Electric chair

We have mobility scooters for hire where I work, so the elderly/disabled can get around. A customer came in yesterday and asked to hire an "electric chair". Fortunately they didn't hear me laughing when my colleague asked "Is it for yourself or a relative"? Hey hey, go away, who do you want to fry today? Black humour, nasty old me.

Sicilian noir

 

I don't think I've raved about Andrea Camilleri before on this blog, although I have on a library blog that I used to contribute to.  If you enjoy a detective story with a little more characterization than the average whodunnit, you will probably enjoy Camilleri's Inspector Montalbano series. It's hard to describe these novels. They are set in Sicily, and are often very dark and very funny. Montalbano is a shrewd detective, who has to cope with Sicilian bureaucracy and bad guys and getting older. He likes to eat well, sleeps a lot and has woman trouble. I've read quite a few now, and they're all good. RAI (Italian TV) made a TV series of these books, and the BBC showed them subtitled in the UK. The books are translated from Italian, but don't let this put you off. Translations are often dull and stodgy, but in this case the author has been well served by his translator, Steven Sartarelli.  Good holiday reading, entertaining but not mindless fluff.

 

 

Iceberg

 

This was photo'd through my laundry window. It's either a little overexposed or the dirt on the glass gives it a nice olde-worldy softness.

Queen - I Want To Break Free (High Quality)

I like this. It's three rock videos in one - the Monty Pythonesque family, the arty stuff with Freddie as Nijinsky, and the cast of hundreds of Welsh miners. The lights are on and everybody's home.

Real Paro Bhutan Landing 15 A319 Cockpit

Error in my last post- Paro is in Bhutan not Tibet; I want to go there too.

Where to go?

Hopefully I've got some holiday coming up at the end of February (if the boss approves it). But where to go? So far it's a toss up between the West Coast, perhaps Gentle Annie at Mokihinui, with a side trip to Denniston for a Forest and Bird field trip and a few days at Nelson Lakes on the way back, or south and inland to Lake Tekapo and Mt Cook. The only problem with Mt Cook is it's real tourist country - too many tourists and scores of buses are not my idea of a relaxing holiday, so if I do go I'll stay somewhere else, probably Tekapo, and make Mt Cook just a day trip. Or I could go further south and go up the Pig Route into Central Otago and back home up through the Mackenzie Country. Or even go to Melbourne, to see a real city with art and cultcha.
  Looking last night at trips to Mount Kailas in Tibet, in which I've been interested ever since I read Colin Thubron's book To a mountain in Tibet. I watched a clip on youTube of the 10 most dangerous airports and one of them was Paro in Tibet, the nearest airport to Mt Kailas. To be honest it didn't look that dangerous; I think Wellington is worse. Certainly not as bad as Hong Kong, where you can wave to the people in the apartment buildings as you fly past. Tibet would certainly be an adventure. But....oh, my chickenshit little heart. There's two me's - adventurous, curious me, who wants to go everywhere and see everything, and timid me, who says "Yes, but....think of what could happen". So I'll have to wait until adventurous me gets fed up with timid me and says "Screw you! You're boring. I'm off!"

Mucking about

Wasting time of the internet. Tried to post a "Keep Calm...and eat more chocolate" poster but it didn't work and it's not worth stressing out about. My elf name is Nienna Mithrandir (Legolas is my great- uncle) and my hobbit name is.... wait for it.... Dimple Boffin of Whitfurrows!!

Summer cold

Is there anything more disgusting than a summer cold? It flies in the face of nature - colds are for winter, not summer. I'm leaving a paper trail of used tissues throughout the house and probably a trail of germs too. The cats love having me home though; I get a lot of cuddles, but probably more to comfort themselves than through any altruistic feline impulse. Gareth Morgan's proposal for us to get rid of domestic cats because of damage to bird-life is not going to happen in this house any time soon, nor, I suspect, in many households. What he doesn't realise is that we would be knee-deep in rats and mice if not for the humble moggy, and rats eat birds eggs and young chicks. To really increase the number of native birds we'd have to re-establish lowland forests,  coupled with an intensive programme of pest eradication that would be on-going. This is too hard-basket; much easier to ban people's pets in a knee-jerk sort of way. It would be nice to live in a simple world where there are simplistic solutions to every problem. But we don't.

Statement earrings

Looking at somethings called "statement earrings" - a term for very large, showy ear-bling. And what is the statement they make? "I was a fool for buying these and wearing them in public". Laugh!

4.7

A moderate size shake last night about 9.15, biggest we've had since July last year. But the first where my heart hasn't raced a bit, am I getting used to them? It's only taken 11,000 aftershocks for me to get ho-hum! No damage and no injuries reported.
  Went to the Little River Show yesterday (pics in blog below). Very hot, but it's good to have a proper summer for once, we've had a string of lousy summers for about the last 10 years. This one reminds me of childhood summers, when you couldn't sleep at night for the heat, and every day dawned fine and hot, and you ate fresh fruit and salads and ice-cream and cold drinks. And the lawn dried up to a crisp, and you went to the beach a lot and got sunburnt and wore jandals and had picnics in the park. I like it!

Me and Julie (my BBF)in the backyard 1966?

Corsair Bay 1964

Me and Dad, North Beach, 1964

Julie and me, pigging out on the neighbours' nectarines

Pool party!

Hopefully the only nude pics you'll ever see of me. Lyttelton, 1960 or 61.

Little River A&P Show 2013

Old Christchurch

    As I walked to work through the remains of the city, I felt that I was in a much older town. It seemed almost European, like walking out into Florence or Rome. And I realised why. It's the smell. Christchurch now smells like an old city; it smells of old mortar-dust, damp bricks and brackish water, with a hint of bad drains and sewage. And freshly brewed coffee from the few remaining outposts of coffee-culture. Sort of comforting, really. Rome is still standing, still a city. And we will be too.

A new aesthetic?

I had to take my car to the mechanic today, as the steering feels slack. He's in the middle of town, just outside the red zone, but the area is quite badly damaged. The area is a mix of low-rise commercial and old residential buildings, and quite a few have been already demolished or are derelict, broken and boarded up. It looks more decrepit now than the last time I visited it, about six months ago, a lot of weeds have grown over the sites and the gardens have gone largely to rack and ruin. But there is a certain charm about these overgrown gardens, still producing roses and jasmine, even though the lawn is now a foot high or more and the house at the centre of the garden has gone. Perhaps it's time for a new Christchurch gardening aesthetic, a looser, less manicured look, something like the naturalistic gardens developed by (I think) Piet Oudolf in Holland, requiring less maintenance and less water, featuring lots of grasses and dry land herbaceous plants.
Certainly this was largely the kind of vegetation that grew here before the city was built over the top of it.
     But I'd hate to see gardens revert entirely to natives, we need the exotics to provide autumn colour and winter berries. There are some politically correct persons who believe we should only plant natives in our gardens, that the exotics have no place here. If we follow this thinking to its logical conclusion, we should also get rid of roads and buildings. And ourselves.

The power of introverts - Susan Cain

A colleague recommended a book about introversion on my Facebook page. I haven't read the book, but there is an excellent TED talk by the author Susan Cain which I guess covers the main points. She's very interesting, and the introverts among you will all be nodding your heads in agreement.  I think I've blogged on this subject before, but it's one that is close to my heart.
    
Probably most people reading this will be introverts; blogging is an introvert's paradise. Extroverts are too busy doing stuff to spend long hours reading other peoples thoughts on a small screen. Here on the blogosphere introverts are in their element. We can communicate our ideas slowly and revise our words if need be. We can do it alone; no need for group input. We don't have to shout at the top of our voices to be heard (so ill-mannered).  It's my opinion I'm advocating; this is my blog and I don't have to take anyone else's say so for what I say. Others can comment, but I can cut them off. Ah, the power.  It's great to hear from other introverts, too. Yes, we are normal. We are not sociopaths or psychopaths or suffering from depression, just because we like peace and quiet.
   As Cain asserts, the "extrovert good, introvert bad" judgement does huge harm to our society and to our selves. I married into a family of extroverts. They hated me and thought I was sick. I hated them and thought they were noisy and shallow. (Someone once told me that I read too much. I wish I'd replied "well, you breathe too much"). I've worked with extroverts. They can't understand me and I can't understand them, but I usually come off worse, because I am the one who's judged as 'not normal' by the standards of the society we live in. Extroverts are the ones who get the jobs, often jobs they can't do or are not qualified for, because they put on a great act for the interviewers. My boss likes me to collaborate with people. I hate this. I want to get the work done on my terms, in my own way, without having to factor in other peoples quirks and biases, and water down my stuff to fit with the feelings and opinions of others, which I inevitably do, because introversion is rarely consonant with self-assertion. So any good ideas are buried, while the extrovert herd hurtles on to destruction. I'd like to form an introvert support group, but I know no one would come; on club nights we'd all stay home with a good book and the beverage of our choice.
    I read recently (yes, read) that babies are now being diagnosed with depression. I'll bet this is the quiet babies, the ones who are not always crying and demanding to be fed, the ones who are quite happy to contemplate the mobiles hanging over their cots. They'll be the introverts, and now introversion is going to be medicated away, right from the first weeks of life.
   And that is very scary indeed.

Sweeney Todd - Have A Little Priest

Johnny and Helena as Sweeney Todd and Mrs Lovett. This song is the best in the movie, I think, sung with evident enjoyment by the actors. Both characters completely insane, but with a practical bent. If life sends you bodies, makes pies of 'em.
(Just remembered the Italian word for someone who doesn't like the Catholic Church - mangiaprete, or priest eater - love these synchronistic things with languages)

Monday

Today's my day off, so I slept in till 12.00!! Wait, it's not that bad. I slept wretchedly last night, went for a walk in the evening but was kept awake by my aching legs and the humid temperature. It's been really hot here lately, but yesterday was humid too, which I don't enjoy as much as I like dry heat - that wonderful warmth that seems to seep into your bones. I hate the way humidity makes you feel hot and chilly at the same time. All night I was throwing the blanket off, getting cold, putting the blanket on, getting hot etc. So I thought I deserved a better sleep.
  In the afternoon I did have a walk at Halswell Quarry Park, but forgot to take my camera so no pics for youse guys overseas. It's quite spectacular, an old quarry that yielded a particular type of volcanic stone, andesite I think, that can be quarried in large flat slabs and so is very useful for building and paving. A lot of bigger buildings in the town were built from it. I'd like to know what's happened to all the dressed stone from the demolitions, probably just gone to landfill - what a waste. There hasn't been a lot of recycling going on; our demolitions people really couldn't care less I think "just level it and dump it" is the motto.
    The city continues to be deconstructed, and we have the usual concerns about that. It's very strange to go down a street and find something not there. I drove out to Sumner the other day, and the huge Woolworths supermarket in Ferry Road is gone, there's just a huge space. It's like buildings are being raptured; if you haven't seen the demolition process it comes as a bit of a surprise to find just a level block of land where a multi-storey building was. It can also be quite pleasing. A building that I hated (it was a boil on the face of the waterfront) has come down and is no more. Hopefully it will not be rebuilt because the soil underneath is too sandy.
  Nothing is constant but change.

Another Monty Python moment

Just heard my colleague saying "not as such". It's catching.

Monty Python moment

I've had a Monty Python moment.  A visitor asked "Do you have picnic areas?" "Not as such" I replied meaning that the whole place was one big picnic area without special designated "picnic areas". Had to laugh.

Piccys

Stupid uploader still broken, can use HTML but not so useful for sizing images so I've gone through Flickr instead. Hope you enjoy them.

IMG_1532, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

Dear old Whisky. This is an ancient plant but still keeps producing beauty

IMG_1533, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

Hot lillies

IMG_1552, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

I love orange! Gerbera

IMG_1568, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

Pretty little '50s brooch made in Austria bought at the market

IMG_1556, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

IMG_1557, a photo by itinui on Flickr.

Shabby Chic market - loads of luvly stuff

Summer - togs hanging up to dry

New clothes

Yesterday I went to the Warehouse (NZ's equivalent of Walmart for my American readers) and bought some new bras and knickers. Quel horreur! I am now an 18DD! Never in my wildest skinniest little youth did I ever think I would get to be so big. When I was 16 or so, I had tiny wee boobs (but then I was skinny all over), and boys didn't even bother to make my acquaintance. I was crushed when I was 14 and at a Youth Club do (remember Youth Clubs?) and overheard two boys looking for pussy. "What about her?" said one to the other. "Nah, she's flat" said the other. Little shits. Still it was an introduction, albeit harsh, into the way boys minds work. Such a pity that their attributes were not on public display. I would have loved to be able to say "Nah, you're miniscule". I can only hope that the laws of karma have gifted him with chronic impotence in his later life.

Grrr uploader! and St Gertrude.

Uploader still not working for photos. I'll have to go via Flickr if this continues, a much more tedious process.
I've found my patron saint. She is St Gertrude of Nivelles, patron saint of cats and those who own them, also gardeners, herbalists, travellers in search of lodging and the souls of the newly dead. She can be invoked against rats/mice and mental illness.  Perfect.  She is portrayed in art as a nun with a traveller's staff, with mice running up it. She shares her saint-day with St Patrick, but she did act as hostess to travelling Irish priests in her abbey at Nivelles in Belgium, so perhaps she quite enjoyed a little raucous blarney.  Slainte, Saint Gertrude.

"Weird Al" Yankovic - Smells Like Nirvana

Saw a brief doco about Nirvana the other day, full of the faithful reciting the recieved knowledge that Nirvana was the greatest band of all time. Well, this is my reply, courtesy of the wonderful Weird Al. Way better than the original.

Summer!

I was hoping to upload some pics but the uploader is not working. Apparently its not just me but across the board, so... perhaps later or tomorrow.
 The good news is that we've had some great weather lately, real summer, not the faux summer which has a cold wind. It's great to be able to walk around and not be conscious of how cold it is. I had my first swim today at Magazine Bay (there's an old bunker for explosives that ships had to offload there before they went into port, nothing to do with glossies). I don't think I've ever swum there before, even though I've lived here all my life. The water was really warm, pleasantly surprizing, as I was braced for our usual freezing temps.  And had it mostly to myself, as Corsair Bay, the more popular beach because it has a carpark, was getting crowded. I left just as the bogans and home-boys started arriving, with their beers and boom-boxes. It was great, everything is getting that dry, burnt quality of a proper summer, the smell of pine-needles and dust and seaweed. I lay on the beach and actually sun-bathed; its hardly ever warm enough to do that here.
    But some people must sun-bathe a lot. There were two gay guys not far away, both of them the colour of a leather hand-bag. They looked really out of place, like they'd strayed from Sydney or the Costa Smeralda, and were a little horrified to have to watch fat, pale old blobs like me. I could practically hear them...."Look at that...Oh, my very dear! She won't get lucky anytime soon!" "OOO its udderly horrible!"

The Muslim Jesus

This is the name of a fascinating doco I watched last night on youTube. Made by ITV, it reveals the Jesus of Islam, and the reverence the Muslims have for him and Mary. But any hope that this may serve as a meeting ground between Christians and Muslims is pretty soon knocked on the head; the Muslim Jesus-story is very different and the crucial part (the crucifixion, excuse the pun) effectively negates Christianity. In the Muslim version, Jesus is helped to escape when God turns Judas into a Jesus-look-alike and he is crucified instead, while Jesus is air-lifted into heaven by a Special-Ops force of angels. (I much prefer this version, it has such a logical narrative and would make a great movie) But it thereby negates all the 'he died for our sins' notion of the sacrificial lamb. Muslims also deny the divinity of Christ; to them he was a great prophet, but a man not a god. He ate, he shitted, he caroused with his mates, therefore he was not a god; a god would not do these things. But he is revered. In the great mosque in Medina, next to the grave of Mohammed, is an empty grave, waiting for the body of Jesus, whenever it will be found after he returns and he has fought successfully with the AntiChrist.
   Watch this if you can. And laugh at the evangelical Christians who scoff at the Muslim version as being just fairy-tales, and the Christian version as the truth.

A day in the life

Woke with good intentions of getting lots of 'stuff' done today - you know, stuff like clearing out drawers, getting tidy in the garage, etc.etc. but it turned out I couldn't be bothered doing 'stuff'. So I've done stuff all instead.
    I did plant some vegetables out and tidy the garden a bit, and make some blackcurrant jam (my own blackcurrants) so I have achieved something. Ate healthy meals (only one serving of icecream for dessert) and played with the cats, both chronic attention seekers who get bored if they aren't sleeping.   
    Watched a documentary on youTube about Roman building techniques (Nat Geo). Good info but bloody awful soundtrack, almost drowning out the commentary at times. Grandiose tumescent music to signify to even the dullest mind that "this was the grandeur that was Rome!!!" and oversimplified statements -  documentaries must have 'spin' now, they have to be cinematic and OTT.   And they repeat themselves, reiterating what they've just told us ten minutes ago as if our attention spans are miniscule.  I hate being patronized, as if I was too stupid to understand long words or subtle concepts, as if I were some dumbster who normally only watches America's Stupidest Home Videos. If I was that person, would I be watching a doco on Roman engineering and architecture? Would I have the slightest interest in any subject that wasn't America's Stupidest Home Videos? Tchah.

New Years resolutions

 

 I've come to the decision after a long time mulling it over, to remove the variegated holly in my back yard. I kept it because the it gave the birds some winter food, but last year they hardly ate any. Which was strange because it was a very cold winter. I can only assume that there was better food elsewhere, that people in the 'hood were feeding them. I like the holly, but this is a small garden and its really outgrown its welcome. Hollies are a bit of an iconic plant in this part of town. When it was a wealthy suburb with large villas and gardens, hollies were often planted as hedges to keep the proles away. It was also part of that colonial thing about reproducing England in the southern hemisphere. My holly grows in the sunniest most sheltered part of the garden, which is probably why it has rocketed away, but I'd rather have the area to grow fruit trees and vegetables.  The ground underneath it is thick with prickly dried leaves, very annoying if I have to weed under it, and every scrap of fertiliser I put on the veg goes straight to the holly. It is such a handsome tree though; I still feel that I might regret it if I take it down.
    No regrets for the arboreal horror that looms on the other side of the garden. This is a damson plum that has some kind of disease, only producing hideously scabbed and deformed fruit. It looms on the boundary like something from Mirkwood, a tree that zombies would hide in. The ivy makes it truly creepy (creepery?). Unfortunately, the fruit has enough vigor to seed itself all over the garden, equally diseased little blighters that are tough as nails. The Damson From Hell.