The recovery

There are two things that are very annoying when it comes to some dirty, thieving, good for nothing, fast talking, busy handed, grungy, lousy quick fingered bastard lifting your wallet.

Firstly - you beat yourself up that you were actually stupid enough to let it happen.

Secondly - you have to replace everything. To be honest it hasn't gone too badly so far. New SIM card (keeping same phone number - thank god) has already arrived. I hate not having a phone, so that is a blessing.

All cards, NZ and UK successfully cancelled and re-issued.

Cheque cashed at bank to get through the next few days.

New Oyster Card sorted.

Anger subsiding, Pride taking a bit longer to re-establish!

McCully v Peters - ding dong

Murray McCully has many detractors - but his appointment as Nationals Foreign Affairs spokesman is a smart move. His job is to bait Winston until he does something stupid, or better still, back him into a corner and force him to contradict Helen. Muzza has started - and oh this could be fun.

A couple of days ago the President of Iran for 'the destruction of Israel'. Diplomats the world over have, quite rightly, condemned the statement - Winston hasn't noticed. So McCully put out a press release with this:

"I call on Mr Peters to join the spokespeople for other governments in condemning, on behalf of all New Zealanders, this inflammatory statement from Iran.

"I sincerely hope that Mr Peters's silence on this matter is not the result of pressure from Helen Clark, or caused by a need to wait for her permission before making any statement as Minister of Foreign Affairs.

"I also trust that Mr Peters is not under pressure from his predecessor, Mr Goff, who, when visiting Israel, passed up a meeting with Prime Minister Sharon in favour of a photo opportunity holding hands with the late President Arafat," says Mr McCully.

Brilliant!

Winston will laugh this one off, but he will be asked time and time again to prove that he is not 'Helen's bitch' - and he will crack. Forget Foreign Affairs and matters of diplomacy - simply insult the intellect, have a crack at the ego (you simply can not miss), and just as he looks close to cracking - tell him that 'pin strips' are naff.

Life goes on

OK - so I've calmed down a little since yesterdays debacle and am happy to report that I am off to Loftus Road (the home of QPR) for the International League tonight!

NZ v Great Britian and a potentially explosive encounter - excellent! The weather is not flash - but who cares, it should be a blast with Mark and Kathryn, and Mark's sister Shannon.

I would take some photo's - but some bugger has my phone/camera! (Yes - still a little bitter)

Honeymoon over, welcome to London

I can not begin to articulate how pissed off I am. With London, with a dodgy thieving bastard, and with myself. Last night should have been brilliant - and it was - and then it wasn't.

It started with the Hudson Softball team end of season do (with a bit of added spice given that K starts with me next week!), it was fantastic. We started with a few drinks, headed to a brilliant Argy steak house (400 grams of bleeding bliss), and then to a rather swanky nightclub.

Playing for that team was one of the first things I did when I got here and I have never met a nicer group of people. The evening was a pricey one - 200 pounds or so - but well worth every penny. And if the night had ended there - I would be a couple hundred pounds lighter, but hundreds of pounds happier - if that makes sense. The night didn't end there...

At about 2am I headed out to look for a cab - and yup - my body weight was 50% grape juice by that stage. But I wasn't stagger stagger boozed, I was just using my left foot twice as much as my right, progress was slow. I was then 'be-friended' by a fast talking Mexican type. A bit of 'chatter chatter just find me a cab pal' later - we parted company with a boozy type embrace.

And that was the point that I parted with my wallet, f*&king bastard!!! The prick had lifted it straight out of my pocket. I didn't realise it until I got into a cab - the guy asked to see the money up front (not unusual) - pocket check, bugger. The guy refused to take me.

An hour walking through London in the middle of the night with no cash, no ID and no idea where you are is my idea of purgatory. I finally talked a cabby into getting me home on the back of a 100 pound cheque pledge. So 4am and here is this highwayman in my house demanding his cheque and waking up Buzz. The mercenary got his cheque, and when he checks the back of his cab, he will find a 600 pound tip in the form of a Sony Ericsson T600.

I have spent today cancelling cards, sheepishly reporting the incident to the police and borrowing a bus fare from the guy in the corner store to get to the bank.

The best of times, the worst of times - 24 hours in London town.

Curious or perverse?

On my way home last night I noticed that the road outside the Camden tube station was closed off by the Police; this is not uncommon due to the generally dodgy nature of the area!

A quick glance showed that someone had come off their motorcycle, and they were clearly not in a good way. Then I found myself slowing, looking harder, and as glance turned into glare I caught myself. What the hell was I doing?

For a start, since my accident, I'm not big on blood and gore and accident scenes in general. Further, there was nothing particularly interesting to see - it's not as if a big screen was about to be wheeled out to show a replay. So why was I slowing down and perving?

That I can explain away as natural curiosity - I took a 'reasonable' amount of time to suss out what had happened, processed it and moved on. What I can't explain so easily is what sort of perverse pleasure the crowd of 100 or so people were looking to derive as they jostled for position roadside.

What could you possibly take out of that experience? Would they be discontented if the guy was OK and got up and walked away? It made me think of the Romans at the coliseum - but seemed worse somehow.

Firstly, I thought we were a touch more 'civilized' these days. Secondly, this was bloodsport, without the sport. It just seemed squalid.

Silly questions get silly answers

Here is the transript from my visit to the barber this evening:

Barber: "And what would you like done with your hair sir?"

Frit: "I'd like it found mate."

You see, for me, going to a 'hair stylist' would be like going to a great artist with only a tin black paint and asking them to paint a fruit salad. The practitioners options would be limited - very limited.

My dome may give of the appearance of a blank canvas, however, I expect it is destined to stay that way.

Aaarrrgghh

Sometimes it's the little things - but after a long long day, I didn't need this.

I have just picked up ten shirts from the dry cleaners, delightful chap and a painless transaction. Fair play. But it wasn't until I got them home that I realised that the shirts all had the hangers in with the hooks facing right when the shirts are forward facing.

Bugger!

I had to re-hang the lot of them - a small job I know. But would it hurt for the dry cleaner to ask, as I drop the shirts off to him, 'now sir, do you operate a right to left - or left to right hanging policy?'.

'Left to right my man, and thank you for asking.' Job done.

Statements that could come back to bite me in the arse - No 1

Here is the first in a new series of statements, made here publicly, that could back and bite me:

1. You will never see me wearing 'wooly gloves' - or god forbid - mittens.

No matter how cold, no matter how sick I may be - it will never happen. I will resist any form of scarf until the bitter end, but am leaving that door open for now - but wooly gloves are out - period.

More commuter capers

Having previously lamented the inconsiderate buggers that insist on occupying 'the outside seat of two' recently, I thought it was only fair to do a thank you post to the many (mainly elderly) commuters that seem hell bent on giving me cause to have a wee chuckle most days.

I tend to stand on the bus (under the stairs to the top deck if you're ever looking for me), apart from the considerate thing to do, it also gives me the ability to have a good gander about the lower deck. Pretty much everyday I will watch a poor older woman board the bus - and proceed to be thrown at a chair as the bus storms off.

Then it is simply a matter of watching. Sometime later in the trip a tentative hand will stretch out and signal the maniac behind the wheel to kindly go from 40mph to zero in the space of 3 seconds (don't ever doubt the deceleration capabilities of a double-decker) at a designated point a little further up the road.

They will then proceed to organise their bags, check the hat, and place their hand on the seat in front of them with the bus still at full tilt. At this point I am shaking my head - thinking to myself - 'lady, don't do it...'

But, without fail, they do. Approximately 10 seconds from the next stop they will rise and get half way into the aisle. Bang on cue the driver stands on his brakes and said old lady is propelled up the bus into who/whatever is there to stop her - at pace.

I know - I shouldn't laugh, but it is one of those things that did give me an involuntary chuckle the first time I witnessed it, and now it is the sheer predictability (not to mention avoid-ability) of the whole episode that tickles me.

I'm a bad man I know - but if you are ever in London I will talk you through the show and see who’s having a chuckle then.

Generations

I read a great interview with Lynne Truss in todays Independent. She is the author of "Eats, Shoots and Leaves", a very readable lament on the decline in standards of the usage of the English vernacular. She has written a second book called "Talk to the Hand" - one of the most nauseating phrases of this generation.

The money line from the interview was this gem; "Just as the loss of punctuation signalled the vast and under-acknowledged problem of illiteracy, so the collapse of manners stands for a vast and under-acknowledged problem of social immorality". I think this woman has hit the nail on the head.

It grates my soul to see littles shites pushing past their elders when boarding a bus, just as it grates to hear them ranting in tongues.

"It's as if she like, thinks she all that, she crap she is - all mouthy in all. I fink what she after is a good sorting out". Excuse me?

So here I was feeling like a crusty old fashioned bastard, when I received a priceless email from my boss from back home (reproduced without permission!):

But I will never forget the comment you made about us being a generation apart, it was one of the "best" things anyone ever said to me, I still find it funny, though was midly insulted (insulted is a bit strong) seeing as we are are only 14-15 years apart. (shit that sounds a lot).

Anyways I have just been at my aunties husbands 60th tonight. I didnt realise he was that young, that puts us at 17 years apart...and I can tell you we are fucking generations apart. so maybe your comment was not that out there after all !

I met "uncle" Brian about 25 years ago (he marries my aunt about 15 years back) at Air NZ when I was doing my apprenticeship, he is a northerner, i think from lancashire, unionist to the hilt (you would love him) and he and I did not get on at all, he really was an old man...

so I can see your point now, those 15 years, fuck we ARE a different generation.

See ya soon...

you young bustard.

I'm too tired to provide any meaningful insights at this point - other than to say that I think the wheels of change are turning faster than ever before.

So many things change for the good, tolerance, reason, equality - but I can't help but think that we may be losing sight of the little things. Look at the inception of 'texting' lnguge (which even Mother Log has caught onto) - and ponder how your grand kids will speak. Frightening.

Kathryn, Amy - Amy, Kathryn

Just about to head off for drinks - purpose - to introduce Kathryn and Amy. Should be good, agenda below:

Ladies, below is the agenda for this evenings meeting. As always, the rules around punctuality and speaking only on invitation will be in force.

5.30pm – Arrive, introductions (firm handshakes and eye contact).

5.35pm – Drinks

5.40pm – Discussion: the advantages of working for Chris (Chris to lead, feedback welcomed and anticipated).

7.00pm – Recap on the advantages of working for Chris (Amy to lead, with input from Kathryn).

7.15pm – Drinks (2) and nibbly bits.

7.30pm – White paper session, baldness and animal magnetism, the intrinsic links explained. (Amy).

7.45pm – Break for Drinks (3).

8.00pm – Scope the room looking for the most attractive woman present (Kathryn and Amy) – feedback shortlist to Chris.

8.15pm – Chris identifies vic, pulls.

8.30pm – Depart.

Mr Hornsby

Maybe I'm not getting there after all (refer earlier post!).

Hello's - Goodbye's

For some reason I have always ended up getting close to people I work with (notoriously at times - but that's not what I am talking about!). It's not a deliberate ploy or 'management technique' - it is purely a result of being extremely focused on what I do - and if I pick up that focus in others - we tend to connect.

So it was very cool to hook up with one of my nearest and dearest from Hudson NZ on Wednesday night. I had dinner with Di and a few other ex Hudson types at ULI, it was great fun. Di has never travelled in her 60 years and is making up for it in short order - heading here, there and everywhere for a couple of months. When I saw her she was completely overwhelmed - by everything. The tears turned to smiles pretty quickly and the 'how's x?, how's y?, who is preggers?' conversations started in earnest. It was great to catch up - but it did make me realise how much I missed a dozen or so people from Hudson NZ that were more than just colleagues and friends.

The flipside of all that is you have to go through the seperation before enjoying the reunion...

Last night I had a leaving do for a girl who went to hell and back with me during the payroll project we have just finished. Payroll projects always involve an element of hell, but in this project, Emma was good, very good. And, in my humble, we worked together brilliantly. This was my first project to deliver at THG, naturally, I cared and worked damned hard. But this was E's baby, she cared more, worked harder and kept smiling.

When I meet someone like that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve work wise. I probably say more than I should, and then - the conversation starts to evolve to include personal stuff - feelings - frustrations - experiences.

At E's leaving do it was a real 'goodbye moment'. With someone that I had only known for 3 months or so. I did think it was a bit weird that I could care so much after such a short time, but then, I am all or nothing with people.

Some people that only know me in a work sense would say that I am detached, or even supercilious. I dont mean to be. The tears from Di on Wednesday and E last night were are nice reminder that I am not all bad!

I have said many times that it was being at Dad's leaving do from GCS that made me want to get into this business. I saw the people crying and heard their words, I remember thinking so clearly - I want to earn that sort of emotional response from others. Whenever I have one of those 'moments' at work - I do have a smile to myself.

Dad - me thinks I'm getting there.

Todays punishment lesson

The answer to yesterdays little poser is Captian James Cook visited NZ in 1769 - 100 years after Tasman's first sighting. If one in ten NZ'ers could name that date I would be surprised. So question, am I been precious about this? Or should some of the defining moments in our history be basic knowledge for all of us?

NZ could be a very different place now should Julius Vogel been successful in his drive for complete independence of the South Island in the 1860's. And he didn't fall too far short, his bill eventually voted down in Parliament 17 to 31. Had that have gone through, Auckland vs Otago would be an international - weird.

So that's why she did it.

Here is one of the better quotes from Winston, and this one just happens to relate to his new 'ally' - Mrs Clark:

"The only politician in the Western world who can talk on foreign affairs with both feet in her mouth ... thanks to her brilliant performance, New Zealand is now a staunch ally of possibly France."

So, it appears that Helen listened to this constructive criticism and decided to let Winnie have a go himself. Makes perfect sense really, doesn't it!?!?

And I think that it may have been unfair to imply that Winston doesn't like Asian's - it just that in Asia, according to Winnie:

"Atrocities are carried out on the dogs by these sadists in order to release more adrenaline in the dogs' bodies, thereby creating a more potent and flavoured meat. This abused flesh is highly valued as an aphrodisiac by these ghouls."

So, to summarise, New Zealand now has a xenophobic bigot that lives in a world of asinine generalisations as its Foreign Minister.

I give it 6 months.

And you call yourself a New Zealander!?!?!

Wikipedia is one of the best resources I have ever seen, it has everything - and when you are not into books and you spend a couple of hours a day on the tubes - it is a geeks best friend.

A recent search did get me thinking. Before I started printing the days reading material, I knew that Henry the 8th founded the Church of England (and was a fat sweating mound of sexually overactive bad image material with a penchant for lopping his wifes head off) - yet I had no idea that the original name of NZ was 'Staten Landt' (courtesy of one Abel Tasman and later translated to the more widely recognised 'Nova Zeelandia').

The teaching of NZ history in schools was virtually non existent when I was a tyke - and I don't think much has changed. So now, dear reader, you get to take a journey with me!

Kiwilog will now offer sporadic shavings of NZ history! In my opinion, if you can not answer the question below - you need to get reading (and, in order to my bit for nation building, I am happy to provide the material!):

In what year did Jimmy Cook first visit New Zealand?

Answer tomorrow.

And Kim Jong Il is North Korea's Minister of Freedom and Democracy

Opportunistic? Cynical? Pure political expediency? Yes it is all of these things - but appointing Winnie as Minister of Foreign Affairs is hilarious!

I might dig around for some of the more 'diplomatic utternaces' of his over the past few years, but I hope he drops the 'NZ is becoming an Asian colony' line before boarding JAL.





As Minister of Foreign Affairs I intend to build a big wall to ensure that all of you that are in same way foreign, and shall we say, have a slightly lemony hue, you stay foreign. Brilliant. Not quite his role - but he won't be able to help himself.

And how unpopular would you have to be in the Labour caucus now to be handed Immigration...

The looney, binned...

I got home last night and things were quiet, too quiet. Has she run out of steam? Was she lying in wait ready to pounce?

Thankfully neither - we received a phone call from a woman down the street informing us that Ursula had been checked into hospital that morning. Buzz and I toasted the prospect of an an incident and aggression free evening - and of sleep.

It took about half an hour of celebration and releif before I started feeling bad, well, more conflicted than bad. Yes it is sad that she is clinically not well - but she can also be consciously horrid. It is clear that she can not look after herself, but should Buzz and I have to deal with that?

The capatilist in me also smarts when I think that I pay masses of rent to live in a nice place - at the same time my taxes are subsidising her rent and enabling her to make our lives hell. How long she will be gone for? Not sure - apparently it can be months at a time. But at least when I contemplate whether or not I am malicious for wanting her gone - I will be doing so in peace.

The neighbour has officially lost the plot...

and the scary thing it that she has stopped looking. End result is that I haven't had a decent sleep for days.

There has been a lot of shouting, banging around, ranting and Buzz has been singled out for some rather squalid abuse.

Ursula has been 'sectioned' twice (that's men in white coat country for you folk back home) and the level of lunacy has escalated sharply in the past week. Quite literally screaming through the night.

Police and noise control have been called and things have been logged - but the wheels on the 'can someone please come and take this mentalist away bus' are turning painfully slowly. We have also mobilised the 'hood - the local kids are terrified of her.

Ursula's Piece de Resistance last night was unquestionably a ditty she was warbling at 4.30am - the song?? 'Silence is golden' - you couldn't make it up.

"Affirmative Action" or "Institutional Patronisation"?

There is a great opinion piece in Stuff today by Mike Moore - the guts of the article is about the similarities between NZ and OZ, but he then drifts into a review of Lange and Latham's recent books.

In a slightly haphazard way he gets round to observing that "Mr Latham seems to have had a good bullshit detector about politically correct programmes" - and then goes on to write three paragraphs that encapsulate what I don't like about NZ at the moment:

Here's a beaut. A publicly funded book recently advised Maori that modern health methods to tackle the problems of smoking, fast foods and lack of exercise are the white man's racist answer to Maori problems. The government, it says, should make a special pill available to Polynesians.

This is not a piss-take. Taxpayers are funding this stuff. By the way, vaccinations for children are also "colonialism", as is cervical screening, which "contravenes cultural norms".

Mr Latham made a good point about downward envy. In the old days of the class war, envy pointed upward toward the rich and privileged. Nowadays, he points out, the middle class, liberated by access to education and opportunity, hate what they see of special privileges and programmes for the poor, marginalised and indigenous people.

Two points - I love New Zealand and can't imagine bringing my kids up anywhere else.

Secondly - I am a conservative - but as I argued many, many, times on My Right - that does not mean I advocate, or acquiesce, an each man for himself - winner takes all society. I am a strong believer in 'social justice' - I just don't accept that any of the examples that Moore provides above represent a positive step towards achieving any form of equality of opportunity or outcome.

When Plato first defined the concept of social justice he insisted that the ideal state would rest on four virtues: wisdom, courage, moderation and justice. I'm with him.

The unknowing 'straight man'

On the rather arduous journey from Boston Manor back into town last on my way to meet Auntie H, Sophie and Dean for dinner - an older man - who was a right mess to be honest - got on the tube. He had all the characteristics of the old London boozer (the friendly, but completely mad type).

The first giveaway should have been the uniform. From the bottom up:

1. Black shoes, half laces, loosely tied.
2. Woolly socks that had long since lost the colour their maker had originally intended.
3. Loose fitting track suit pants - a purple'ish hue
4. Shirt AND jersey both firmly tucked into tracksuit pants and secured by unfixed black belt. The jersey was a sort of 'lunchtime and everything that had gone before' colour. Yummy.
5. Topped with some stubble, half a dozen teeth, and cap.

It was brilliant - the whole kit and caboodle. Being the nice guy I am I offered him my seat. Bad move...

He declined; but I had made a friend for the next ten stops. HE WAS HILARIOUS - ABSOLUTELY BED WETTINGLY FUNNY. "Ya witching the f'ball?" he spat onto me. "Yeah mate" I replied, drying myself. "Oh, Inglund nay bloody gid, it dat bloody swede ‘tis it". In between each sentence he would wheeze like an elderly dog on its last legs and then cry a short sharp cackle that filled the carriage.

I continued to engage, "How do you think the Irish will go tonight?” "

“He he he, oooohhh, green, no bloody chance - it's all bloody over - it is - over - all bloody over – fackin Irish? Ohhhh, no gid – no chance, it’s all over" wheeze, wheeze, belly cackle. By this point our ‘conversation’ was sport for the entire carriage.

I'm pissed off that I can't do it justice - it was brilliant, and as with all good tales, it ends with the moral; during the conversation I had let slip that I was going to miss the game on account of dinner with the Auntie. This, I thought, had been lost amongst the cries of "it's all over, HA, over, it's all over, 'tis mind, over..." - but it hadn't.

I am sure this guy new the whole carriage was having a laugh at him (and at poor me for that matter!); and they were probably feeling a bit sorry for him.

Just as I got up to leave and wished him well for the game, he grabbed my arm, leaned in and said clear as a bell; "Enjoy dinner with your Auntie, you're a good lad" and gave me a subtle wink. I turned and began to leave, from over my shoulder - "Ya witching the f'ball? HA! ‘Tis all over!” And so began Act 2, without me.

Into the den

I have a funny story from last night to post - but no time damn it, I am about to get locked into a session with a team I have a vested interest in, but no control over. This extract from an email sent to Mark yesterday should give you an idea of how my day is going to go:

I haven’t responded to XName or had any comms at all from Payroll – and will talk to you first before replying etc. But is feeling a bit like I am in the position of unarmed executioner walking into blood thirsty mob tomorrow!

Damn....

In the grander scheme of things..

I signed up to Amnesty Interntional last night, not sure why, my side step had previously gotten by a plethora of tree huggers, god botherer's and do gooder's since I arrived (they are everywhere over here!).

But last night for some reason I stopped quite happily and signed on up (and no, it was not a good looking chick brandishing the clip board!).

I have thought about why I was suddenly happy to be stopped and sign up - I suppose a few months earning had a fair bit to do with it. On the bus on the way home, I did the Kiwi maths, ten quid a month, 120 quid a year, 300 odd NZ. That's a fairly decent whack I thought - then I worked it out as a percentage of income, and it is a little pathetic in that light.

Oh well, that leaves a bit for one off appeals I suppose.

Pet loathing

When it comes to 'service', years of encounters with spotty faced, runny nosed, disinterested little grommets with scant product knowledge, no service ethic and an incomprehensible ability to massacre the English language, has taught me to expect little and then prepare to be disappointed.

Generally, this coping strategy has held me in good stead; but there is one thing that irritates me more than a chick wearing stilettos on a white water rafting date. People behind the counter talking on the phone. Especially when it is patently obvious that the phone call being thrown in your face has nothing to do with running the establishment.

When I had the impertinence to enquire as to how far north of the recommended retail price their inordinate mark up had left us in relation to this transaction - I got the same face that mother would give me when I interrupted the elders at the dinner table all those years ago!

A message to all corner store tycoons, rob me or be rude to me. But being both is just taking the Michael!

But where do they park their horses?

London is chock full of ladies heel-and-toeing about the place with unsightly stompers that are suited only to the ranch, and even then marginal at best. The offending fashion faux pas? The inner city, worn with the jeans tucked inside, full on giddy up styled, never scene dirt let alone a nag, cow girl boot.

An example of the offending footwear is below (I couldn't bring myself to include the jeans). But ladies of London, please, it's not good.

Practicality and pondering

I can't believe it is less than 2 months until I will be home - I can't wait! Thinking about it is also making me realise how quickly I will devour three weeks catching up with as many people as humanly possible!

So many things to do, people I would love to see, places I need to be. Ticket is booked leaving here on the 6th of December - straight to Auckland and then down to Wellies to get old a couple of days later. Wicky wah! Seeing Ma and the rest of the fam, especially the little'uns.

Revelry and merrymaking to be sure, and damned fine larks no doubt. So I am sitting here all excited [and more than a little bit saccharine - Ed] having a nice time relishing the prospect when bloody practical Frit kicked in. Ahem, there is the small matter of a flight to get me back here to organise....

For the first time since I have been here I pondered a small and simple question, what the hell I am doing with my life? Not in a bad way - but in a chin stroking, head to the side, 'hhmmm' sort of way.

Do I need to book a return ticket? Not sure.

Do I think I will be back here for more than 12 months? Probably.

Can I picture going 12 months or more without seeing the fam? Nup.

Does it matter - can't I just go with the flow and not over analyse absolutely every bloody thing? Not likely.

Anyway - can't wait to get home. Still making plans - but it is looking like Wellies for a week, Auckland for a bit, Taupo for Christmas and off on the 29th - any must be at happening, let me know!

'She knows me so well'

I was having a catch up on some NZ news yesterday when I saw an interview with Elaine Page on Breakfast Telly; 2 things crossed my mind.

1. Good I wish I was in Auckland so I could take Mum (Ma was in Wellies as it happened - so couldn't go anyway - shame).

2. How sad am I! It's a bit like the person that offers to baby sit the neighbours kids, just so they can go to the flicks and see a re-run of Watership Down.

Then I get to work this morning (Monday) and find this in the inbox:

Thought about you over the weekend - was sitting on a really stormy night when my friends were all scheduled to watch the 'Black Eyed Peas' in concert at Ericsson - to cut a long story short secretly very pleased with myself as had (nearly front row - no one remembers the guy who came second but I was way pleased!) second row seats at the Elaine Page Concert at the grand old Civic.

What can I say...........................................................................nothing sums up the night better than the man sitting beside me - old, smelly (rather like a McDonalds Fillet o Fish) and a little on the bizarre side whispering at the end of each song - as he broke into ferocious clapping - "moving"," magical", "fantastic", "amazing" - al words that I'd use but perhaps without closing my eyes and looking into the stars at the same time!

Elaine wore some great numbers and a couple of suspect numbers - like her dressing gown but perhaps the set breaks were short and she didn't have the time to complete her change! None of this could take away for an awesome concert where her voice was better than I've every heard in any CD to date!!!

Sad that a little old lady singing some classics makes you spring to mind!

Sad indeed - but that's cool, would have loved to have been there with you Dolly. And your timing, as always, immaculate.

The Cupid Stunt of the day award:

A headline from Stuff today:

Awatere Huata adjusting well to jail life - husband.

What an idiot - he is basically saying that his wife is a pig in shit amongst criminals. No surprises there. Followed up by this gem:

"I still maintain we did not break the law," he told an Auckland newspaper.

"We may have done things the wrong way, this or that in a manner that appears not right to others, but our intentions were good."

'We may have done things the wrong way' - well yup - I guess that starts with getting caught...

Prick. Full article here.

Happy days

Today is my sisters big day - congratulations Sus!!

I am about to head up the road for a couple of jars with Brother Whitney - so will make the first a bubbly and toast you both!

One brother, two sisters - one brother in law, two sisters in law! Not 'the norm' - but fine by me - welcome to the clan Helen!

Bloody typical!

The day I cancel a trip to Dunstable to see suppliers and work from home is the day that the mentalist upstairs decides to have an episode. Buzz (flatmate) had a go at her last night for banging about the place near midnight. Today - I get the fall out...

She is a mad (clinically) 67 year old - how do I know this? Because the last rant included gem:

"I like to be happy, I have lost 3 stone, 3 stone that is, take a bag of sugar, then one more, one more and more. Ya, you know. Happy - my mother always told to be happy. I like to be happy, but Scarlett (Buzz) doesn't want me to be happy. I am a night owl, coo coo (I am not joking), I try not to make a noise. I am almost seventy, did you know, I am 2 years and 12 months away from 70, and I want to be happy."

I couldn't even bring myself to take the piss - it was just to sad. There was a five minute preamble and five minute closing either side of that.

I know we have to look after those less fortunate etc - but this woman has a real nasty streak, is racist (and I suspect ex nazi) and does her f*&king washing at 4am. She is at her most terrifying when she is happy - that should give you some idea of what I am talking about.

Confirmation of ownership

Kathryn, that is Kathryn of Kathryn and Mark (the folk that I stayed with when I got here), has signed on the dotted line! Apologies Simon / Hudson - but could she really be expected to resist?

We caught up for dinner last night and talked shop - covering some of the basic expectations I have of my team. Nothing out of the ordinary, skim milk - no sugar, calling me 'sir' wil come naturally after a while, just as I was about to cover personal appearance - Mark rang (and by the look on K's face - that was probably just as well). I took the call, but it was a tad noisy in the bar, so I headed to the top of the stair case. Fag in hand....

Now I tend to blow the smoke straight up when I smoke, I stayed true to form. It wasn't until I had completely voided myself of those nasty chemicals that I realised I was doing so directly into a smoke alarm!!!

As I was thought to myself, 'not a smart play Frit', the resonant sirens confirmed my premonition. "Mark, it's getting harder to hear you mate - I have just set off the fire alarm. Might have to call you back".

Back to Kathryn at the table - I didn't have to say a word, "that was you wasn't it?" she enquired stated. She needed have bothered, fags into suit jacket, ash tray dispersed to adjacent table, the only remaining clue was my impersonation of a 'big red'.

"Cheque please".

From floor to door in 22 minutes!

There was a new blade in the razor this morning - a trivial detail maybe - but I think it had an effect. I felt good as I steeped to the basin, and I performed, I dominated the blade. You know you have put in a good shift with the Schick when you are back in the kitchen before the jugs has boiled (that's never happened before).

Anywho - I am not suggesting that shaving alone made up the three minutes, I suggest it is about momentum. Allowing for the one minute in added distance from bedroom to bathroom, I am back on song.

It is going to be a good day.

Family, AWOL, pining

I had a very family day yesterday and today. Good chat to Mum, quick word with the nephews, and a quick yarn with Fran and MJD. It's always nice to catch up - but does remind you of how far away you are.

Then I sat down to pen a telegram for Sus's wedding (I hate the phrase 'civil union' - it arouses zero emotion). But a telegram? For gods sake! That sucks. It's my sisters big day and I am missing it. Never in a million years could I ever have imagined missing a family event like this.

Warning to anyone near me on Sunday UK time - I will be sulking. And sulking hard.

I might post the telegram after the event.

Not happy. Sorry sis.

Menage-a-blog!

The recent 'boy' meets 'girl' online carry on has stirred some interest of late, as well as raised a whole lot of questions at my end. As much fun as it is - it does raise some real questions about what happens when it comes to 'crossing over to the real world'.

It is easy to have an innocent bit of fun online, to flirt, to size eachother out. All sorts. But I tend to be extremely risk averse when it comes to commiting myself to 'actually doing anything' - not to mention not being in a position to do anything for a myriad of reasons.

Well, a similar sort of scenario presented itself again today - well sort of...

David Farrar, of www.kiwiblog.co.nz fame, let it be known that he would be in London for a breif spell earlier this month. So I thought I would extend the London invitation and ask him if he wanted to hook up for a beer - unexpectedly, he called today to arrange the hook up. Now, DPF is somewhat of an authority on the local blogging scene, and like a binary programmer, I have a tendency to put one and one together.

Why not have DPF facilitate the meeting between me and Girl?

We could all meet, chat, do the sorts of things that you do when you meet someone that you don't 'really' know. And then, and here's the kicker, agree a mutual time to publish thoughts on the evening and compare our different takes on the experience.

I have run the idea past Girl and she is not opposed - I am yet to run the idea past DPF - but what leading blogging authority could possibly refuse? Hook up scheduled for next week.

This is all a touch unusual!

There's a first time for everything....

I have just sent this email:

Morning Ladies

Unfortunately a last minute demo of (X-Companies Package) that I am requireded for has cropped up tomorrow; so unfortunately I will be unable to make it to Uxbridge as scheduled.

I will email early next week to rearrange.

Apologies
Chris

Ladies and Gentlemen, you have just witnessed the first time that the words 'make it', 'I', 'will', 'unable', 'be', 'Uxbridge' and 'unfortunately' have appeared in the same sentence!

It's even hard to type that email without a smile on your face, 'unfortunately' my braces!

Clear run

I have a fair bit to blog about - but I am back in Head Office today, with two of my team away and a coffee machine within shaking distance.

In short, I don't intend to waste this opportunity and will have a catch up blog wise tonight - including a potential 'menage-a-blog' - ooh er!

Racism, Justice, 'Victims'

Facts:

Donna Awatere Huata is a theif.

Wi Huata is a bully (and an accessory to theft).

They are both 'high profile'. She is a shameless megalomaniac. He gets his rocks off by being 'anti establishment' (but doesn't mind taken buckets of cash out of 'the system'). If you asked them before, during or after their fraud case, they would say they were 'victims of a racist system'. The scary thing is - they probably believe it.

Reading this article resulted in me considering settling in London long term for the first time. Excerpts from The Dom:

Family and supporters of Donna and Wi Huata launched into a rowdy haka and yelled "phony justice" and "mongrel" at the judge sentencing the couple to jail terms.

Hira Huata, a transgender sister of Wi Huata, loudly and repeatedly yelled "phony justice", "Pakeha justice" and "mongrel" at the judge and told reporters covering the case "you're just a bunch of racist media".

I'm sorry - but get f^%ked. Seriously. I will not let anyone, of any race, with any 'cause' or greivence' keep me from my own country - but this sort of bollocks really, really winds me up.

Donna has done many good things for Maori, for childrens reading, and for her local community. As a result, she was put in a position, and given access to the resources, to further that cause. She took advantage of it - she took advantage of her position - she stole funds. Wi Huata is a wanker - and not another byte will be wasted on him here.

What really irks me is the penchant for high profile Maori to cry racism everytime one of their own goes down. It is seriously annoying. More from the same article:

Many prominent Maori were in the front row of the public gallery to support the Huatas, including Maori Party co-leader and MP Pita Sharples, party president Professor Whatarangi Winiata, veteran activist Titewhai Harawira, long-time Maori Council chairman Sir Graham Latimer and former Southern Maori MP Whetu Tirikatene-Sullivan. They took no part in the disruption.

Solidarity, cool - no probs there. Thanks for not jumping on the bandwagon by disrupting proceedings. Pita - never waver in your beliefs or principles, but be careful mate, you are an MP now - chose your friends carefully.

When the hearing began yesterday, defence lawyer Guyon Foley said the Huatas were repaying the net $55,629 stolen from Pipi. He and fellow defence lawyer Roy Wade gave the registrar two cheques for that total, which they said was lent to the couple by family members. Judge Joyce ordered it paid back to Pipi, which still exists, but has lost its state funding, which came to $840,000 from 1999 to 2002.

So people that fiercely proclaim their innocence, appear void of remorse and incapable of recognising their guilt, can bring themselves to re-pay larges chunks of the money? Somethings not quite right.

Losing time

I don't quite know how it has happened, but I have lost 4 minutes a day. In Parnell I had my morning routine steady at 21 minutes from bed to door. That has blown out to 25 minutes here and I can't understand why (even allowing for an extra 6 yards from bedroom to bathroom).

So here is the breakdown:

6.40 - Alarm goes off, snooze.

6.49 - Alarm 2, snooze 2.

6.58 - Feet hit the floor, proceed to kitchen, jug on - coffee in cup.

7.00 - Shave, turn shower on, return to kitchen and pour coffee add milk and place in bedroom.

7.06 - Enter shower, brush teeth, apply roll on, after shave balm, deoderant spray, after shave.

7.14 - Return to bedroom, dress - boxers, socks (flexible about which foot first), trousers, shoes (left foot first just seems to make sense), belt, shirt (lower 5 buttons done the night before), cuff links.

7.18 - Return to bathroom, check myself out (nod approvingly), on with the tie, check myself out 2 (nod knowingly).

7.20 - Bedroom, pick up laptop, don suit jacket. Phone left jacket pocket - wallet right. MP3 player right trouser pocket. Finish last third of coffee.

7.22 - Room check, pocket check. Leave.

7.23 - Out the door, lock front door, keys into laptop outer pocket. Proceed.

Granted there are three return journeys to the bathroom - but that totals 36 yards, which is a minute at best. I never did a full breakdown at home, so I can't pin point where exactly the blowout has occurred. But I will.

It will be a process of elimination, first suspect - the electric toothbrush. I intend to revert back to the traditional toothbrush for a week to see if that gives me my minutes back.