayed his political banner/sign on the fence of our property. All the councillors regardless of the electorate that they were standing in, end up serving on a local government council that represents the whole area, so why not just give us a list of all candidates who have been nominated for council and let us vote for any of them (in the hope that the best of the bunch get elected), rather than restricting our vote to someone who is in our electorate, who we may not think is suitable, or even fit for the job?

In addition to electing councillors, we also got to choose members to sit on the local health board governing body….25 applicants of which 7 were to be elected. Of course there was the usual blurb and photo of each wanna-be official in order to convince us that they were the best person for the job. The interesting thing that I found in all this literature, was that only one of the 25 prospects actually mentioned preventative health care. ONLY ONE….thought to remind us that we can help to take responsibility for our healthcare by first taking care about what we put into our mouths – healthy eating, healthy diet equals healthy body. As Socrates said a couple of thousand years ago – “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food”. So, as far as I am concerned only that one person actually deserves to serve as our representative on the heath board. BUT her views are going to be voted down by the other 6 who get elected and who have vested interests in the pharmaceutical side of the business.

So, me and my family….and our beliefs/way of life etc., have little or no representation on either our district council or our regional council….or Heath Board. When it comes to the national New Zealand Government – in parliament in our capital city of Wellington – we are even less represented.

We are told that these elected officials are our representitives….in government to represent our rights and to make choices on our behalf. Making rules and regulations that we have to live by….spending our taxes in a manner to which they see fit.

I have had concerns about a number of issues over the 30 years that I’ve lived in New Zealand….and have emailed my local member of parliament, certain Ministers in charge of key portfolios, party leaders, the Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister with these concerns, asking specific questions for which I would like answers. This, I want to point out, was not only during the reign of our current Labour Party / NZ First / Green Party coalition government (led by the ever smiling Jacinda Ardern), but also during the 9 years prior when the National Party were in charge. In most cases I received no reply at all, in others I received an initial, apparently automated, reply stating that my email had been received and someone would formulate a reply to it shortly. I am still waiting. They never get back to me. It’s not just one political party either, it’s across the entire political spectrum. Do I feel that I am being represented – NO I don’t. So what is the bloody point of the whole system, and what does my voting achieve?

All that my vote achieves is – that it goes toward getting someone a nice well paid job in Wellington, someone who will use their position, power and money to further their own agenda and feather their own nests…someone who has not the slightest intention of representing me, my family or community at all. From my own viewpoint voting is an utter waste of time. The bigger a government – or any organization – is, the less the needs of the individual citizen are met…or even listened to. But you know what they say “If you don’t vote, don’t moan about who gets elected.” Then again, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was an election and everyone refused to vote….in protest, at the system and it’s lack of true representation. A bit like that old Vietnam war era bumper sticker “What if they gave a war and no one came?”

Of course the biggest problem with politics and politicians is that they not only never do anything constructive for us the people they are elected to represent, but they also never say anything tangible. They will never, EVER, answer a yes or no question with a yes or no answer. They spend hours talking around the question instead in order to bore us into submission. And if, on the odd occasion, they actually do say or do anything…obviously in error….they make such a mess of it and have to have a committee formed to look into the problem. Spending more of our hard earned taxes. I think American comedian and political critic George Carlin summed “politic speak” up nicely in the following address to the National Press Club….

I fully understand why the people of Britain voted to pull out of the EEC – feeling that their needs were not being looked after by a Government who rule from Brussels and who take millions of pounds out of the British coffers and invest very little of those funds back into Britain – whether I agree with it or not is beside the point. They don’t feel that being ruled from Brussels benefits them in any way, shape or form….and the lack of border control is eroding what is left of the British identity, customs and culture. So they vote to pull out….much to the surprise of the government…who are left in a bit of a void because now they have to do some work and negotiate a deal whereby Britain can leave the EEC without becoming completely ostracized.

Of course prior to having governments voted for by the people (even if they don’t actually represent the true wishes of the people) we were all subjects of and servants to Kings, Queens, Emperors etc who took their positions of power either by being born into it, or by having armies big enough to wrest control from some other monarch.

The question is, are we actually better off with the system we now have? Or is it time for another change….a revolt if you will? It would have to be a revolt because the people in power aren’t going to either simply step aside, or allow us to vote them off. An “Anarchistic Autonomous Collective” sounds pretty good right now (see Monty Python sketch below).

I’d like to know if YOU feel that you are being properly represented by your elected officials, where ever in the world you live….or if you too are coming to the end of your tether and feel forced into taking action.

Meantime here’s a sketch from the Monty Python team…..amusing yes, but with a lot of truth in it.

Art for art’s sake….a slight detour.

I apologize in advance for some of the puns and some of the pictures. But please bear (or is it bare?) with me…..please continue in good humour (or humor if you’re in the USA) – I don’t mean to offend anyone.

Have you ever started off writing a blog post and then been reminded of something else along the way, so have taken a detour instead? It happens to me all the time. I just started writing a post about Nice in the south of France where, among other things, we visited the Marc Chagall gallery – or to give it its correct name the Musee National Marc Chagall….and it sent me on a tangent or a detour to blog about art, or my own attempts at art, instead.

Some museums don’t allow photography at all and others allow it as long as you don’t use the flash. The Marc Chagall museum fell in the latter category which was a good thing as my wife loves his paintings – they are very colourful, bright and child-like – and she wanted me to photograph a couple of them with a view to getting large prints made when we went home, to display on our lounge wall. Here – below – are a couple of Chagall paintings to give you, who haven’t seen his work before, an idea of how he paints.

Long story short – since we’d decided that they would look better printed on canvas than on paper – it was going to cost us around $300 to $400NZ for a print. So I rather foolishly suggested, as an alternative, that perhaps I could buy a blank canvas and produce my own “Chagall look-a-like painting”. My wife surprisingly agreed. So that’s what I did and here it is below…..it’s colourful anyhow.

The problem with that is that I’m not much of an artist. I loved to draw and paint as a kid (back when dinosaurs ruled the earth), but since then have only dabbled now and then when I liked a painting by a famous artist but didn’t have the money to buy a print of it….never mind the millions of dollars for the original. So I’d have a go at painting my own in a similar style…..or as similar as I could manage.

I started off with one that even I couldn’t fail at (or so I thought) – a Jackson Pollock style abstract splatter painting. I used some old acrylic house paint and felt it was coming along quite well with blue and green splatters of paint, but when I needed another colour, to contrast the blue and green, all I could find was a creamy-white…..so on it went one “whoosh” of a splatter at a time. It didn’t quite have the effect I was looking for and looked more like……er….well, it looked a little like….how can I put this tactfully? Actually I don’t think I can think of a polite description – I titled the piece “love comes in spurts.” Enough said.

What a load of “pollocks!” – my attempt at a Jackson Pollock splatter painting.

Needless to say, it didn’t stay on our wall for too long before it was consigned first to the garage and later to the rubbish dump.

Another attempt slightly more successful was my version of Pablo Picasso’s picture of an artist, his model and for some reason a yellow bull and a pink horse….trampling on a light blue horse which was laying on the bed of the artist and model. I know…I know…..I thought the same thing. Why do I do bother?

Pick Ass Oh! – my attempt at Picasso’s “artist and model” series.

My friends are no help either, in fact they push me toward my artistic endeavours….or should that be artistic follies? This is almost 20 years ago, but one of my co-workers, with whom I usually discussed books we were both currently reading, told me that she had recently started going to “life drawing” classes and that I should go along. Initially I thought she meant “still life” classes – you know bowls of fruit, flowers and the like. I was quite taken aback when she explained that what it actually entailed was to sit in a circle around a model and draw or paint that person who would be sitting, standing or laying there completely naked.

After checking if the “model” is usually male or female and getting the reply that nine times out of ten it was a female, and she’s usually someone from the art teachers yoga class, I said “yeah, okay….I’ll come along and give it a go” trying my best not to sound too keen.

I wasn’t actually sure if I could, for want of a better term, handle it. I mean sitting there in front of a completely naked woman and to be expected to draw her without allowing my nervous, trembling hand holding the pencil to tear big holes across the paper as I quivered, stared and drooled! I know…I know…right now you’re probably thinking “for F##ks sake how old are you FIVE?” I’m pleased to report that once I was there, in the class, I was perfectly well behaved, totally in the moment and fully concentrated on my attempts at capturing the model on paper…..as opposed to kidnapping her in the carpark afterwards! ( I write this very much tongue in cheek….my cheek that is).

I really enjoyed the lessons. I know, you’re thinking – “Who wouldn’t?” But once you’re there you don’t actually see “a naked woman….or on one occasion….naked man” – you’re too busy trying to get the angles, curves and shading right. Our tutor got us to try different media and styles of drawing/painting. Sometimes we’d use a pencil, sometimes charcoal or chalk or pastels or poster paint or water colour. Other times we’d try to paint by using something as simple as a piece of cardboard dipped into ink. It was all very interesting.

By now, having seen my Chagall, Pollock and Picasso attempts you know not to expect too much of my “art” – a few of my attempts from the life drawing class follow…..you have been warned! Some of these we had to produce in a few minutes, others we had a longer pose to get onto paper…..he said, trying to come up with excuses.

So there you have it…the bare facts about life drawing. Click on any of the pictures to enlarge it. They have been automatically cropped by the computer to fit nicely side by side in the gallery above. As I said, various media and various styles. And yes, one of the drawings is of a pregnant lady. She was wonderful to draw….very curvy and very patient with the class….and it was extremely brave of her in that late stage of her pregnancy, when many women would have body image issues, to bare all. All in the name of art. Art for art’s sake.

What we did on our Holiday.

No I’m not going to bore the pants off you writing about our fun old-fashioned family Christmas. I’m writing about a British made, 2014 movie called “What we did on our Holiday” – which is one of the funniest, yet at the same time poignant, movies I have ever seen. There are 3 young kids in it who are simply brilliant. The primary adult stars are David Tennant, Rosamund Pike, Billy Connolly and Ben Miller, sterlingly supported by Amelia Bullmore, Annette Crosby and Celia Imrie. But it’s the three children who steal the show and are superb. Their names are Emilia Jones, Bobby Smalldridge and Harriet Turnbull. If you haven’t seen the movie – try to watch it on line or borrow it from a DVD store/library – it’s a real treat to watch.

Official trailer of the movie.

The story centres around the kids and Tennant and Pike who play their parents and live in the south of England. I should say at this point that the parents are on a trial separation and living in separate houses. BUT Tennant’s father, – Billy Connolly is about to celebrate his 75th birthday at his other son’s home in Scotland. In order not to upset Connolly, Pike and Tennant put on a united front to pretend that they are still together and that everything is absolutely rosie between them. Of course kids being kids – let the cat out of the bag.

The road trip from England up to the Scottish highlands is an eventful and argumentative one – with several amusing incidents. On arrival – finally, at Tennant’s brothers house – which turns out to be a huge mansion in park like grounds – we are shown that the relationship between the two brothers is a competitive one…..this is highlighted by the family football match on the lawn.

The birthday party for Connolly is oldest son Gavin’s (Miller) idea, who has to do everything extravagantly as a demonstration of his wealth and to show little brother (Tennant) who is the most successful of them. He has invited hundreds of guests and the party will be in a huge marquee on the main lawn. All Connolly is interested in though is spending time with his grand children – so he takes them off in a 4 wheel drive across the moorland to an isolated sandy beach until it’s time to return for the party.

It is revealed early in the movie that Connolly’s character is very sick with cancer and isn’t expected to see his next birthday – which is partly why there is a lot of fuss being made over this one – his 75th. The drugs he is on to fight the cancer are bad for his heart…..which is not as strong as it should be. This makes Connolly even more determined to get away to the beach with the grand kids and just watch them at play. They have some very deep and meaningful talks with him sitting on the beach. Some of which apparently is scripted and some ad-libbed. The kids are brilliant!

SPOILER ALERT!

They bury grandad in the sand and he pretends he’s dead. The kids become concerned and lean in close to check on him – he bursts out of the sand and scares them half to death. The chatter and play continues for a while and the kids talk about death with Connolly and he tells them that when he dies he would hate the sons to arrange his funeral as there would be arguments and things would be blown out of proportion and that what he’d really love is to have a Viking funeral. The body placed on a flaming boat and pushed out to sea. He tells the kids that they should try to enjoy life and be happy and content with their lot and not get drawn into petty arguments because “people are ridiculous and in the end nothing really matters”. After this he sits on the beach and the kids go off looking for crabs etc…..only to return to find that grandad (Connolly) has really died and is laying motionless on the sand.

Oldest grand daughter Lottie (Emilia Jones) – after checking grandad’s pulse, listening for a heart beat and checking that he is indeed no longer breathing – leaves the two younger kids to watch over grandad’s body while she races across country back to the mansion to alert the family of Connolly’s demise. When she gets there though everyone – the adults that is – are arguing. She realizes what a mess the adults will make of things when they find out that Connolly is dead, so she turns round, runs back to the beach and the kids decide to give grandad his Viking funeral.

Only after they have built a makeshift raft from bits and pieces found on the beach and rolled grandad onto it, set it alight and let the tide take him out to sea………do they return home to tell the rest of the family that grandad is dead.

This naturally coincides with the arrival of all the guests for his birthday party and how the kids break the news to the family is hilarious! I’ll add a link to that scene for you to see for yourselves….below.

So there you have it. It is honestly one of the best movies for laughs, life lessons, scenes showing typical family disagreements, family bonding in a crisis – and brilliant acting especially by the 3 younger actors. The scenes I have linked may be spoilers, but I hope that they actually inspire you to watch the entire movie. I’ll definitely be watching it again. It’s fairly low budget but a great comedic script and exceptional actors.

After all that I can’t give it any less than 5 out of 5.

Amusing quotes about Christmas

If it’s been as manic at your home as it has been at ours over the last few days….getting ready for Christmas – mowing lawns and weeding gardens (one of the negatives of having Christmas in summer here in New Zealand) and tidying and decorating the house….and getting rid of a years accumulated rubbish….cleaning off the outdoor furniture for Christmas lunch in the garden – you’ll need to smile, chuckle even…..perhaps even a hearty Ho Ho Ho! Here are a few humerous quotes gleaned from the NET.

Santa Claus had the right idea. Visit people only once a year

Christmas is always a problem to the man who has to convince his kids that there is a Santa Claus, and his wife that there isn’t. 

I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included.  

You can just hear Santa saying Ho, Ho, Ho, when you receive your credit card statement in January

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle three things: a rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas tree lights. 

This Christmas I’ve decided to put mistletoe in my back pocket so all the people I don’t like can kiss my ass!

I try not to eat too much at Christmas lunch….I need to leave room for alcohol to tolerate the in-laws.

It isn’t Christmas until you push your body to the brink of diabetes and alcoholism.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, but if the white runs out I’m happy with a red or a rosé.

When someone asks – where is your Christmas spirit – is it wrong to point to the liquor cabinet?

When you stop believing in Santa……you get socks!

It’s all fun and games until Santa checks the naughty list!

1 day of coal….364 days of fun…..I’ll take my chances.

here’s one for the feminists – A virgin birth I can believe….but 3 wise men? Come on! Now, if it had been 3 wise women…..they would have asked for directions, got there on time, helped to deliver the baby, brought proper – practical gifts, cleaned the stable, made a casserole and there would be peace on earth.

Christmas – the only time of year that its OK to sit and look at a dead tree and eat candy out of a sock.

Dear Santa – please don’t mix it up like you did last year – I said I wanted a slim body and a big fat bank account!

Parental warning –  Dear Santa – I’ve been good all year……well most of the year……well once in a while – it’s difficult to stay positive….never mind…..I’ll buy my own stuff….you judgemental bastard!

And a few pictoral jokes……

Oh darling, when you said small gift, I thought you were going to unzip your trousers - vintage retro funny quote

Hope I haven’t offended too many people. Merry Christmas and a Hap….Hap….Happy New Year!

It’s that time of year…..OR the Good, the Bad and the unfortunate Ugly…of Christmas.

Merry Christmas every one.

Yes it’s time to bring out the hideous jerseys and grow weird things out of the top of your head.

Stop any child in the street and ask them what Christmas means to them…..and you’ll probably get arrested for attempted child abduction or molestation….it’s an unfortunate sign of the times. “Stranger Danger” has been drummed into kids these days, which means as a result, that we no longer have kids coming Christmas caroling door to door – as their parents are in constant fear of perverts grabbing them. If you were able to ask a child in the street – without their mother dragging them away while dialing the police on 911….111….or 999 depending on what part of the world you’re in – they would be more likely to reply either “Santa” or “Presents”, rather than “it’s a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ – the son of God, sent to earth to save mankind”.

There are two reasons for this. Firstly a one word answer is more likely from a child on the street, than an entire coherent sentence, particularly if it means that they have to look up and break their concentration from the video game they are playing on the latest iPhone….and secondly Christmas has been abducted by commercialism and the jolly fat man in a coca cola trademark coloured suit. A third reason, if we need one, would be that religion – at least the Christian religion – doesn’t seem to have the pull it used to have when we were all “God fearing”. The churches are all but empty these days except for weddings and funerals. BUT I’m not going to get into a long rant about religion and which one, if any, is right and which one is wrong…..because I don’t know the answer. If we’re honest no one does. We can claim to know…..but it’s actually a belief….not a known fact. That’s why they call it “Faith”. However, I’ll put the lid on that can of worms because it’s not what I’m here to talk about.

I remember the magic of Christmas as a child. Christmas eve was the only evening of the year that my parents could get me and my brother to go to bed early…..in the sure and certain knowledge that Santa would be coming, and the sooner we were asleep the sooner he could come and leave us oodles of gifts. We didn’t have “stockings hung with care” on the fireplace. Oh no, not me and my brother. We’d sussed out that you could get a lot more presents in a pillowcase than you could in a miserly stocking. So, we’d lay out a clean pillowslip at the foot of our beds and cover our heads with the blankets with the intention of staying awake to catch Santa in the act. Pretending to be asleep, snug and warm under the blankets, soon gave way to actually falling asleep and that was that… until morning…..usually very early morning – 6am even.

Which ever one of us awoke first we’d whisper very, very loudly to the other “Has he been yet?” And one of us would scurry to the foot of the bed, look over the edge and seeing the stuffed to overflowing pillowcases gorged with colourfully wrapped presents would confirm “He’s been….He’s been!!!”

We’d immediately leap up, grab our stuffed pillowcases and drag them into mum and dad’s room. One pillowcase left at dad’s side of the bed, one at mum’s side and me and my brother would jump up onto the bed and snuggle down in the warm gap between the two of them – excited and fidgety and eager to start opening presents. BUT, just to stretch the agony of waiting, either mum or dad…..usually mum….would get up and make a cup of tea first. Can’t have presents being opened without a cup of tea for sustenance, can we? It’s the British way!

And then FINALLY the gifts would be brought out one at a time…..one from the pillowcase on mum’s side…followed by one from the one on dad’s side, so we could all watch each gift being unwrapped and OOhed and Aahed over…..or more likely see the look of anticipation and expectation turn to the look of disappointment and dismay. It’s not that me and my brother were ungrateful little shits, it was more because mum and dad used to buy us “nearly gifts” – as in not what we actually asked for but nearly the same – similar but not – close but no cigar. Usually the decision to get the “nearly” gifts was made based on cost. There was never a lot of money in our house when we were kids, but we were well fed and cared for. So rather than buying the popular brand, they’d go for a cheaper knock off – made in China – gift that was meant to be similar but didn’t usually come close. This was back when “made in China” meant cheap and crappy – now EVERYTHING is made in China. Then there would follow the arguments….or should I say animated discussions…. about why this particular gift is “So much better” than what we’d actually asked Santa for. And whilst demonstrating how much better this toy was….a bit would drop off and so it would be consigned straight to the rubbish bin. An example of a nearly gift would be “Lego” building bricks – that we had asked for and didn’t get – and the “Chad Valley build a home set” that we did get, with flimsy plastic panels and plastic beams with little lugs to affix the panels to….which would snap or split the first time you touched them. OR the time my brother asked for an Action Man toy – a soldier….the doll for boys lol. BUT got some cheap Chinese copy with a squashed head and a leg that kept falling off.  OR, sometimes they would actually surprise us and really push out the boat by buying a top brand item…well made….lasts for ever….expensive even. BUT again not quite what we’d asked for. My bike was an example. All the kids on our street had “scrambler” type bikes with big 20 or 24 inch wheels and cow horn shaped handlebars that made them look like speedway bikes – they were so masculine they almost reeked of testosterone – and we’d race around a dirt track in the edge of the local woods on them until we were sweaty and covered in mud. What did I get? Well….the brand was Raleigh – a top brand and very well made, BUT it was a commuter type bike with tiny 14 inch wheels with white tyres (I mean WHITE! Who ever invented white tyres needs to be shot. They’re only ever clean looking before you ride the bike. After that they are forever dirty.), and a carry-rack on the back complete with a white shoe box size and shaped saddle bag, with a delicate little strap and buckle on it, to match the white of the tyres, seat and hand grips. Oh JOY! It looked very feminine! It screamed “Sissy on a bike – please beat me up!” It was orange which was all that differentiated it from the bike that a girl up the street had….hers was purple, but otherwise identical in every way. I was shocked, embarrassed and depressed – rather than elated and excited – what mum and dad were hoping for – and then dad tried to sell the idea of this new bike to me by saying “If you notice just here….the columns for the handlebars and the seat extend, so it’ll last you for ever, no matter how much you grow.” It really added to the whole experience.

But a bike, sissy or not, is still a bike. I’d take the bike on long rides well away from the village, in the hope that no one would see me on it. The only good thing good about that bloody bike was that it had a battery powered siren – rather like the sound of a police car – instead of a bell. This was just an added torture though, because even though I wanted to sound the siren – because it sounded soooo cool – I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I was riding a girls bike! It was purgatory! And it wasn’t only confined to toys…it was the same with clothes. Winter in Britain is bloody cold and I’d asked for a duffle coat which for boys came in one colour – just like the original Ford motor cars – you could have any colour as long as it was black. So I was expecting a black coat with a tartan interior to the hood and plain wooden toggles as buttons. What did they get me? Exactly the same coat as a girl in my class at school was already wearing….kind of a blue and black herringbone pattern. It wasn’t that it was a bad coat….just that if a girl already has one….it’s a girls coat!

Enough of my reminiscing….and wallowing in self pity. I learned from the feeling of discomfort and disappointment suffered as a child….. and therefore inflicted the same on my own kids! No I didn’t….at least I hope I didn’t. I hope that we bought them…or I should say…I hope that Santa BROUGHT them what they asked for rather than us being “Nearly” parents. I must say, when you have kids of your own, Christmas retains that magical feeling. The excited anticipation of Santa’s arrival rubs off on us adults too and we actually….through our children….enjoy Christmas and all it’s crass commercialism. When my young sons went off to bed straight after dinner on Christmas eve to get to sleep early……I’d hide outside their bedroom windows and ring little bells…..pretending to be the bells on the reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh. It kept them awake for hours and meant that they’d be so exhausted in the morning that me and the wife would be able to sleep in for an extra hour or two.

These days though, our children have grown up and flown the nest and since there are no grand children (yet) to pamper, Christmas has sort of lost it’s magic. What I do enjoy most about it these days, is the simple act of gathering family and friends around the table for Christmas lunch. Togetherness….AND being that we live in New Zealand, in the southern hemisphere, which means that Christmas falls in the middle of summer…..we’ll be gathered around the dining table outdoors, in the garden, in the sunshine, in shorts and t-shirts…..table laden with food and drinking a nice cold beer.

However, having been born in the UK and having first experienced cold snowy Christmases, it feels alien to me to have Christmas in summer, which is why – even though Christmas day always falls on December 25th – it always seems to sneak up on me, catch me unaware and unprepared so my Christmas cards always miss the last mail for the year….always arrive in the northern hemisphere to friends and family there…late! AND having only mailed them yesterday I have inadvertently kept up this unwanted tradition – they will be late yet again.

New Zealand Christmas lunch in the garden.

I wish you…..and all in the WordPress family of bloggers, writers and readers, a very merry Christmas and a healthy, happy and prosperous (as opposed to preposterous), New Year.