Dog on a lilly pad
Sounds like the title of a Monet painting. I received a phone call from a neighbour who also lives next to Sullivans Lake. Apparently her little dog went missing the other day. She looked everywhere to no avail then suddenly spied the pooch sitting on a mat of lilly pads in the middle of the lake.
Horrors... but thankfully the said lake is quite shallow, allowing the lady to roll up her trousers and wade thigh deep to retrieve her little lilly loiterer. Unfortunately the lady, although delighted that her dog was saved, has developed nasty looking spotty things on her legs. If you saw the Lake you would know why this has happened. It is the most toxic waterway in our town, fish are dying, ducks are sick and the water is not water at all, it is green smelly stuff.
Maybe the little dog intended to make a sit-down protest, their definitely needs to be one.
P.S At last something is being done, the Council have raised the water level and had a field day retrieving dead ferral goldfish. It's a deffinate start.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Seeing is believing
Ever been stalked?
My appointment with the optometrist, was more than disappointing, it was annoying. My new spectacles would not be arriving until early the following week.
Walking back through town, I could not help noticing I was being followed. It was embarrassing; one of those situations where you know someone is there but you cannot look straight at them in case they are genuinely going at the same speed and to the same destination as yourself.
He was on my left, perhaps a pace or two behind. I still had not got a good look at him but decided to take evasive action. Turning quickly, I waited for the traffic to ease and began crossing the busy street. I was not sorry to see the chap swing off to the left and walk away in the opposite direction. Coincidently as I turned and glanced back over my shoulder, he did exactly the same; it was then that I noticed just how large he was.
I told myself off for my judgemental attitude, ‘who cares if the poor fellow is slightly overweight’ I mumbled, ‘we all have our problems and who am I to judge.’ That was the end of it, or so I thought as I happily put the incident out of my mind.
Imagine my astonishment and annoyance to see that the cunning fellow had also crossed the road and without me noticing,he had somehow snuck around my back and was now walking on the opposite side of me.
‘I suppose he thinks I would not notice him... The fat fool’, I muttered to myself, ‘not the brightest glow worm in the cave’. Glancing out of the corner of my eye I was intrigued to notice that whoever this cheeky fellow was, except for the hugeness, he looked quite familiar. He was copying my every move, I stopped, he stopped; there were other people around and I did not want to make a scene. I tried staring at him, put my hands on my hips in an aggressive stance and stared eyeball to eyeball. He did exactly the same. Lucky for him, I soon reached my destination otherwise he would have got the old one two, the quick heave ho.
As I disappeared into the pharmacy I questioned myself as to whom this grossly overweight person could be. Did I owe him money? Was he a distant relative? Perhaps an under-cover policeman? I laughed at the thought, ‘It would have to be a very large tarpaulin to put that gargantuan under cover’, I mused.
Thankfully he did not follow me into the Chemist; I doubted that he would have successfully negotiated the shop door, full on or sideways. His tummy looked like he had swallowed a prize winning pumpkin!‘How could a man let himself go like that’, I questioned.
The pharmacy had one of those ‘speak your weight’ weighing machines. I imagined if my tubby friend had stepped on, you would have heard, ‘one at a time please’ or ‘for heaven’s sake get off!’ It was an old joke but one befitting my unbelievably humongous stalker.
My decision to leave, if possible from the rear door of that shop, was sound thinking. I would do my business then make good my escape.
‘Excuse me young man’, I called to a somewhat feminine looking attendant.‘Can I help’ he replied in an equally feminine tone.‘I hope so; I need a cheap, temporary pair of spectacles, the strongest magnification you can find'. As he aproached me to point out that I was standing right next to the spectacles display cabinet, I notice he was wearing a dress, then I glanced to my right and to my horror spotted the bulbous one, somehow he had got into the shop, I’d had enough, this had to be finished once and for all. We faced each other; put our fists up and with violent determination, I rushed forward, straight into... the full length mirror.
My appointment with the optometrist, was more than disappointing, it was annoying. My new spectacles would not be arriving until early the following week.
Walking back through town, I could not help noticing I was being followed. It was embarrassing; one of those situations where you know someone is there but you cannot look straight at them in case they are genuinely going at the same speed and to the same destination as yourself.
He was on my left, perhaps a pace or two behind. I still had not got a good look at him but decided to take evasive action. Turning quickly, I waited for the traffic to ease and began crossing the busy street. I was not sorry to see the chap swing off to the left and walk away in the opposite direction. Coincidently as I turned and glanced back over my shoulder, he did exactly the same; it was then that I noticed just how large he was.
I told myself off for my judgemental attitude, ‘who cares if the poor fellow is slightly overweight’ I mumbled, ‘we all have our problems and who am I to judge.’ That was the end of it, or so I thought as I happily put the incident out of my mind.
Imagine my astonishment and annoyance to see that the cunning fellow had also crossed the road and without me noticing,he had somehow snuck around my back and was now walking on the opposite side of me.
‘I suppose he thinks I would not notice him... The fat fool’, I muttered to myself, ‘not the brightest glow worm in the cave’. Glancing out of the corner of my eye I was intrigued to notice that whoever this cheeky fellow was, except for the hugeness, he looked quite familiar. He was copying my every move, I stopped, he stopped; there were other people around and I did not want to make a scene. I tried staring at him, put my hands on my hips in an aggressive stance and stared eyeball to eyeball. He did exactly the same. Lucky for him, I soon reached my destination otherwise he would have got the old one two, the quick heave ho.
As I disappeared into the pharmacy I questioned myself as to whom this grossly overweight person could be. Did I owe him money? Was he a distant relative? Perhaps an under-cover policeman? I laughed at the thought, ‘It would have to be a very large tarpaulin to put that gargantuan under cover’, I mused.
Thankfully he did not follow me into the Chemist; I doubted that he would have successfully negotiated the shop door, full on or sideways. His tummy looked like he had swallowed a prize winning pumpkin!‘How could a man let himself go like that’, I questioned.
The pharmacy had one of those ‘speak your weight’ weighing machines. I imagined if my tubby friend had stepped on, you would have heard, ‘one at a time please’ or ‘for heaven’s sake get off!’ It was an old joke but one befitting my unbelievably humongous stalker.
My decision to leave, if possible from the rear door of that shop, was sound thinking. I would do my business then make good my escape.
‘Excuse me young man’, I called to a somewhat feminine looking attendant.‘Can I help’ he replied in an equally feminine tone.‘I hope so; I need a cheap, temporary pair of spectacles, the strongest magnification you can find'. As he aproached me to point out that I was standing right next to the spectacles display cabinet, I notice he was wearing a dress, then I glanced to my right and to my horror spotted the bulbous one, somehow he had got into the shop, I’d had enough, this had to be finished once and for all. We faced each other; put our fists up and with violent determination, I rushed forward, straight into... the full length mirror.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
let kids be kids
Let kids take risks, who can recall, climbing a tree, starting to fall.
Under a bridge, testing acoustics, racing a friend at riverside pooh sticks.
Eating a worm, catching a frog, peering and poking an old rotten log.
Pinching an apple, your friends wouldn’t tell. Ringing a door bell, running like hell.
Jump off a bridge, walk on a wall, not even thinking perhaps you might fall.
Let kids be kids, give them a bike, remember the joy, what it was like.
You were on your own, you did not know, that guiding hand had just let go,
Remember when you glanced around, you lost momentum, hit the ground,
So what, You needed a plaster, got back up and rode much faster.
Let kids be kids, don’t you see, growing kids need A and E
Let kids be kids, for goodness sake, over protection is a huge mistake
Let them play, act the fool, don’t wrap them up in cotton wool.
Get kids outside breathing fresh air, give them a challenge, teach them to dare.
Remember your childhood, when grazing your knee, left a scar for all to see.
Embracing some danger is bound to cause strife but let’s prepare kids for surprises in life.
Under a bridge, testing acoustics, racing a friend at riverside pooh sticks.
Eating a worm, catching a frog, peering and poking an old rotten log.
Pinching an apple, your friends wouldn’t tell. Ringing a door bell, running like hell.
Jump off a bridge, walk on a wall, not even thinking perhaps you might fall.
Let kids be kids, give them a bike, remember the joy, what it was like.
You were on your own, you did not know, that guiding hand had just let go,
Remember when you glanced around, you lost momentum, hit the ground,
So what, You needed a plaster, got back up and rode much faster.
Let kids be kids, don’t you see, growing kids need A and E
Let kids be kids, for goodness sake, over protection is a huge mistake
Let them play, act the fool, don’t wrap them up in cotton wool.
Get kids outside breathing fresh air, give them a challenge, teach them to dare.
Remember your childhood, when grazing your knee, left a scar for all to see.
Embracing some danger is bound to cause strife but let’s prepare kids for surprises in life.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Lights, action, it’s Christmas.
Like it or not, Santa Claus is here to stay, every male from the cradle to old age will experience the five ages of Father Christmas;
You are not aware that there is a Father Christmas,
You believe in Father Christmas,
You do not believe in Father Christmas,
You are Father Christmas,
You look like Father Christmas.
Fathers be warned, questions about Santa will be asked, they are designed for no other reason than to catch you out.
Today’s five year olds are savvy, they are not children, they are small adults and we, the more mature species must not melt like quivering jelly fish as the annual onslaught of Christmas questions bombards our feeble imaginations.
Not any more, oh no. Fathers will never again find it necessary to resort to, ‘Ask your Mother’.
The secret is to parry those difficult questions that cut and slice through our intellectual ego, with a shield of techno mumbo jumbo. This Christmas, your small human bean will stand with mouth open, gazing in admiration at your intellectual superiority.
Memorise these questions and answers, then destroy.
‘Dad, why are there so many Santa’s?
‘Clones, son, they are all false Santas. The big boss Santa gives the orders from the North Pole’.
‘Has he got a cell phone’
‘No, son, it’s his whiskers, they are fibre optic receptors.’
‘Dad, how can a jolly fat Santa fit down our chimney?’
‘Flue injections, Son. He injects himself, his cell metabolism shrinks, a bit like the Incredible Hulk only the opposite, and bingo he can slip down every flu.’
‘What if you don’t have a chimney, do you miss out on presents?’
‘No in those cases Santa uses a low tech system, he goes through the door’.
‘Dad, how can Santa’s elves make presents for all the children in the whole wide world?’
‘Robots Son, E.L.F stands for Efficient Life Form. They can make ten Barbie dolls in a split second, a thousand bikes in an hour’.
‘Wow!… Dad, How can Santa get to every house in the whole wide world, in one night?’
‘Warp speed, just like in Star Trek. In fact, like Captain Kirk, when Santa has dropped off the presents he says ’Beam me up Sooty’ and up the chimney he goes.
‘Dad, where does the tooth fairy live?’
‘Go ask your mother!’
You are not aware that there is a Father Christmas,
You believe in Father Christmas,
You do not believe in Father Christmas,
You are Father Christmas,
You look like Father Christmas.
Fathers be warned, questions about Santa will be asked, they are designed for no other reason than to catch you out.
Today’s five year olds are savvy, they are not children, they are small adults and we, the more mature species must not melt like quivering jelly fish as the annual onslaught of Christmas questions bombards our feeble imaginations.
Not any more, oh no. Fathers will never again find it necessary to resort to, ‘Ask your Mother’.
The secret is to parry those difficult questions that cut and slice through our intellectual ego, with a shield of techno mumbo jumbo. This Christmas, your small human bean will stand with mouth open, gazing in admiration at your intellectual superiority.
Memorise these questions and answers, then destroy.
‘Dad, why are there so many Santa’s?
‘Clones, son, they are all false Santas. The big boss Santa gives the orders from the North Pole’.
‘Has he got a cell phone’
‘No, son, it’s his whiskers, they are fibre optic receptors.’
‘Dad, how can a jolly fat Santa fit down our chimney?’
‘Flue injections, Son. He injects himself, his cell metabolism shrinks, a bit like the Incredible Hulk only the opposite, and bingo he can slip down every flu.’
‘What if you don’t have a chimney, do you miss out on presents?’
‘No in those cases Santa uses a low tech system, he goes through the door’.
‘Dad, how can Santa’s elves make presents for all the children in the whole wide world?’
‘Robots Son, E.L.F stands for Efficient Life Form. They can make ten Barbie dolls in a split second, a thousand bikes in an hour’.
‘Wow!… Dad, How can Santa get to every house in the whole wide world, in one night?’
‘Warp speed, just like in Star Trek. In fact, like Captain Kirk, when Santa has dropped off the presents he says ’Beam me up Sooty’ and up the chimney he goes.
‘Dad, where does the tooth fairy live?’
‘Go ask your mother!’
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Loitering within tent
A word of advice for anyone contemplating a camping holiday...don’t!
No matter how idealistically stimulating it sounds to up sticks and head to the great outdoors this Summer, take it from one who has often loitered within tent...it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.
To leave the comforts of civilisation in order to enjoy the benefits of living under canvas and savour the delights of ‘roughing it’ is madness in the extreme. I should know, I have been man against wild, I have laid on my back in the middle of a cold and blustery night, staring up at the stars, wondering where our tent has gone.
I have squeezed through a tent flap, into the cold forbidding night, like Captain Oats of the Antarctic, whispering to my wife that I am just going for a short walk. Dressed only in my pyjamas, swan dry, track suit and beanie I have fumbled my way through a dark wooded area, wishing that I had not drunk all that liquid the night before.
I remember the night well; it was foolish to venture bare footed into unchartered territory. I managed to tread upon the only nodding thistle within a five square mile radius and I discovered that at night small but sturdy, pointy tree branches move surreptitiously from the upper part of a tree to groin level.
My definition of camping is ‘learning to stay alive in a hostile environment’.
The adventure stories, tales of daring-do and books about the great outdoors fail to mention that the number of giant sand flies in any given location is dependent on whether or not you remembered to pack the Dimp. Keep a bottle of repellent in your pack; you will not see hide nor hair of a biting insect, conversely leave the Dimp in your medicine cabinet at home; you will be eaten alive.
My wife is usually very well organised, she cannot help herself. This is a commendable talent but one that totally falls apart when we go camping. Oh she plans alright; she plans beyond the call of duty.
One summer we decided to pitch our tent at Ocean beach in Hawkes Bay. Everything was loaded onto the back of our Austin Gypsy truck. Mattresses, pillows, coolie chairs,fridge, Labrador (he slept in a pup tent) and chest of drawers! I kid you not; we took a fully laden, six drawer chest of drawers on a camping holiday! The fact that I was in charge of securely roping the load and then loosing it all on the Havelock roundabout, is neither here nor there.
Who could forget our summer holiday at Hahei in the Coromandel? We wanted a good night’s sleep so purchased the very best double blow up mattress we could find. I pumped it up, the kids, Labrador and I jumped up and down on it. Having had an exhausting first day, we retired to bed at eight thirty. By nine fifteen we were on the floor. I had to pump it up again. I pumped that bloomin’ mattress up six times in the night; goodness knows what the neighbouring campers thought about the huffing and puffing emanating from our tent. By morning we were all deflated.
Then there was the piece de résistance, the final curtain to camping holidays. Waihau Bay camping ground produced the wettest two weeks on record and we were in the middle of it. Everything was damp, the food was damp the clothing was damp even the damp was damp. We awoke in the middle of the night suffering from a lack of oxygen. It felt like a giant Hippo was sitting on our faces. ‘Get off John’ my wife gasped. Turned out to be rain water, a huge reservoir filled the roof of our tent and threatened to engulf us. We heaved it into the air, spilling gallons upon the neighbouring campers.
Camping anyone? Never again!!
No matter how idealistically stimulating it sounds to up sticks and head to the great outdoors this Summer, take it from one who has often loitered within tent...it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.
To leave the comforts of civilisation in order to enjoy the benefits of living under canvas and savour the delights of ‘roughing it’ is madness in the extreme. I should know, I have been man against wild, I have laid on my back in the middle of a cold and blustery night, staring up at the stars, wondering where our tent has gone.
I have squeezed through a tent flap, into the cold forbidding night, like Captain Oats of the Antarctic, whispering to my wife that I am just going for a short walk. Dressed only in my pyjamas, swan dry, track suit and beanie I have fumbled my way through a dark wooded area, wishing that I had not drunk all that liquid the night before.
I remember the night well; it was foolish to venture bare footed into unchartered territory. I managed to tread upon the only nodding thistle within a five square mile radius and I discovered that at night small but sturdy, pointy tree branches move surreptitiously from the upper part of a tree to groin level.
My definition of camping is ‘learning to stay alive in a hostile environment’.
The adventure stories, tales of daring-do and books about the great outdoors fail to mention that the number of giant sand flies in any given location is dependent on whether or not you remembered to pack the Dimp. Keep a bottle of repellent in your pack; you will not see hide nor hair of a biting insect, conversely leave the Dimp in your medicine cabinet at home; you will be eaten alive.
My wife is usually very well organised, she cannot help herself. This is a commendable talent but one that totally falls apart when we go camping. Oh she plans alright; she plans beyond the call of duty.
One summer we decided to pitch our tent at Ocean beach in Hawkes Bay. Everything was loaded onto the back of our Austin Gypsy truck. Mattresses, pillows, coolie chairs,fridge, Labrador (he slept in a pup tent) and chest of drawers! I kid you not; we took a fully laden, six drawer chest of drawers on a camping holiday! The fact that I was in charge of securely roping the load and then loosing it all on the Havelock roundabout, is neither here nor there.
Who could forget our summer holiday at Hahei in the Coromandel? We wanted a good night’s sleep so purchased the very best double blow up mattress we could find. I pumped it up, the kids, Labrador and I jumped up and down on it. Having had an exhausting first day, we retired to bed at eight thirty. By nine fifteen we were on the floor. I had to pump it up again. I pumped that bloomin’ mattress up six times in the night; goodness knows what the neighbouring campers thought about the huffing and puffing emanating from our tent. By morning we were all deflated.
Then there was the piece de résistance, the final curtain to camping holidays. Waihau Bay camping ground produced the wettest two weeks on record and we were in the middle of it. Everything was damp, the food was damp the clothing was damp even the damp was damp. We awoke in the middle of the night suffering from a lack of oxygen. It felt like a giant Hippo was sitting on our faces. ‘Get off John’ my wife gasped. Turned out to be rain water, a huge reservoir filled the roof of our tent and threatened to engulf us. We heaved it into the air, spilling gallons upon the neighbouring campers.
Camping anyone? Never again!!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The amazing, hilarious wonderful bottom.
I have often wondered why when you mention certain words to small children they giggle uncontrollably. Take ‘bottom’ for example, a somewhat obscure word that is used to describe the base or end of an object. ‘The bottom of the boat’, or ‘put it in the bottom drawer’, are perfectly sane sentences not at all amusing least of all to children of average intelligence. Not so when the same word refers to the end or base of a person. In that context the quite ordinary, unobtrusive word, ‘bottom’ takes on a life of its own. The ordinary common or garden bottom for some strange reason becomes highly hilarious to small children. It’s a known fact, the more you say it the harder they laugh. This same phenomenon is not produced with similar meaning words like, rear-end, bum or backside. Why is that? I suppose the word posterior could be considered mildly amusing but it does not deliver the same impact as bottom.
As a child I well remember clutching my stomach, falling on the floor in convulsions of merriment at the mention of someone’s bottom. (do I need therapy?) At family get-togethers a naughty older cousin took great delight in making up a rude rhyme about my poor Uncle Otto. He always waited until I was standing next to my Uncle and then whispered in my ear, ‘Otto’s botto sits on potto’. Although the rhyme would not have won any poetry competitions or placed my cousin in the running for the youngest ever poet laureate, to me it was the funniest thing I had ever heard.
Talking of whispering reminds me of a very funny story that was told by Irish comedian, Dave Allen. His father did not like the word ‘fart’. The first time Dave heard the word was when he was about three years old. He was watching a cowman milking and the cow farted. ‘What was that?’ He asked. The cowman replied, ‘The cow farted’. It was just a word; as if he’d said ‘what’s that on the tree?’ and he’d said ‘bark’.
Dave’s family had a dog called Tuppy, because he was bought for tuppence. One day as Dave walked past him, he heard the same noise and said ‘Tuppy farted’. His father said, ‘Where did you hear that?’ and Dave said ‘It came from his bottom’. Young Dave’s dad had a way of getting around the word. He would say, ‘Who whispered?’ and everyone totally accepted the euphemism. That is until one day when Dave’s Granny, said, ‘Come here David and whisper in Granny’s ear’.
Frankly I am surprised that marketing gurus have not pounced on bottoms as a sales gimmick. Kids would not be able to resist jellied or chocolate (perhaps not chocolate) or lolly pop bottoms. As a child I considered the late great Spike Milligan to be the greatest comedian in the World for his famous words in ‘Badjelly the witch’. ‘His trousers fell down, and off he went to bare bottom land.’ We should thank him for creating glorious, spluttering, irrepressible mirth in the minds of young children. I thank the man from the bottom of my bottom, and I take this opportunity to propose a toast saying ‘bottoms up’ to my Uncle Otto on behalf of all naughty words that make us laugh...
I have often wondered why when you mention certain words to small children they giggle uncontrollably. Take ‘bottom’ for example, a somewhat obscure word that is used to describe the base or end of an object. ‘The bottom of the boat’, or ‘put it in the bottom drawer’, are perfectly sane sentences not at all amusing least of all to children of average intelligence. Not so when the same word refers to the end or base of a person. In that context the quite ordinary, unobtrusive word, ‘bottom’ takes on a life of its own. The ordinary common or garden bottom for some strange reason becomes highly hilarious to small children. It’s a known fact, the more you say it the harder they laugh. This same phenomenon is not produced with similar meaning words like, rear-end, bum or backside. Why is that? I suppose the word posterior could be considered mildly amusing but it does not deliver the same impact as bottom.
As a child I well remember clutching my stomach, falling on the floor in convulsions of merriment at the mention of someone’s bottom. (do I need therapy?) At family get-togethers a naughty older cousin took great delight in making up a rude rhyme about my poor Uncle Otto. He always waited until I was standing next to my Uncle and then whispered in my ear, ‘Otto’s botto sits on potto’. Although the rhyme would not have won any poetry competitions or placed my cousin in the running for the youngest ever poet laureate, to me it was the funniest thing I had ever heard.
Talking of whispering reminds me of a very funny story that was told by Irish comedian, Dave Allen. His father did not like the word ‘fart’. The first time Dave heard the word was when he was about three years old. He was watching a cowman milking and the cow farted. ‘What was that?’ He asked. The cowman replied, ‘The cow farted’. It was just a word; as if he’d said ‘what’s that on the tree?’ and he’d said ‘bark’.
Dave’s family had a dog called Tuppy, because he was bought for tuppence. One day as Dave walked past him, he heard the same noise and said ‘Tuppy farted’. His father said, ‘Where did you hear that?’ and Dave said ‘It came from his bottom’. Young Dave’s dad had a way of getting around the word. He would say, ‘Who whispered?’ and everyone totally accepted the euphemism. That is until one day when Dave’s Granny, said, ‘Come here David and whisper in Granny’s ear’.
Frankly I am surprised that marketing gurus have not pounced on bottoms as a sales gimmick. Kids would not be able to resist jellied or chocolate (perhaps not chocolate) or lolly pop bottoms. As a child I considered the late great Spike Milligan to be the greatest comedian in the World for his famous words in ‘Badjelly the witch’. ‘His trousers fell down, and off he went to bare bottom land.’ We should thank him for creating glorious, spluttering, irrepressible mirth in the minds of young children. I thank the man from the bottom of my bottom, and I take this opportunity to propose a toast saying ‘bottoms up’ to my Uncle Otto on behalf of all naughty words that make us laugh...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Real Estate defined
According to recent Government statistics, our town, Whakatane NZ has had a population increase of a mere 10 persons in the last three years. Could it be that all these people have become real estate agents? Did you know that there are in excess of 40 such agents in our fair town. Could we be the second ‘city of sales’.
Rumour has it that residence may now use their old wheelie-bins to cater for those ever increasing real estate pamphlets. What a grand idea, instead of displaying a mailbox sign ‘No Circulars’, the large bin could display much more meaningful information, such as:
I do not want to sell my home. You are not my friendly real estate agent. I don’t even know you. Who are you anyway. I don’t care that Mrs. Smith has sold her house. Clear off hairy legs.
In case you do want to buy a home here are some helpful definitions.
CROSSLEASE: When someone buys a cheap house at Lake Rotoiti (a very small settlement) and brags to their mates that they have got the bargain of the decade, then discover that they have to pay a lease fee to the owners amounting to $12,000 per year. This makes them very angry. This is a cross lease.
UNIT TITLE: ‘unit’ is an abbreviation for a ‘ewe nit’ which as every shepherd knows is a small head louse found on sheep. Obviously a ‘unit title’ is when the shepherd sees one of these lice on a ewe and addresses it as one would address a titled person, E.g. ‘Oi there’s one of them head lice watzernames on that sheep.....come out of there right now yer Majesty.’
OPEN PLAN LIVING: Dad ran out of firewood he’s too broke to buy a load so chops up all the doors in the house and chucks them onto the fire, you now have open plan living.
PANORAMIC VIEW: If you stand on the roof, on a chair, on a large copy of Webster’s dictionary, you catch a glimpse of Ohiwa Harbour.
VIEWS FOREVER: The complete works of William Shakespeare on top of the Webster’s.
ENSUITE: There is a covered walkway from the house to the long drop toilet.
FORMAL LIVING: Dad wears a suit and bow tie at home.
REFURBISHED: This house is badly in need of some tender loving care, the owner couldn’t build a dog house, he is what is commonly called a cowboy.
Final advice for those about to take the plunge into house purchase, did you know that the word mortgage literally means ‘death grip’ or ‘strangle hold’ Kiwis will be relieved that our reserve bank are not following the upward movement of various other countries borrowing rates. Let us hope that the head of our Reserve Bank, Dr. Alan Bollard’s interest is not enhanced when he hears the throttled gurgling of first home borrowers.
Rumour has it that residence may now use their old wheelie-bins to cater for those ever increasing real estate pamphlets. What a grand idea, instead of displaying a mailbox sign ‘No Circulars’, the large bin could display much more meaningful information, such as:
I do not want to sell my home. You are not my friendly real estate agent. I don’t even know you. Who are you anyway. I don’t care that Mrs. Smith has sold her house. Clear off hairy legs.
In case you do want to buy a home here are some helpful definitions.
CROSSLEASE: When someone buys a cheap house at Lake Rotoiti (a very small settlement) and brags to their mates that they have got the bargain of the decade, then discover that they have to pay a lease fee to the owners amounting to $12,000 per year. This makes them very angry. This is a cross lease.
UNIT TITLE: ‘unit’ is an abbreviation for a ‘ewe nit’ which as every shepherd knows is a small head louse found on sheep. Obviously a ‘unit title’ is when the shepherd sees one of these lice on a ewe and addresses it as one would address a titled person, E.g. ‘Oi there’s one of them head lice watzernames on that sheep.....come out of there right now yer Majesty.’
OPEN PLAN LIVING: Dad ran out of firewood he’s too broke to buy a load so chops up all the doors in the house and chucks them onto the fire, you now have open plan living.
PANORAMIC VIEW: If you stand on the roof, on a chair, on a large copy of Webster’s dictionary, you catch a glimpse of Ohiwa Harbour.
VIEWS FOREVER: The complete works of William Shakespeare on top of the Webster’s.
ENSUITE: There is a covered walkway from the house to the long drop toilet.
FORMAL LIVING: Dad wears a suit and bow tie at home.
REFURBISHED: This house is badly in need of some tender loving care, the owner couldn’t build a dog house, he is what is commonly called a cowboy.
Final advice for those about to take the plunge into house purchase, did you know that the word mortgage literally means ‘death grip’ or ‘strangle hold’ Kiwis will be relieved that our reserve bank are not following the upward movement of various other countries borrowing rates. Let us hope that the head of our Reserve Bank, Dr. Alan Bollard’s interest is not enhanced when he hears the throttled gurgling of first home borrowers.
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