Wanganui or Whanganui?
That is the question people will be asking themselves from now on.
Well they could be following the decision by Land Information Minister Maurice Williamson about putting the "h" back in W(h)anganui.
After months of conjecture and controversy about the humble letter ‘h’, stirred up by both sides of the debate, Williamson finally ruled that the official geographic name for the city can either be – Whanganui or Wanganui.
Williamson said he decided to assign alternative names so people can choose to use whichever name they preferred. However, the Minister did decree that Government agencies will have to spell the city's name as Whanganui and update their signage and other material accordingly over time.
In defending his Clayton’s decision – you know; the decision you make when you do not really making a decision – Williamson said offering the alternative naming: "respectfully acknowledges the correct spelling of the Maori word Whanganui, while also respecting the views of those who have always known the city's name to be spelt "Wanganui".
Good on you Maurice – there are no files on you are there! That would have to be the most wonderful piece of political-speak used by a politician all year. In other words, Williamson says “since the racist rednecks and the radical natives can’t agree on what the correct spelling for this s(h)it (h)ole should be, I’ve kicked for touch and decided they can spell it whatever way they want because no one else in the country gives a w(h)uck.”
And bugger me if slick old Maurice hasn’t pulled it off. Surprisingly, it seems his non decision has quelled the warring parties on either side of this (h)orrible and boring debate.
Previously, eyeliner-wearing mayor, talks(h)ow (h)ost and professional w(h)anker Mic(h)ael Laws was beside (h)imself with apoplexy w(h)enever the was a mere mention of the letter ‘h’ being added to his city’s moniker. At the same time, the local (H)oris said they would not be (h)appy until their ancestors mana had been fully restored with the addendum an ‘h’ to the river city’s name.
This inane and tedious argument had been going on for months if not years, with no sign of compromise – until Maurice Williamson waltzed into town and said – why not use both! Game over, argument ended, love and peace breaks out in the River City.
According to Ken Mair, spokesman for the iwi that had fought to include the "h", said his people were "delighted" by the decision and anticipated within 10 years the city would be widely known as "Whanganui".
Maori Party co-leader and Te Tai Hauauru MP Tariana Turia said the decision was “uplifting”.
Michael Laws said he was pleased the minister had not wholly adopted the "stupid decision" of the Geographic Board. He also described it as a victory for the referendum process.
"This issue wasn't just important to Wanganui, but it was important to New Zealand and all New Zealanders."
Wow…give that man Williamson a Speights! Or better still; send him over to the Middle East as a key negotiator – his talents are obviously wasted as minister outside of cabinet.
In the meantime, I can’t see what all the fuss was about anyway. No matter how you spell it – Wanganui or Whanganui – the place is still a dump and by far the best thing about the town is leaving it!
Let’s (h)ope we never (h)ave to (h)ear about it or its silly name ever again!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The mayor and his late night dexts!
I have always known that North Shore Mayor Andrew Williams is an embarrassment and his latest actions have only reconfirmed this fact.
The latest evidence comes with the news that Prime Minister John Key has become another target of "obnoxious" and "aggressive" texts that arrive in the wee hours of the morning from the North Shore Mayor.
Williams – who has been labelled the ‘Lunatic of Lake Road’, the ‘Mad Mayor’ and the ‘Clown of Campbell’s Bay’ among other names - has long had a reputation as a late night abuser and for sending angry emails, text messages and voice mails to colleagues, council staff and others.
This latest incident follows a long line of late night/early morning dexting [drunken texting] that Williams has become infamous for. In October, he emailed his mayoral predecessor George Wood about 11.30pm describing him as a "buffoon" and a "disgruntled, failed has-been", as well as leaving abusive messages on his voicemail.
I had the misfortune of working at North Shore Council for six or so months when Williams was first elected. And in that short period of time he had alienated half his council, abused local reporters and was already carving out his well-earned reputation for sending obnoxious and abusive emails in the wee small hours to council staff.
One would have thought that by now if someone had not pulled Williams into line over his regular text abuse of councillors, reporters and staff – then they may want to point out that text abusing the PM at 3 am is not a great way to enhance either your own, your council’s or your city’s credibility.
The PM has rightly ignored Williams' texts. As he says: "They're never worthy of a reply. The messages were in an aggressive tone...I'm not going to respond to obnoxious messages at this time of the morning."
The PM said the messages became public because a reporter who knew about them had called him and asked about them. Key says Mr Williams "tended to rant and rave" about Auckland's new super city council and the messages sometimes disturbed his sleep.
When asked what time was too late to text people such as the prime minister, Williams confirmed his buffoonery and stupidity by replying: "Are text messages time-sensitive are they? "Sometimes something pops into your head and you send off a message."
No Andrew, wrong! As pointed out earlier, this kind of dexting may explain away the actions for an early morning text message to an ex, following a big night on the town, because the Dexter wants a drunken shag. But it falls way short of appropriate behaviour for the Mayor of the country’s fourth largest city to be communicating with the nation’s prime minister!
Now we hear that Williams says he can't remember sending a text message to Prime Minister at such an ungodly hour! He told news media didn't recall sending a message to Mr Key at 3.30am, although he admitted he sent many messages late at night and some were to all the North Shore MPs.
Williams has suggested there was a conspiracy against him and the text message were being raised now because he strongly opposed a bill that was going through Parliament this week setting up the laws around the new super city.
Wrong again, Andrew! As someone who has had his own problems with the sauce, I suggest Mr Williams is exhibiting all the behaviours of a man who likes to loosen up his email and text communications with a bottle or four of cheap and nasty plonk. The guy is obviously an angry, nasty, serial Dexter [for those of you who missed it earlier, this is a person who gets drunk and then sends off texts and emails rants] and he needs serious help.
The good news is it is less than 12 months away until the new Auckland Council comes into force and the North Shore Council and its embarassing Mayor will disappear. All we will be left with are the shameful feelings and hazy memories of North Shore City's last mayor’s embarrassing behaviour. A bit like a nasty hangover – which I am sure Andrew Williams is all too familiar with!
The latest evidence comes with the news that Prime Minister John Key has become another target of "obnoxious" and "aggressive" texts that arrive in the wee hours of the morning from the North Shore Mayor.
Williams – who has been labelled the ‘Lunatic of Lake Road’, the ‘Mad Mayor’ and the ‘Clown of Campbell’s Bay’ among other names - has long had a reputation as a late night abuser and for sending angry emails, text messages and voice mails to colleagues, council staff and others.
This latest incident follows a long line of late night/early morning dexting [drunken texting] that Williams has become infamous for. In October, he emailed his mayoral predecessor George Wood about 11.30pm describing him as a "buffoon" and a "disgruntled, failed has-been", as well as leaving abusive messages on his voicemail.
I had the misfortune of working at North Shore Council for six or so months when Williams was first elected. And in that short period of time he had alienated half his council, abused local reporters and was already carving out his well-earned reputation for sending obnoxious and abusive emails in the wee small hours to council staff.
One would have thought that by now if someone had not pulled Williams into line over his regular text abuse of councillors, reporters and staff – then they may want to point out that text abusing the PM at 3 am is not a great way to enhance either your own, your council’s or your city’s credibility.
The PM has rightly ignored Williams' texts. As he says: "They're never worthy of a reply. The messages were in an aggressive tone...I'm not going to respond to obnoxious messages at this time of the morning."
The PM said the messages became public because a reporter who knew about them had called him and asked about them. Key says Mr Williams "tended to rant and rave" about Auckland's new super city council and the messages sometimes disturbed his sleep.
When asked what time was too late to text people such as the prime minister, Williams confirmed his buffoonery and stupidity by replying: "Are text messages time-sensitive are they? "Sometimes something pops into your head and you send off a message."
No Andrew, wrong! As pointed out earlier, this kind of dexting may explain away the actions for an early morning text message to an ex, following a big night on the town, because the Dexter wants a drunken shag. But it falls way short of appropriate behaviour for the Mayor of the country’s fourth largest city to be communicating with the nation’s prime minister!
Now we hear that Williams says he can't remember sending a text message to Prime Minister at such an ungodly hour! He told news media didn't recall sending a message to Mr Key at 3.30am, although he admitted he sent many messages late at night and some were to all the North Shore MPs.
Williams has suggested there was a conspiracy against him and the text message were being raised now because he strongly opposed a bill that was going through Parliament this week setting up the laws around the new super city.
Wrong again, Andrew! As someone who has had his own problems with the sauce, I suggest Mr Williams is exhibiting all the behaviours of a man who likes to loosen up his email and text communications with a bottle or four of cheap and nasty plonk. The guy is obviously an angry, nasty, serial Dexter [for those of you who missed it earlier, this is a person who gets drunk and then sends off texts and emails rants] and he needs serious help.
The good news is it is less than 12 months away until the new Auckland Council comes into force and the North Shore Council and its embarassing Mayor will disappear. All we will be left with are the shameful feelings and hazy memories of North Shore City's last mayor’s embarrassing behaviour. A bit like a nasty hangover – which I am sure Andrew Williams is all too familiar with!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Hot air hits Denmark
All the ‘good’ people of planet earth are feverishly excited – just like little kids on Christmas Eve – with the much talked about and highly revered Copenhagen climate change conference finally underway.
These 'good' folk are adamant – along with internationally-respected climatologists such as Robyn Malcolm, Lucy Lawless, Keisha Castle Hughes and other scientific luminaries like Stephen Tindall, Cliff Curtis, Peter Gordon and Rhys Darby – that all the world’s environmental problems will be suddenly be resolved at the conclusion of this momentous talkfest.
But as the great Daryl Kerrigan – the wise and understated patriarch from the movie ‘The Castle’ – was fond of saying when unrealistic expectations were expressed: “They’re dreaming”!
Copenhagen – or as the purists like to call it – COP15 (short for the 15th Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change), will be nothing more than a two-week talkfest involving politicians and officials from 192 countries.
For starters with more than 15,000 people officially attending the conference — that’s not counting the protesters and activists who have also travelled to the Danish capital and expected to make their presence felt outside the Bella convention centre – it will have produced a carbon footprint bigger than an African nation.
That is not just cynical hype – it is actually a fact. The U.N. estimates the 12-day conference will create 40,584 tons of carbon dioxide equivalents, roughly the same amount as the carbon emissions of Morocco in 2006. Talk about global warming . . . the Copenhagen United Nations Climate Change Conference will produce a lot of hot air and not a lot else!
Mind you, facts are not often an important ingredient in the climate change debate – witnessed by the huge efforts from climate change supporters to dismiss the climate-gate email storm which blew up on the eve of Copenhagen.
The goal of Copenhagen is to come up with an agreement to cut greenhouse gas emissions in line with what some scientists say is necessary to avoid the worst climate change projections: melting ice sheets, rising sea levels, expanding desertification, widespread drought, famine and species extinction.
Fat chance! Theoretically, a Copenhagen treaty will either replace or extend the current Kyoto Protocol when it expires in 2012. But such a deal almost certainly won’t be agreed to over the next fortnight. Vast gaps remain between rich, rapidly developing and poor countries on what an agreement should look like.
The first few days of the convention will be dominated by bureaucratic negotiations. The talks will not peak until the final two days, when about 100 national leaders are expected to take over. Those attending include Australia’s Kevin Rudd, British Prime Minister Gordon Brown, French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao and US President Barack Obama – along with John Key.
Key only decided to go very late in the piece. He always said it was going to be nothing more than a talkfest. But once the rock star of world politics –Barack Obama – signed up to go (and Lucy, Keisha, Robyn et el demanded he attend), the former money trader’s inner politician kicked in and saw a good photo opportunity. After all in political terms; green is the new black!
You can’t blame key or any of the other politicians attending for wanting to cash in on the opportunity to extend their political livers.
However, let’s hope one real outcome from Copenhagen is the ability for climate change to be debated rationally and sensibly.
At the moment we have on the two sides of the argument screaming at each other and any real objectivity is being lost.
But there is probably more chance of peace breaking out in the middle east, Mrs Woods trusting Tiger again or a binding agreement coming out of Copenhagen – than the two sides of the climate change argument encouraging open and emotive-free debate on the issue!
These 'good' folk are adamant – along with internationally-respected climatologists such as Robyn Malcolm, Lucy Lawless, Keisha Castle Hughes and other scientific luminaries like Stephen Tindall, Cliff Curtis, Peter Gordon and Rhys Darby – that all the world’s environmental problems will be suddenly be resolved at the conclusion of this momentous talkfest.
But as the great Daryl Kerrigan – the wise and understated patriarch from the movie ‘The Castle’ – was fond of saying when unrealistic expectations were expressed: “They’re dreaming”!
Copenhagen – or as the purists like to call it – COP15 (short for the 15th Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change), will be nothing more than a two-week talkfest involving politicians and officials from 192 countries.
For starters with more than 15,000 people officially attending the conference — that’s not counting the protesters and activists who have also travelled to the Danish capital and expected to make their presence felt outside the Bella convention centre – it will have produced a carbon footprint bigger than an African nation.
That is not just cynical hype – it is actually a fact. The U.N. estimates the 12-day conference will create 40,584 tons of carbon dioxide equivalents, roughly the same amount as the carbon emissions of Morocco in 2006. Talk about global warming . . . the Copenhagen United Nations Climate Change Conference will produce a lot of hot air and not a lot else!
Mind you, facts are not often an important ingredient in the climate change debate – witnessed by the huge efforts from climate change supporters to dismiss the climate-gate email storm which blew up on the eve of Copenhagen.
The goal of Copenhagen is to come up with an agreement to cut greenhouse gas emissions in line with what some scientists say is necessary to avoid the worst climate change projections: melting ice sheets, rising sea levels, expanding desertification, widespread drought, famine and species extinction.
Fat chance! Theoretically, a Copenhagen treaty will either replace or extend the current Kyoto Protocol when it expires in 2012. But such a deal almost certainly won’t be agreed to over the next fortnight. Vast gaps remain between rich, rapidly developing and poor countries on what an agreement should look like.
The first few days of the convention will be dominated by bureaucratic negotiations. The talks will not peak until the final two days, when about 100 national leaders are expected to take over. Those attending include Australia’s Kevin Rudd, British Prime Minister Gordon Brown, French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao and US President Barack Obama – along with John Key.
Key only decided to go very late in the piece. He always said it was going to be nothing more than a talkfest. But once the rock star of world politics –Barack Obama – signed up to go (and Lucy, Keisha, Robyn et el demanded he attend), the former money trader’s inner politician kicked in and saw a good photo opportunity. After all in political terms; green is the new black!
You can’t blame key or any of the other politicians attending for wanting to cash in on the opportunity to extend their political livers.
However, let’s hope one real outcome from Copenhagen is the ability for climate change to be debated rationally and sensibly.
At the moment we have on the two sides of the argument screaming at each other and any real objectivity is being lost.
But there is probably more chance of peace breaking out in the middle east, Mrs Woods trusting Tiger again or a binding agreement coming out of Copenhagen – than the two sides of the climate change argument encouraging open and emotive-free debate on the issue!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Media have a Tiger by the tail
Many people often mistakenly credit Shakespeare with penning that most wise advice around practising deception. However, it was actually Sir Walter Scott who wrote: Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive!
You get the impression that these seemingly innocuous words are something that golfing legend Tiger Woods – as have countless politicians and many other famous people have done over the years – will come to appreciate and understand. Especially as his time in the unfamiliar territory of an increasingly negative, media spotlight continues to shine.
One would have thought that if the champion golfer had not picked up on this mantra – then at least his PR advisors and media managers might have. But it seems to have passed right by Tiger’s plethora of image advisors – despite the no doubt substantial amount of charge rate they are stinging their famous client.
Woods recently withdrew from a tournament to benefit his charity foundation as he continued to lie (maybe in more ways than one) low after his recent car crash that has caused a media storm. In a statement, Woods said he would miss the Chevron World Challenge due to injuries suffered in the one-car accident near his Florida home last week.
Nothing unusual in his statement, except for the fact that usually the media savvy and accessible Woods only made it via his personal website. Adding fuel to the fire, he then also called off a press conference. Basically these two acts have ended any hope Woods and his spin doctors might have had that this would put an end to the flurry of media speculation surrounding the crash.
Yet one would not have to be the slickest pen in the PR pencil case to realise that interest around a 2.30 am car crash involving the world’s highest earning and most recognised sports star would go away without proper explanation.
Rumours have been rife since authorities discovered Woods dazed and on the ground, fading in and out of consciousness, and took him to a nearby hospital with facial cuts and bruises. All the while, he has refused to speak with police regarding the accident.
This had only added to the suspicion already circulating over the crash and the factors leading up to it. Then add in the gossip reports claiming Woods is having an affair with a pneumatic New York nightclub hostess, with more front than your average southerly squall. Who just so happened to be in staying at the same Australia at the same time Woods was competing there. She has now hired a well known celebrity lawyer to do all her talking – so things are only getting more intriguing.
So in the absence of more details, speculation has swirled about the accident. The most notable of which, involved Woods fleeing in the vehicle from an attack by his Swedish model wife, who used a golf club to smash in the rear windows of the vehicle as Woods tried to flee, causing him to lose control.
Meanwhile, Woods is not obliged to speak with police about the accident and he has chosen not to. Instead he sent an attorney who has provided the golf star's driver license information, proof of insurance and vehicle registration as required under Florida law.
Here’s a PR tip for you Tiger; when the media have a tiger by the tail they do never let go. Best to front up, man up and if need be, fess up.
Then the current media storm will blow over, with today’s news being used to wrap tomorrow’s fish and chips in!
You get the impression that these seemingly innocuous words are something that golfing legend Tiger Woods – as have countless politicians and many other famous people have done over the years – will come to appreciate and understand. Especially as his time in the unfamiliar territory of an increasingly negative, media spotlight continues to shine.
One would have thought that if the champion golfer had not picked up on this mantra – then at least his PR advisors and media managers might have. But it seems to have passed right by Tiger’s plethora of image advisors – despite the no doubt substantial amount of charge rate they are stinging their famous client.
Woods recently withdrew from a tournament to benefit his charity foundation as he continued to lie (maybe in more ways than one) low after his recent car crash that has caused a media storm. In a statement, Woods said he would miss the Chevron World Challenge due to injuries suffered in the one-car accident near his Florida home last week.
Nothing unusual in his statement, except for the fact that usually the media savvy and accessible Woods only made it via his personal website. Adding fuel to the fire, he then also called off a press conference. Basically these two acts have ended any hope Woods and his spin doctors might have had that this would put an end to the flurry of media speculation surrounding the crash.
Yet one would not have to be the slickest pen in the PR pencil case to realise that interest around a 2.30 am car crash involving the world’s highest earning and most recognised sports star would go away without proper explanation.
Rumours have been rife since authorities discovered Woods dazed and on the ground, fading in and out of consciousness, and took him to a nearby hospital with facial cuts and bruises. All the while, he has refused to speak with police regarding the accident.
This had only added to the suspicion already circulating over the crash and the factors leading up to it. Then add in the gossip reports claiming Woods is having an affair with a pneumatic New York nightclub hostess, with more front than your average southerly squall. Who just so happened to be in staying at the same Australia at the same time Woods was competing there. She has now hired a well known celebrity lawyer to do all her talking – so things are only getting more intriguing.
So in the absence of more details, speculation has swirled about the accident. The most notable of which, involved Woods fleeing in the vehicle from an attack by his Swedish model wife, who used a golf club to smash in the rear windows of the vehicle as Woods tried to flee, causing him to lose control.
Meanwhile, Woods is not obliged to speak with police about the accident and he has chosen not to. Instead he sent an attorney who has provided the golf star's driver license information, proof of insurance and vehicle registration as required under Florida law.
Here’s a PR tip for you Tiger; when the media have a tiger by the tail they do never let go. Best to front up, man up and if need be, fess up.
Then the current media storm will blow over, with today’s news being used to wrap tomorrow’s fish and chips in!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
My brush with tricophobia
I am in the midst of a rather nasty experience that I am not much enjoying – growing a beard.
Apart from the fact that my face is now covered with an ugly mix of ginger/grey whiskers, and that people tend to regularly dry-retch in disgust when they catch a glimpse of me – I am sick to death of it and am looking forward to finally shaving it off.
If I am really honest, the main reason I have kept it going this long (about two months as I write) has been the perverse and illogical sense of enjoyment I gain from other people telling me they just do not like my new furry face. However, the more they express their pogonophohia sentiments – the more I want to stick to my unkempt, hirsute look.
My journey towards my version of Grizzly Adams began a couple of months ago when – ironically enough – I cut myself shaving. So after a weekend of giving the daily ritual of shearing my face a miss, all of a sudden a few days growth had appeared and the idea of sprouting a beard came to fruition.
Despite some 42-odd years on this planet – and a shaving career spanning more than half this period – I had never seriously before contemplated sporting a beard. This is mainly due to the unfortunate fact that my hitherto life-long mission of suppressing the cruel reality that I am a ginga would have been instaneously destroyed – with the evidence of this most unpleasant truth literally all over my face.
It is a terrible thing to spend one’s entire life denying the fact the good Lord (or in this case, a vengeful and spiteful God) has cursed one with auburn locks.
No matter how you cut it, the fact is that being a red head is an absolute handicap in today’s world. In reality, red or ginga is the new black – as in the latest line of humanity that is oppressed by the majority.
But to be fair (which is not meant as a crack against my strawberry blond fellows propensity for having pale skin), views about red-haired people have never really been very complimentary.
In ancient history, red heads were said to: “sweat easily, bleed copiously, have a strong foxy smell, and such bad breath that they can raise blisters on other people simply by breathing over them. Morally, they are expected to be ‘bad children’ who cause nothing but trouble; they will be hot-tempered, treacherous, and highly sexed.” Even according to medieval lore, bad buggers such as Judas, Cain, and Mary Magdalene were all red-heads. The notion of the evilness of read hair was even carried over into conventions for stage villains; with Shylock regularly given a red wig.
Fast forward a few hundred years, and the persecution of red haired people has continued unabated. They are regularly mocked in advertising, jokes and via school yard abuse. Derogatory terms such as: Ginger Nut; Ginga; Blood nut; Period Head; Fanta Pants and ‘Ranga (as in Orangutan) are all common taunts for people carrying various mutated versions of the MC1R gene.
So it’s no wonder I want to go back to my clean-skinned past as soon as possible. To cut – and that is what I intend doing with this bloody beard very soon – a long story short – old man’s beard must go – as fellow bearded git and botanist Dr David Bellamy used to say.
Now here comes the plug. I have decided to use my hair-raising antics to do some fund raising on behalf of kids with cancer. I've set up a web page at http://www.fundraiseonline.co.nz/davidanderson/
So I am asking the tiny readership of this blog to come support me as I participate in funrazor 2009 in an effort to raise funds for Child Cancer Foundation.
Hell it might even help dispel some peoples’ prejudices about red heads being evil – then again it probably won't!
Apart from the fact that my face is now covered with an ugly mix of ginger/grey whiskers, and that people tend to regularly dry-retch in disgust when they catch a glimpse of me – I am sick to death of it and am looking forward to finally shaving it off.
If I am really honest, the main reason I have kept it going this long (about two months as I write) has been the perverse and illogical sense of enjoyment I gain from other people telling me they just do not like my new furry face. However, the more they express their pogonophohia sentiments – the more I want to stick to my unkempt, hirsute look.
My journey towards my version of Grizzly Adams began a couple of months ago when – ironically enough – I cut myself shaving. So after a weekend of giving the daily ritual of shearing my face a miss, all of a sudden a few days growth had appeared and the idea of sprouting a beard came to fruition.
Despite some 42-odd years on this planet – and a shaving career spanning more than half this period – I had never seriously before contemplated sporting a beard. This is mainly due to the unfortunate fact that my hitherto life-long mission of suppressing the cruel reality that I am a ginga would have been instaneously destroyed – with the evidence of this most unpleasant truth literally all over my face.
It is a terrible thing to spend one’s entire life denying the fact the good Lord (or in this case, a vengeful and spiteful God) has cursed one with auburn locks.
No matter how you cut it, the fact is that being a red head is an absolute handicap in today’s world. In reality, red or ginga is the new black – as in the latest line of humanity that is oppressed by the majority.
But to be fair (which is not meant as a crack against my strawberry blond fellows propensity for having pale skin), views about red-haired people have never really been very complimentary.
In ancient history, red heads were said to: “sweat easily, bleed copiously, have a strong foxy smell, and such bad breath that they can raise blisters on other people simply by breathing over them. Morally, they are expected to be ‘bad children’ who cause nothing but trouble; they will be hot-tempered, treacherous, and highly sexed.” Even according to medieval lore, bad buggers such as Judas, Cain, and Mary Magdalene were all red-heads. The notion of the evilness of read hair was even carried over into conventions for stage villains; with Shylock regularly given a red wig.
Fast forward a few hundred years, and the persecution of red haired people has continued unabated. They are regularly mocked in advertising, jokes and via school yard abuse. Derogatory terms such as: Ginger Nut; Ginga; Blood nut; Period Head; Fanta Pants and ‘Ranga (as in Orangutan) are all common taunts for people carrying various mutated versions of the MC1R gene.
So it’s no wonder I want to go back to my clean-skinned past as soon as possible. To cut – and that is what I intend doing with this bloody beard very soon – a long story short – old man’s beard must go – as fellow bearded git and botanist Dr David Bellamy used to say.
Now here comes the plug. I have decided to use my hair-raising antics to do some fund raising on behalf of kids with cancer. I've set up a web page at http://www.fundraiseonline.co.nz/davidanderson/
So I am asking the tiny readership of this blog to come support me as I participate in funrazor 2009 in an effort to raise funds for Child Cancer Foundation.
Hell it might even help dispel some peoples’ prejudices about red heads being evil – then again it probably won't!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Get a grip Xena!
Lucy Lawless – aka Xena Princess Warrior – the world-renowned climatologist (yeah, right!) has got her pretty little nose out of joint because when she and another Greenpeace supporter turned up, uninvited, to see Prime Minister John Key he wasn’t there to meet her.
Lawless and her dopey looking off-sider only got as far as the Beehive front desk when attempting to give Prime Minister John Key a boarding pass to Copenhagen - as part of the green zealot group’s latest publicity stunt.
The actress and recently sacked climate scientist Dr Jim Salinger,(that's a new one... I thought it was usually the actress and the bishop) claim they are upset about Mr Key's decision not to attend an international climate change meeting in Copenhagen, Denmark, next month. They arrived at Parliament with an over-sized boarding pass and a cheque for $4781, raised from sausage sizzles and cake stalls, to put towards the Prime Minister's air fare.
They waited, along with gathered fawning media hacks, only to be told the Prime Minister was otherwise engaged. Key said he had not been given warning about the visit, and shrugged off questions about why he didn't meet the pair.
Well surprise, surprise! Perhaps the pouting actress should change her name to Lucy Clueless. Does she not realise that John Key doesn’t sit around waiting to greet every two-bit celebrity who wants to see him. Hell, Key has even turned down an opportunity to meet with every celebrity’s favourite Tibetan monk – the Dalai Lama – who at least tried to book an appointment with the PM in advance.
I have previously blogged about so-called celebrities with superiority complexes when it comes to do-good causes on May 25 and August 6. Lucy Lawless features prominently on both blogs. I'll admit Lucy has nice legs and great tits -- but so does Nicky Watson, but at least she doesn't run around the country lecturing us all about climate change.
So Lucy - in the best parlance of the web and the text world we now live in - just STFU! How arrogant or self important does you think yuou are that the Prime Minister of New Zealand should drop everything he is doing and run to meet you when you decide to pop in for a visit? Get over yourself you environmental prima donna.
Meanwhile, Key rightly argues that it is clear no binding treaty will be signed in Copenhagen – despite earlier talk of an international resolution being on the cards –and that Environment Minister Nick Smith would be New Zealand's representative there.
Just why both Lawless and Salinger believe that sending a bunch of heads of state to this talk-fest in the Danish capital is going to achieve anything reduce carbon emissions is beyond me.
Actually – even with my rudimentary science background – it is clear that flying all the world’s prime ministers and presidents – along with their huge entourages – to Denmark is only going to increase emissions not reduce them!
Surely if the not so good doctor and the aforementioned clueless actress were really so hell-bent on saving the planet from Co2 emissions – wouldn’t they be insisting that world leaders hold a video conference rather than all fly to Copenhagen?
This just goes to show why this out of work actress and her unemployed scientist mate’s argument is full of wholes and lacks any credibility – a bit like both of their careers really!
Lawless and her dopey looking off-sider only got as far as the Beehive front desk when attempting to give Prime Minister John Key a boarding pass to Copenhagen - as part of the green zealot group’s latest publicity stunt.
The actress and recently sacked climate scientist Dr Jim Salinger,(that's a new one... I thought it was usually the actress and the bishop) claim they are upset about Mr Key's decision not to attend an international climate change meeting in Copenhagen, Denmark, next month. They arrived at Parliament with an over-sized boarding pass and a cheque for $4781, raised from sausage sizzles and cake stalls, to put towards the Prime Minister's air fare.
They waited, along with gathered fawning media hacks, only to be told the Prime Minister was otherwise engaged. Key said he had not been given warning about the visit, and shrugged off questions about why he didn't meet the pair.
Well surprise, surprise! Perhaps the pouting actress should change her name to Lucy Clueless. Does she not realise that John Key doesn’t sit around waiting to greet every two-bit celebrity who wants to see him. Hell, Key has even turned down an opportunity to meet with every celebrity’s favourite Tibetan monk – the Dalai Lama – who at least tried to book an appointment with the PM in advance.
I have previously blogged about so-called celebrities with superiority complexes when it comes to do-good causes on May 25 and August 6. Lucy Lawless features prominently on both blogs. I'll admit Lucy has nice legs and great tits -- but so does Nicky Watson, but at least she doesn't run around the country lecturing us all about climate change.
So Lucy - in the best parlance of the web and the text world we now live in - just STFU! How arrogant or self important does you think yuou are that the Prime Minister of New Zealand should drop everything he is doing and run to meet you when you decide to pop in for a visit? Get over yourself you environmental prima donna.
Meanwhile, Key rightly argues that it is clear no binding treaty will be signed in Copenhagen – despite earlier talk of an international resolution being on the cards –and that Environment Minister Nick Smith would be New Zealand's representative there.
Just why both Lawless and Salinger believe that sending a bunch of heads of state to this talk-fest in the Danish capital is going to achieve anything reduce carbon emissions is beyond me.
Actually – even with my rudimentary science background – it is clear that flying all the world’s prime ministers and presidents – along with their huge entourages – to Denmark is only going to increase emissions not reduce them!
Surely if the not so good doctor and the aforementioned clueless actress were really so hell-bent on saving the planet from Co2 emissions – wouldn’t they be insisting that world leaders hold a video conference rather than all fly to Copenhagen?
This just goes to show why this out of work actress and her unemployed scientist mate’s argument is full of wholes and lacks any credibility – a bit like both of their careers really!
Monday, November 16, 2009
On the road to nowhere!
Thousands of bikers are expected to roar into Wellington this week to protest the proposed rise in ACC levies.
This follows on from last weekend’s sorry sight of hundreds of ageing, leather-jacketed riders and pillion passengers around New Zealand revving up their Harleys and other machines to let the government know they are unhappy about it plans to raise ACC charges.
These rebels with out a clue say they will be hit hard by higher fees and are even claiming discrimination. The new rates are proposed alongside cut backs in other ACC entitlements as the Government tries to bring under control huge deficits at the department.
Not to miss out on a possible sound-bite in Auckland these geriatric easy riders were joined by Labour leader Phil Goff. Supposedly a motorbike fan and rider himself, Goff said imposing large increases was "unjustified, unfair and divisive".
Goff joined the Auckland part of the Ulysses Motorcycle Club's protests ride. He said the levy for bikes over 600cc would treble from $252 to $735, a jump of just under $500 a year. "That's unacceptable, outrageous, and unwarranted."
Unfortunately rather than creating a picture of uber-cool – a la Peter Fonda, Jack Nicholson and Denis Hopper from Easyrider back in 1969 – it came across more like Ride of the Desperados of 2009.
Actually Mr Goff; what is unacceptable, outrageous and unwarranted (apart from the tragic sight of you in leathers) is the desperate attempt by an ever-increasing, irrelevant Leader of the Opposition trying to gain political mileage out of this issue – especially when you have failed to explain how you would pay for the growing costs of ACC.
Sorry Phil, but it is you and your whingeing motorbike mates who are out of line. Contrary to claims made by these leather-clad losers, motorcyclists are not being singled out. ACC’s proposed levies are going up for a number of groups and not just for motorcyclists.
Maybe Phil would like to explain just how – if he won’t put up ACC levies or decrease cover – is he going to pay for accident insurance cover? Or is he being economical with the truth – just like him and the rest of Labour were with the real ACC figures before they got tossed out of office last year?
The fact is motorcyclists are being asked to pay more because the levies they pay don’t cover the cost of the injuries they have when they fall off their bikes! It is as simple as that. Motorcycle riders are 16 times more likely to make an ACC claim than other road users.
So will the levy rise mean motorcyclists will now be paying the full cost of their injuries? No. Even with the levy increases, motorcyclists will still only be meeting 21% of their claim costs.
Guess, who’s been covering their costs? That’s right you and me – other motor vehicle owners. Even with the proposed changes, we car owners will still contribute $77 to cross-subsidise motorcyclists. So stop your whingeing and start paying your way!
Meanwhile, why haven’t Phil’s political-minders told him that while it might have been kind of cool and edgy to align himself with biker image when he was at university back in the 1960s? Today it looks just too try-hard and sad having him squeeze into leathers along with his fat, balding, grey-haired, pony-tailed, motor biking mates.
However, given Goff’s appalling poll ratings and motorcyclists real costs to other ACC users – it is appropriate their theme song should be that Talking Heads hit “On the Road to Nowhere” as summed up by the following lyrics:
WELL WE KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOIN'
BUT WE DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'VE BEEN
AND WE KNOW WHAT WE'RE KNOWIN'
BUT WE CAN'T SAY WHAT WE'VE SEEN
Says it all really!
This follows on from last weekend’s sorry sight of hundreds of ageing, leather-jacketed riders and pillion passengers around New Zealand revving up their Harleys and other machines to let the government know they are unhappy about it plans to raise ACC charges.
These rebels with out a clue say they will be hit hard by higher fees and are even claiming discrimination. The new rates are proposed alongside cut backs in other ACC entitlements as the Government tries to bring under control huge deficits at the department.
Not to miss out on a possible sound-bite in Auckland these geriatric easy riders were joined by Labour leader Phil Goff. Supposedly a motorbike fan and rider himself, Goff said imposing large increases was "unjustified, unfair and divisive".
Goff joined the Auckland part of the Ulysses Motorcycle Club's protests ride. He said the levy for bikes over 600cc would treble from $252 to $735, a jump of just under $500 a year. "That's unacceptable, outrageous, and unwarranted."
Unfortunately rather than creating a picture of uber-cool – a la Peter Fonda, Jack Nicholson and Denis Hopper from Easyrider back in 1969 – it came across more like Ride of the Desperados of 2009.
Actually Mr Goff; what is unacceptable, outrageous and unwarranted (apart from the tragic sight of you in leathers) is the desperate attempt by an ever-increasing, irrelevant Leader of the Opposition trying to gain political mileage out of this issue – especially when you have failed to explain how you would pay for the growing costs of ACC.
Sorry Phil, but it is you and your whingeing motorbike mates who are out of line. Contrary to claims made by these leather-clad losers, motorcyclists are not being singled out. ACC’s proposed levies are going up for a number of groups and not just for motorcyclists.
Maybe Phil would like to explain just how – if he won’t put up ACC levies or decrease cover – is he going to pay for accident insurance cover? Or is he being economical with the truth – just like him and the rest of Labour were with the real ACC figures before they got tossed out of office last year?
The fact is motorcyclists are being asked to pay more because the levies they pay don’t cover the cost of the injuries they have when they fall off their bikes! It is as simple as that. Motorcycle riders are 16 times more likely to make an ACC claim than other road users.
So will the levy rise mean motorcyclists will now be paying the full cost of their injuries? No. Even with the levy increases, motorcyclists will still only be meeting 21% of their claim costs.
Guess, who’s been covering their costs? That’s right you and me – other motor vehicle owners. Even with the proposed changes, we car owners will still contribute $77 to cross-subsidise motorcyclists. So stop your whingeing and start paying your way!
Meanwhile, why haven’t Phil’s political-minders told him that while it might have been kind of cool and edgy to align himself with biker image when he was at university back in the 1960s? Today it looks just too try-hard and sad having him squeeze into leathers along with his fat, balding, grey-haired, pony-tailed, motor biking mates.
However, given Goff’s appalling poll ratings and motorcyclists real costs to other ACC users – it is appropriate their theme song should be that Talking Heads hit “On the Road to Nowhere” as summed up by the following lyrics:
WELL WE KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOIN'
BUT WE DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'VE BEEN
AND WE KNOW WHAT WE'RE KNOWIN'
BUT WE CAN'T SAY WHAT WE'VE SEEN
Says it all really!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Hone puts the H in hate
Hone, Hone Hone… or as we white mo-fos like to say… John, John John!
Maori Party MP Hone Harawira's unscheduled side trip to Paris during a taxpayer funded work trip last month would probably have hardly caused a ripple of publicity if he had kept his head down. But that is not Hone's style and the brown stuff (and no; that is not a racist reference) really hit the fan when he opened his big, belligerent mouth – or more correctly – pushed the send button on an angry, hate-filled email.
Quite frankly I have no problem that Hone bunked what was most likely a tedious meeting in Brussels, so he and his wife Hilda could spend a day in Paris. Who cares? What difference did it make? And at least he actually paid for the extra travel himself.
Yet, when the little Paris sojourn was discovered by the media, Hone was typically unrepentant about his actions. Saying he missed nothing by skipping the meeting as he had already met those attending it and had discussed issues with them.
When first questioned about it, Hone accepted the trip to Paris was "outside the boundaries, “but I don't feel uncomfortable with it". In fact, Hone said he was glad he had undertaken the side trip, saying it would have been "dumb" not to visit such a wonderful city.
While he may now have to pay back some of the trip's overall costs after he skipped the Brussels meeting, that is now the least of his - or the Maori Party’s - problems.
Leader Tariana Turia had said she was concerned about how Mr Harawira's actions would reflect on the party. Well if poor old Tariana was concerned about how his bunk in Brussels would go down with the public – she will have been worried silly by his angry email defending his actions.
Hone reacted with racist, hate-fuelled reply to an email from Buddy Mikaere criticising him for bunking off a work trip to visit Paris, by lashing out at white people.
Mr Mikaere, a Maori Party supporter, had emailed Harawira an innocent enough two sentence message: "Gotta ask the question eh? who's paying for Hilda?"
Hone wrote back and his email didn’t pull any punches;
"Gee Buddy; do you believe that white man bullshit too do you? White motherfuckers have been raping our lands and ripping us off for centuries and all of a sudden you want me to play along with their puritanical bullshit."
He then went on to say how much time and energy he put into fighting for Maori and what a big role his wife Hilda played in that.
"And quite frankly, I don't give a shit what you or anyone else thinks about it. OK?"
Mr Mikaere accepted Hone’s less than diplomatic challenge and leaked the email exchange to the media.
As I said earlier, I do not begrudge Hone his little side trip to Paris and nor do I care. However, we can’t have our MPs running around sending off offensive and racist rants.
Mind you poor old Hone did not have much of a chance to be anything but bitter and angry about Pakeha – given he has been suckled at the breast of and raised to believe this to be true by his bitter and angry mother!
Notwithstanding Titiwhai’s enlightened outlook on life, it is still unacceptable for a Maori MP to claim that ‘white mother fuckers have been raping and ripping off Maori for years’; just as it would be for a Pakeha MP to suggest that ‘brown mother fuckers have been raping white woman and ripping off the benefit for years’.
How long do you think an MP called John Smith would have survive in any other political party if he had expressed the latter sentiment?
Hone needs brought back in line by the leadership of the Maori Party and pretty damn quickly. Not just for his stupid, offensive and racist attitude, but also for his lack of political nous and dumb move to send this email in the first place.
As any politician worth his or her salt well knows – especially in today’s media savvy world – if you put it down on paper; it will end up in the paper!
Mind you, this white, mo-fo is not holding my breath that we will see any meaningful apology or change in attitude – perhaps I am too busy raping and ripping off Maori to give a toss.
Perhaps it is time for a change of scenery? I hear Paris is lovely this time of year, eh Hone!
Maori Party MP Hone Harawira's unscheduled side trip to Paris during a taxpayer funded work trip last month would probably have hardly caused a ripple of publicity if he had kept his head down. But that is not Hone's style and the brown stuff (and no; that is not a racist reference) really hit the fan when he opened his big, belligerent mouth – or more correctly – pushed the send button on an angry, hate-filled email.
Quite frankly I have no problem that Hone bunked what was most likely a tedious meeting in Brussels, so he and his wife Hilda could spend a day in Paris. Who cares? What difference did it make? And at least he actually paid for the extra travel himself.
Yet, when the little Paris sojourn was discovered by the media, Hone was typically unrepentant about his actions. Saying he missed nothing by skipping the meeting as he had already met those attending it and had discussed issues with them.
When first questioned about it, Hone accepted the trip to Paris was "outside the boundaries, “but I don't feel uncomfortable with it". In fact, Hone said he was glad he had undertaken the side trip, saying it would have been "dumb" not to visit such a wonderful city.
While he may now have to pay back some of the trip's overall costs after he skipped the Brussels meeting, that is now the least of his - or the Maori Party’s - problems.
Leader Tariana Turia had said she was concerned about how Mr Harawira's actions would reflect on the party. Well if poor old Tariana was concerned about how his bunk in Brussels would go down with the public – she will have been worried silly by his angry email defending his actions.
Hone reacted with racist, hate-fuelled reply to an email from Buddy Mikaere criticising him for bunking off a work trip to visit Paris, by lashing out at white people.
Mr Mikaere, a Maori Party supporter, had emailed Harawira an innocent enough two sentence message: "Gotta ask the question eh? who's paying for Hilda?"
Hone wrote back and his email didn’t pull any punches;
"Gee Buddy; do you believe that white man bullshit too do you? White motherfuckers have been raping our lands and ripping us off for centuries and all of a sudden you want me to play along with their puritanical bullshit."
He then went on to say how much time and energy he put into fighting for Maori and what a big role his wife Hilda played in that.
"And quite frankly, I don't give a shit what you or anyone else thinks about it. OK?"
Mr Mikaere accepted Hone’s less than diplomatic challenge and leaked the email exchange to the media.
As I said earlier, I do not begrudge Hone his little side trip to Paris and nor do I care. However, we can’t have our MPs running around sending off offensive and racist rants.
Mind you poor old Hone did not have much of a chance to be anything but bitter and angry about Pakeha – given he has been suckled at the breast of and raised to believe this to be true by his bitter and angry mother!
Notwithstanding Titiwhai’s enlightened outlook on life, it is still unacceptable for a Maori MP to claim that ‘white mother fuckers have been raping and ripping off Maori for years’; just as it would be for a Pakeha MP to suggest that ‘brown mother fuckers have been raping white woman and ripping off the benefit for years’.
How long do you think an MP called John Smith would have survive in any other political party if he had expressed the latter sentiment?
Hone needs brought back in line by the leadership of the Maori Party and pretty damn quickly. Not just for his stupid, offensive and racist attitude, but also for his lack of political nous and dumb move to send this email in the first place.
As any politician worth his or her salt well knows – especially in today’s media savvy world – if you put it down on paper; it will end up in the paper!
Mind you, this white, mo-fo is not holding my breath that we will see any meaningful apology or change in attitude – perhaps I am too busy raping and ripping off Maori to give a toss.
Perhaps it is time for a change of scenery? I hear Paris is lovely this time of year, eh Hone!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Rodney hides his credibility
ACT leader Rodney Hide’s days as the self-proclaimed, parliamentary perk buster are well and truly at an end.
Whatever credibility Rodders had gained from voters for his frequent admonishing of fellow MPs for wasting taxpayer funds on ‘perks’ has now disappeared faster than his waste-line, after it was revealed he took his girlfriend on a recent world trip care of the public purse.
It was bad enough that the poisoned-dwarf used more than $25,000 of taxpayer funds to take his squeeze on the 10-day world trip, but his arrogant and defiant justification of his antics was even worse.
After being caught with his snout deep in the taxpayer trough, Hide said that while he disagreed with the perk that gives MPs a taxpayer-funded 90 percent fare discount for themselves and their partners - he still used it to take his girlfriend overseas. The air fares for Louise Crome's trip to London, Canada and the United States are reported to have cost $25,163.
According to the former truck driver and Dancing with the Stars competitor the perk was "a silly anachronism", but it existed and he couldn't change it.
"I don't agree with that rule, but I'm not a martyr," Hide told Radio New Zealand. "I checked twice with the prime minister that it was acceptable. It got all the ticks."
Crap - you sawn off, pompous git - it is totally unacceptable; especially given your holier-than-thou to other MPs and their use of public funds.
Hide made a name for himself as a "perk-buster" when he first came to Parliament and demanded an end to allowances such as the one he used to take Ms Crome overseas.
Is this another example of judgement going out the window by an MP full of his own importance and losing touch with voters due to the rarefied air that tends to dominate Wellington’s beltway?
I have no problem with Hide himself taking the trip care of taxpayers – as he is minister of local government and took the trip to see for himself how other cities handled changes to their council structures. However, I do object to him dipping into the public purse to pay for this girlfriend to tag along. I mean $25 grand for 10 days just so he has some eye candy on his arm and someone to do the horizontal foxtrot with each night?
As a taxpayer, I would have preferred if he had of hired a $1000 a night hooker for each of the 10 nights he was away – it would have been cheaper!
"I made a decision to go on this trip because I've got a very big job in Auckland implementing the transition," Hide said in trying to justify his first class bludging. "I then had to justify whether or not I took my partner. I think it's important for me personally, but more particularly for me to do a good job as an MP and a minister, that I maintain my private and personal life."
Here are a couple of questions I would like to ask. Why should I pay for him to take his latest squeeze on a business trip? How many organisations in the real world would do that? How come Rodders cannot bear to be without his girlfriend of less than a year for 10 nights – but can survive without seeing his own son from his previous marriage for much longer? And just what experience in local government re-organisation does the injured professional squash playing Ms Crome have that was so critical in having her on this trip?
Sorry Rodney, but you are a hypocrite and your moral authority to criticise anyone ever again for wasting public money has gone forever.
Whatever credibility Rodders had gained from voters for his frequent admonishing of fellow MPs for wasting taxpayer funds on ‘perks’ has now disappeared faster than his waste-line, after it was revealed he took his girlfriend on a recent world trip care of the public purse.
It was bad enough that the poisoned-dwarf used more than $25,000 of taxpayer funds to take his squeeze on the 10-day world trip, but his arrogant and defiant justification of his antics was even worse.
After being caught with his snout deep in the taxpayer trough, Hide said that while he disagreed with the perk that gives MPs a taxpayer-funded 90 percent fare discount for themselves and their partners - he still used it to take his girlfriend overseas. The air fares for Louise Crome's trip to London, Canada and the United States are reported to have cost $25,163.
According to the former truck driver and Dancing with the Stars competitor the perk was "a silly anachronism", but it existed and he couldn't change it.
"I don't agree with that rule, but I'm not a martyr," Hide told Radio New Zealand. "I checked twice with the prime minister that it was acceptable. It got all the ticks."
Crap - you sawn off, pompous git - it is totally unacceptable; especially given your holier-than-thou to other MPs and their use of public funds.
Hide made a name for himself as a "perk-buster" when he first came to Parliament and demanded an end to allowances such as the one he used to take Ms Crome overseas.
Is this another example of judgement going out the window by an MP full of his own importance and losing touch with voters due to the rarefied air that tends to dominate Wellington’s beltway?
I have no problem with Hide himself taking the trip care of taxpayers – as he is minister of local government and took the trip to see for himself how other cities handled changes to their council structures. However, I do object to him dipping into the public purse to pay for this girlfriend to tag along. I mean $25 grand for 10 days just so he has some eye candy on his arm and someone to do the horizontal foxtrot with each night?
As a taxpayer, I would have preferred if he had of hired a $1000 a night hooker for each of the 10 nights he was away – it would have been cheaper!
"I made a decision to go on this trip because I've got a very big job in Auckland implementing the transition," Hide said in trying to justify his first class bludging. "I then had to justify whether or not I took my partner. I think it's important for me personally, but more particularly for me to do a good job as an MP and a minister, that I maintain my private and personal life."
Here are a couple of questions I would like to ask. Why should I pay for him to take his latest squeeze on a business trip? How many organisations in the real world would do that? How come Rodders cannot bear to be without his girlfriend of less than a year for 10 nights – but can survive without seeing his own son from his previous marriage for much longer? And just what experience in local government re-organisation does the injured professional squash playing Ms Crome have that was so critical in having her on this trip?
Sorry Rodney, but you are a hypocrite and your moral authority to criticise anyone ever again for wasting public money has gone forever.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Get over it!
I am more convinced now than ever, that as a country we are a bunch of apologists trying to appease anyone – at anytime – who may take offence to anything we may say or do - even if it is done in jest.
The latest case of our self-induced, grief-stricken, collective offence comes following news that a group of Auckland Grammar School schoolboys who recently posted photos of themselves on Facebook being foolish in front of Nazi regalia. The images showed the boys, in school uniform, kissing a swastika, making a Nazi salute, and kneeling in homage before a Nazi flag at the Auckland War Memorial Museum’s exhibition.
The boys have now made a tearful apology and will lecture museum visitors about the horrors of the Nazi regime. After the five students and three school staff went back to the museum, where each student apologised to war veterans and museum staff for their childish actions.
This latest schoolboy mea culpa, follows on from a similar one made earlier by Lincoln University students. The 15 students were fined $200 each, made to write an essay on the Holocaust and visit the Holocaust Centre and the German embassy, both in Wellington, at their own expense. And what was their sin? They had attended a student party dressed as Nazis and concentration camp victims.
Now while the actions of both the Lincoln students and the Auckland schoolboys were stupid, in bad taste and juvenile – are people not just being a little precious about their antics? Have we not blown things out of proportion a little here? Have we forgotten how to put things in perspective anymore?
Now, before I am accused of being a holocaust denier or a neo Nazi sympathiser, let me clarify that I think the antics of both lots of students were stupid and silly – but hardly the crime of the century. I suggest a kick up the arse and behind the scenes bollocking would suffice. But do we really need to have the public flagellations to make us all feel better?
In the Auckland Grammar case, if you put five 16 year boys together on a school trip, unsupervised and give them a camera – you are asking for trouble. I think the general public of New Zealand can be grateful we were only subjected to photos the boys goose stepping and clowning around in front of swastikas and not confronted with numerous shots of teenage genitalia!
As for the Lincoln students antics – as a former attendee of that illustrious educational institution – I can honestly say if that is the most bad taste, politically incorrect behaviour they get up to at Lincoln piss ups nowadays, then the place is a kindergarten compared to 20 years ago! I would suggest both the University Council and do-gooders who complained about the students drunken behaviour – take a quick flick through a copy of Lincoln’s capping magazine over the past decade – and they will need to take a wee lie down. If they want to see sexism, racism, anti-Semitism or any other kind of ‘ism’ these serial whingers seem to worry incessantly about – then it will be all in front of them in black and white!
Meanwhile, speaking of do-gooders and serial whingers; race relations Commissioner [now there is a job that screams: ‘I am a professional apologist’] Joris de Bres is quoted that he was ashamed to be an old boy of Auckland Grammar after the actions of the schoolboys. What a tosser! If I had anything to do with the Auckland Grammar Old Boys Association; I would be encouraging the entire student roll to change the school outfit to a Gestapo uniform just to piss off do-gooding Joris!
I would say to Joris – just as John Cleese’s Basil Fawlty (another infamous Nazi impersonator, but I don’t see calls for bans of Fawlty Towers re-runs) famously said; “Go away, you are a waste of space!”
Not so long ago, the University of Otago were running a national advertising campaign extolling the virtues of both the university and people’s reluctance to moved to the city of Dunedin with the tag line – ‘get over it’!
I think that is excellent advice in these two cases. Surely there are more serious and important things we as a country should be worrying about, than what a bunch of silly schoolboys or drunken uni students do for entertainment – silly as it may be!
The latest case of our self-induced, grief-stricken, collective offence comes following news that a group of Auckland Grammar School schoolboys who recently posted photos of themselves on Facebook being foolish in front of Nazi regalia. The images showed the boys, in school uniform, kissing a swastika, making a Nazi salute, and kneeling in homage before a Nazi flag at the Auckland War Memorial Museum’s exhibition.
The boys have now made a tearful apology and will lecture museum visitors about the horrors of the Nazi regime. After the five students and three school staff went back to the museum, where each student apologised to war veterans and museum staff for their childish actions.
This latest schoolboy mea culpa, follows on from a similar one made earlier by Lincoln University students. The 15 students were fined $200 each, made to write an essay on the Holocaust and visit the Holocaust Centre and the German embassy, both in Wellington, at their own expense. And what was their sin? They had attended a student party dressed as Nazis and concentration camp victims.
Now while the actions of both the Lincoln students and the Auckland schoolboys were stupid, in bad taste and juvenile – are people not just being a little precious about their antics? Have we not blown things out of proportion a little here? Have we forgotten how to put things in perspective anymore?
Now, before I am accused of being a holocaust denier or a neo Nazi sympathiser, let me clarify that I think the antics of both lots of students were stupid and silly – but hardly the crime of the century. I suggest a kick up the arse and behind the scenes bollocking would suffice. But do we really need to have the public flagellations to make us all feel better?
In the Auckland Grammar case, if you put five 16 year boys together on a school trip, unsupervised and give them a camera – you are asking for trouble. I think the general public of New Zealand can be grateful we were only subjected to photos the boys goose stepping and clowning around in front of swastikas and not confronted with numerous shots of teenage genitalia!
As for the Lincoln students antics – as a former attendee of that illustrious educational institution – I can honestly say if that is the most bad taste, politically incorrect behaviour they get up to at Lincoln piss ups nowadays, then the place is a kindergarten compared to 20 years ago! I would suggest both the University Council and do-gooders who complained about the students drunken behaviour – take a quick flick through a copy of Lincoln’s capping magazine over the past decade – and they will need to take a wee lie down. If they want to see sexism, racism, anti-Semitism or any other kind of ‘ism’ these serial whingers seem to worry incessantly about – then it will be all in front of them in black and white!
Meanwhile, speaking of do-gooders and serial whingers; race relations Commissioner [now there is a job that screams: ‘I am a professional apologist’] Joris de Bres is quoted that he was ashamed to be an old boy of Auckland Grammar after the actions of the schoolboys. What a tosser! If I had anything to do with the Auckland Grammar Old Boys Association; I would be encouraging the entire student roll to change the school outfit to a Gestapo uniform just to piss off do-gooding Joris!
I would say to Joris – just as John Cleese’s Basil Fawlty (another infamous Nazi impersonator, but I don’t see calls for bans of Fawlty Towers re-runs) famously said; “Go away, you are a waste of space!”
Not so long ago, the University of Otago were running a national advertising campaign extolling the virtues of both the university and people’s reluctance to moved to the city of Dunedin with the tag line – ‘get over it’!
I think that is excellent advice in these two cases. Surely there are more serious and important things we as a country should be worrying about, than what a bunch of silly schoolboys or drunken uni students do for entertainment – silly as it may be!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
One ring to beat them all
Well, I have gone and done it!
After 42 some-odd years trucking happily (and, at times, not so happily) along in life on my own account – I have finally got myself hitched.
To tell the truth, I am really happy about it – as I know I have found the person whom I want to share the rest of my life with.
Quite frankly, I had got to a stage in life where – being over 40 and still single – I thought that the good ship marriage had passed me by. But fortunately for me, about 18 months ago I met Jo and some18 months later, when I popped the question to her she said - yes.
Now being a bloke – and admittedly rather unobservant and non-plussed about all the rituals surrounding weddings and the associated palaver – I stupidly thought that since I had asked the question, the major hassle was over and the rest of this marriage nonsense would look after itself.
However, just as talk-show host David Letterman has recently and rather inadvertently discovered that porking all the female interns on his show is not conducive to a long and happy marriage. I too have found that popping the question is just the first step in a long and harrowing journey to one’s wedding day!
Firstly there is setting the actual date. Now any reasonable person would think an educated, intelligent, independent couple could just look up a calendar, pick a date and bob’s your uncle – wedding day sorted! Yeah, right! They could make a Tui billboard about that one!
Apparently, the date of one’s nuptials is not that easy. I am learning this is because you also need to consider some, part and/or all of the following:
When you will get married; what time of year you will get married; where you want to get married; if it will be a church wedding or not; if so, is the church you want available; who you will invite, who you will not invite; who you are going to marry (no – that one is sorted)? What kind of catering do you want; where you will have the reception; what kind of reception will you have; which priest will marry you; when is he available? Yada, yada, yada! It is a bit like the Japs during WW2 – questions like these just keep on coming!
But to tell the truth, that is the simple stuff. If you really want to make your head spin – then try sorting out the rings.
And I say rings – plural – because not only is there to be an engagement ring. Some big, bedazzled, diamond encrusted masterpiece – that is worth the equivalent of the GDP of a small, African nation. But there is also the wedding band for the woman – which must of course match the aforementioned engagement ring ensemble. But then there is the vexed question of the bloke’s wedding band.
Now I must to confess that yours truly is no fan of male jewellry. In fact, it makes me uncomfortable. I come from a rather conservative, rural background where men who wore rings were either considered camp as a row of girl-guide tents or a wannabe used car salesmen. Neither proposition is all that appealing.
There is also another problem and this one, I am afraid, is genetic! Males in my family are blessed – or more correctly, cursed – with fat, sausage-type fingers. I come from generations of farming stock, where working the land (and perhaps a dash of in-breeding) has somehow mutated the male members of my family fingers’ into short, fat stumps stuck on the end of our hands.
As you can imagine, this does not make them ideal vessels for the wearing of rings. In fact, a ring on my finger is about as elegant to the sight of an All Black prop in a mini skirt – it is just not pretty.
So, I am in a bit of a quandary as Jo is keen on me wearing a wedding band, but on the other hand (no pun intended) I have the issue with wearing rings as outlined above. Who knows what the outcome will be, but all I know is that ring or no ring I am happy to be getting married.
Now, is there anyone out there who knows a good place to hold a wedding reception around the greater Auckland area?
After 42 some-odd years trucking happily (and, at times, not so happily) along in life on my own account – I have finally got myself hitched.
To tell the truth, I am really happy about it – as I know I have found the person whom I want to share the rest of my life with.
Quite frankly, I had got to a stage in life where – being over 40 and still single – I thought that the good ship marriage had passed me by. But fortunately for me, about 18 months ago I met Jo and some18 months later, when I popped the question to her she said - yes.
Now being a bloke – and admittedly rather unobservant and non-plussed about all the rituals surrounding weddings and the associated palaver – I stupidly thought that since I had asked the question, the major hassle was over and the rest of this marriage nonsense would look after itself.
However, just as talk-show host David Letterman has recently and rather inadvertently discovered that porking all the female interns on his show is not conducive to a long and happy marriage. I too have found that popping the question is just the first step in a long and harrowing journey to one’s wedding day!
Firstly there is setting the actual date. Now any reasonable person would think an educated, intelligent, independent couple could just look up a calendar, pick a date and bob’s your uncle – wedding day sorted! Yeah, right! They could make a Tui billboard about that one!
Apparently, the date of one’s nuptials is not that easy. I am learning this is because you also need to consider some, part and/or all of the following:
When you will get married; what time of year you will get married; where you want to get married; if it will be a church wedding or not; if so, is the church you want available; who you will invite, who you will not invite; who you are going to marry (no – that one is sorted)? What kind of catering do you want; where you will have the reception; what kind of reception will you have; which priest will marry you; when is he available? Yada, yada, yada! It is a bit like the Japs during WW2 – questions like these just keep on coming!
But to tell the truth, that is the simple stuff. If you really want to make your head spin – then try sorting out the rings.
And I say rings – plural – because not only is there to be an engagement ring. Some big, bedazzled, diamond encrusted masterpiece – that is worth the equivalent of the GDP of a small, African nation. But there is also the wedding band for the woman – which must of course match the aforementioned engagement ring ensemble. But then there is the vexed question of the bloke’s wedding band.
Now I must to confess that yours truly is no fan of male jewellry. In fact, it makes me uncomfortable. I come from a rather conservative, rural background where men who wore rings were either considered camp as a row of girl-guide tents or a wannabe used car salesmen. Neither proposition is all that appealing.
There is also another problem and this one, I am afraid, is genetic! Males in my family are blessed – or more correctly, cursed – with fat, sausage-type fingers. I come from generations of farming stock, where working the land (and perhaps a dash of in-breeding) has somehow mutated the male members of my family fingers’ into short, fat stumps stuck on the end of our hands.
As you can imagine, this does not make them ideal vessels for the wearing of rings. In fact, a ring on my finger is about as elegant to the sight of an All Black prop in a mini skirt – it is just not pretty.
So, I am in a bit of a quandary as Jo is keen on me wearing a wedding band, but on the other hand (no pun intended) I have the issue with wearing rings as outlined above. Who knows what the outcome will be, but all I know is that ring or no ring I am happy to be getting married.
Now, is there anyone out there who knows a good place to hold a wedding reception around the greater Auckland area?
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Goodbye and God bless
Today, I lost a very important person in my life.
Bert was 88 years old. While I had only known him for a little under three years – and only really well in the past year or so, I will miss him a great deal.
Bert died in hospital overnight after a short and sudden illness. I am glad about that – not that he has gone – but that he did not suffer a long and painful death. I am also glad that I was able to visit him in hospital and say goodbye to him before he went.
So how come this old man was so important to me? It is hard to put into words, but I will try and explain why.
I first met Bert almost three years ago, when I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Bert was what they call in AA an ‘old timer’. Now that is not a slight on his advancing years or in any way a derogatory term. In fact, it is very much a mark of respect in a fellowship that looks up to those who have managed to clock up a number of years of sobriety and willingly pass on their experience and wisdom to those of us new to living life without alcohol – known as the ‘new-comers’.
And Bert passed on his wisdom and experience with kindness and generosity. He taught me that just because one no longer chose to drink alcohol – you could still have a full and wonderful life. Bert was truly a living in example of what he talked about as he did live a full and wonderful life.
My old friend also passed on to me – not just in his words, but also in his deeds – that to aspire to such a life; one has to freely give to those who want the same. He never lectured or was sanctimonious. He did not sugar coat things or make himself out to be an AA guru, old Bert just told his story.
He explained how he was not sure exactly how or why AA worked, but that it did. He told me not to try an over analyse it and to just believe. He also pointed out that just because I no longer drank, this didn’t mean that bad stuff would now no longer happen in life – but with AA I had been given the tools to better deal with life’s ups and downs.
I was also privileged to enjoy Bert’s company outside of the rooms of AA. For the past year, most Sunday mornings I would join my old mate for the 7.30 am Mass at St Joseph’s, Takapuna. He would always save me a seat right beside him and would great me with a cherry smile and witty quip like: “I wondered when you were going to turn up” – as I invariably snuck in beside him just as the proceedings were about to begin.
Afterwards, we would meet outside church and have a friendly chat. We would then wish each other the best for the week ahead and promise to see each other again at the Thursday night meeting in Takapuna.
Without him there beside me in Mass this morning there was a huge space alongside me in my pew. While Bert may have not been a big man in a physical sense – he was a huge and gentle man in every other respect.
Bert was also a World War Two veteran, a desert rat who had experienced all the reality and horrors of war in North Africa. However, he did not boast or play up his war efforts, yet I suspect he had seen and endured things that would have given him the right to.
I am grateful for the short time I had Bert in my life. His impact on me has been greater than he could have ever known. I will forever remember the glint in his eye and the kind and wise words he shared with me.
I can honestly say that I loved Bert and will miss him terribly. However, I feel the best way I can honour his memory is to try and live my life like he did and pass on my experiences to others who struggle with booze.
Goodbye and God bless my old mate.
Bert was 88 years old. While I had only known him for a little under three years – and only really well in the past year or so, I will miss him a great deal.
Bert died in hospital overnight after a short and sudden illness. I am glad about that – not that he has gone – but that he did not suffer a long and painful death. I am also glad that I was able to visit him in hospital and say goodbye to him before he went.
So how come this old man was so important to me? It is hard to put into words, but I will try and explain why.
I first met Bert almost three years ago, when I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Bert was what they call in AA an ‘old timer’. Now that is not a slight on his advancing years or in any way a derogatory term. In fact, it is very much a mark of respect in a fellowship that looks up to those who have managed to clock up a number of years of sobriety and willingly pass on their experience and wisdom to those of us new to living life without alcohol – known as the ‘new-comers’.
And Bert passed on his wisdom and experience with kindness and generosity. He taught me that just because one no longer chose to drink alcohol – you could still have a full and wonderful life. Bert was truly a living in example of what he talked about as he did live a full and wonderful life.
My old friend also passed on to me – not just in his words, but also in his deeds – that to aspire to such a life; one has to freely give to those who want the same. He never lectured or was sanctimonious. He did not sugar coat things or make himself out to be an AA guru, old Bert just told his story.
He explained how he was not sure exactly how or why AA worked, but that it did. He told me not to try an over analyse it and to just believe. He also pointed out that just because I no longer drank, this didn’t mean that bad stuff would now no longer happen in life – but with AA I had been given the tools to better deal with life’s ups and downs.
I was also privileged to enjoy Bert’s company outside of the rooms of AA. For the past year, most Sunday mornings I would join my old mate for the 7.30 am Mass at St Joseph’s, Takapuna. He would always save me a seat right beside him and would great me with a cherry smile and witty quip like: “I wondered when you were going to turn up” – as I invariably snuck in beside him just as the proceedings were about to begin.
Afterwards, we would meet outside church and have a friendly chat. We would then wish each other the best for the week ahead and promise to see each other again at the Thursday night meeting in Takapuna.
Without him there beside me in Mass this morning there was a huge space alongside me in my pew. While Bert may have not been a big man in a physical sense – he was a huge and gentle man in every other respect.
Bert was also a World War Two veteran, a desert rat who had experienced all the reality and horrors of war in North Africa. However, he did not boast or play up his war efforts, yet I suspect he had seen and endured things that would have given him the right to.
I am grateful for the short time I had Bert in my life. His impact on me has been greater than he could have ever known. I will forever remember the glint in his eye and the kind and wise words he shared with me.
I can honestly say that I loved Bert and will miss him terribly. However, I feel the best way I can honour his memory is to try and live my life like he did and pass on my experiences to others who struggle with booze.
Goodbye and God bless my old mate.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Going down without a tweet…
I admit it – it was nothing but a silly gimmick and a complete waste of time.
What the hell was I thinking doing it? Who was I trying to kid? And why has it taken me so long to realise all of this?
All good questions and hopefully I can give some useful answers to these.
But first, let me confess my sins. Forgive me father for it has been two whole months since I last sent a tweet and I have now come to the conclusion what an utter waste of time and effort it is in a sad old fart like me having a Twitter account.
For those of you who are either not young and cool enough – or like yours truly foolish enough – to get caught up in the over-hyped, social media phenomena that is Twitter; let me explain exactly what it is.
Twitter is a free social networking and micro-blogging service that enables its users to send and read messages known as tweets. Tweets are text-based posts of up to 140 characters displayed. The basic premise of Twitter is to let people know ‘what you are up to right now’.
That’s right, the whole raison d’etre of Twitter is to let your ‘followers’ (code for your on-line stalkers) know exactly what you are up to at that very second – in 140 characters or less!
So just what kind of self-absorbed, attention seeking, lazy, full of their own self importance type of wanker wants the whole world to know what they are up every minute of the day? Well, funny you should ask. It appears the main users of Twitter are either teenagers, twenty-somethings, politicians, celebrities or actors. I guess the earlier description catches all those groups rather nicely!
As far as I can ascertain, Twitter is Facebook with a bad case of ADD.
Now don’t get me started on Facebook. I so over the constant hassling you get from all those social retards, geeks and tossers you never associated with at school or university wanting you to be their ‘friend’.
Here’s a newsflash for all those delusional dead beats who are so desperate to be my friend: “If I didn’t like you back then – I’m hardly likely to want to have anything to do with you now. Got that Poindexter!”
However, if things do change and I have a sudden urge to add you to my social circle – I will do something crazy like ring you up or go around and pay you a visit. Not send you some random email out of the blue after 20 years and invite myself into your life.
So just to recap – I have sent my last tweet. There will be more tittle-tattle on Twitter for me – it’s for twits, twats, tweens and tragics.
What the hell was I thinking doing it? Who was I trying to kid? And why has it taken me so long to realise all of this?
All good questions and hopefully I can give some useful answers to these.
But first, let me confess my sins. Forgive me father for it has been two whole months since I last sent a tweet and I have now come to the conclusion what an utter waste of time and effort it is in a sad old fart like me having a Twitter account.
For those of you who are either not young and cool enough – or like yours truly foolish enough – to get caught up in the over-hyped, social media phenomena that is Twitter; let me explain exactly what it is.
Twitter is a free social networking and micro-blogging service that enables its users to send and read messages known as tweets. Tweets are text-based posts of up to 140 characters displayed. The basic premise of Twitter is to let people know ‘what you are up to right now’.
That’s right, the whole raison d’etre of Twitter is to let your ‘followers’ (code for your on-line stalkers) know exactly what you are up to at that very second – in 140 characters or less!
So just what kind of self-absorbed, attention seeking, lazy, full of their own self importance type of wanker wants the whole world to know what they are up every minute of the day? Well, funny you should ask. It appears the main users of Twitter are either teenagers, twenty-somethings, politicians, celebrities or actors. I guess the earlier description catches all those groups rather nicely!
As far as I can ascertain, Twitter is Facebook with a bad case of ADD.
Now don’t get me started on Facebook. I so over the constant hassling you get from all those social retards, geeks and tossers you never associated with at school or university wanting you to be their ‘friend’.
Here’s a newsflash for all those delusional dead beats who are so desperate to be my friend: “If I didn’t like you back then – I’m hardly likely to want to have anything to do with you now. Got that Poindexter!”
However, if things do change and I have a sudden urge to add you to my social circle – I will do something crazy like ring you up or go around and pay you a visit. Not send you some random email out of the blue after 20 years and invite myself into your life.
So just to recap – I have sent my last tweet. There will be more tittle-tattle on Twitter for me – it’s for twits, twats, tweens and tragics.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
What is good enough for the goose
The Saint is pleased to see that Finance Minister Bill English has finally taken the bull by the horns and decided to forgo any future ministerial housing allowance and also pay back what he has already claimed.
He has now paid back more than $32,000 and pledged not to claim any more taxpayer cash for housing. That is a pretty heavy price to pay to get the media and others off his back.
English has been under fire over allowances claimed for living in his $1.2 million Wellington house, and has been unable to shut down the controversy since it was revealed back in July.
The deputy prime minister finally admitted yesterday that the row over his housing allowance had taken his attention away from running the economy. While I doubt that is true, as he is a focused man. But he is right his housing issue has been the focus of both the media and opposition attacks. It’s like he had painted a massive bulls-eye on his forehead and asked his critics to take free pot shots – which they gladly accepted.
I do feel sorry for English as he has done nothing legally or ethically wrong – and I am sure this will be proven down the track. Having in a past life worked for him, the Saint knows that Bill English is as honest as the day. He also is a big family man and believes it is important to have his family near him – that is why he moved them all to Wellington all those years ago.
Under the parliamentary rules he was entitled to do this as he is an electorate MP with a home based in Southland. He saw Southland as his home – despite him and his family having lived in Wellington for the past 10 years.
All ok by the rules, yet when you are a politician you need to look at more than the rules. As the well known axiom in politics says – perception is reality. And there was a real perception out there that English was milking the system for his own advantage. Not true, not fair, but when the issue is been fanned up by political opponents and run by a scandal-hungry media – poor old Bill was always on a hiding to nothing.
In fact it had got so bad that TV was actually polling people to ask them if they thought English was ripping off the system. The wily politician knew it was getting out of hand and that he needed to lance the boil – and now he has done this.
So has he done enough by biting the bullet and paying back $32k and giving up any future housing entitlement for the public to forgive and forget? It will be interesting to see. I am not sure he can much more - except commit hari kari. I doubt if the punters think he should do that and reckon he is now back at ground zero!
However, the Opposition seem intent to hounding him more. The say it will continue the attacks, with Labour’s Pete Hodgson saying Mr English's surprise backdown did not end the matter. While Jim Anderton says he is also unwilling to let it go.
But the Saint suggests these continued attacks could backfire. After-all both Hodgson and Anderton were Ministers for nine years and lived on the taxpayers’ account in Wellington. Will the media spotlight now shine on their tenure of suckling on the public purse? How do they feel about opening their books to the all and sundry?
Also how do the public feel about the $100,000 each year Anderton claims as a “party leader’ (who knew hiring a phone box to hold his annual conference should cost us all so much) despite telling his fellow Progressives to join Labour? Surely this is a rort that he can no longer publically justify – even if it is within the rules?
C’mon Jim, those in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones. The Saint can hear all your panels smashing. At least Bill English has paid for his sins – when will you?
He has now paid back more than $32,000 and pledged not to claim any more taxpayer cash for housing. That is a pretty heavy price to pay to get the media and others off his back.
English has been under fire over allowances claimed for living in his $1.2 million Wellington house, and has been unable to shut down the controversy since it was revealed back in July.
The deputy prime minister finally admitted yesterday that the row over his housing allowance had taken his attention away from running the economy. While I doubt that is true, as he is a focused man. But he is right his housing issue has been the focus of both the media and opposition attacks. It’s like he had painted a massive bulls-eye on his forehead and asked his critics to take free pot shots – which they gladly accepted.
I do feel sorry for English as he has done nothing legally or ethically wrong – and I am sure this will be proven down the track. Having in a past life worked for him, the Saint knows that Bill English is as honest as the day. He also is a big family man and believes it is important to have his family near him – that is why he moved them all to Wellington all those years ago.
Under the parliamentary rules he was entitled to do this as he is an electorate MP with a home based in Southland. He saw Southland as his home – despite him and his family having lived in Wellington for the past 10 years.
All ok by the rules, yet when you are a politician you need to look at more than the rules. As the well known axiom in politics says – perception is reality. And there was a real perception out there that English was milking the system for his own advantage. Not true, not fair, but when the issue is been fanned up by political opponents and run by a scandal-hungry media – poor old Bill was always on a hiding to nothing.
In fact it had got so bad that TV was actually polling people to ask them if they thought English was ripping off the system. The wily politician knew it was getting out of hand and that he needed to lance the boil – and now he has done this.
So has he done enough by biting the bullet and paying back $32k and giving up any future housing entitlement for the public to forgive and forget? It will be interesting to see. I am not sure he can much more - except commit hari kari. I doubt if the punters think he should do that and reckon he is now back at ground zero!
However, the Opposition seem intent to hounding him more. The say it will continue the attacks, with Labour’s Pete Hodgson saying Mr English's surprise backdown did not end the matter. While Jim Anderton says he is also unwilling to let it go.
But the Saint suggests these continued attacks could backfire. After-all both Hodgson and Anderton were Ministers for nine years and lived on the taxpayers’ account in Wellington. Will the media spotlight now shine on their tenure of suckling on the public purse? How do they feel about opening their books to the all and sundry?
Also how do the public feel about the $100,000 each year Anderton claims as a “party leader’ (who knew hiring a phone box to hold his annual conference should cost us all so much) despite telling his fellow Progressives to join Labour? Surely this is a rort that he can no longer publically justify – even if it is within the rules?
C’mon Jim, those in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones. The Saint can hear all your panels smashing. At least Bill English has paid for his sins – when will you?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Greenies want us to cut down more trees in NZ!
The Saint was not surprised to see yet another cheap publicity stunt being used by self-proclaimed environ-mental (with an emphasis on the mental) do-gooders - wanting to screw both our economy and those in developing countries as well.
Greenpeace’s latest protest is against the use of palm kernel animal feed. This has seen its activists chain themselves to a ship in Tauranga’s port and unveil banners that read "Fonterra Climate Crime", while calling for the Prime Minister to ban palm kernel feed imports. These “environmentalists” claim that palm oil plantations cause destruction to rainforests in Indonesia and Malaysia, and threaten species including orangutans.
However, to put a little more perspective into some of the warped claims being made by Greenpeace and other do-gooders, who would rather chain themselves to ships and create a media circus, than actually tell the full truth - the Saint recently came across an informative article written by one Dr Yusof Basiron of the Malaysian Palm Oil Council. Now your old mate is not completely naïve or gullible enough to think that Dr Basiron does not have an agenda in promoting the benefits of palm oil. Of course he does! Let’s face it the man is – after all – the paid mouthpiece and front man for the industry.
However, is his view any less blinkered than the anti-palm oil critics such as Greenpeace? I seriously doubt it. But then again, the media do not give the palm oil industry unfettered space in their newspapers and TV programmes to make all kinds of unsupported and outrageous statements that allows NGOs to impart maximum damage to the image of palm oil products.
The Saint read some facts about palm oil by provided the good doctor and then weigh them up against the claims being made by anti-palm oil campaigners to help give some balance to this debate. Here is what he came up with.
Palm oil is exported mainly from Malaysia and Indonesia and produced from legitimate agricultural lands - just like competing soybean or rapeseed oils. Palm oil has helped farmers in Malaysia and Indonesia climb out of the poverty trap. With oil palm as their main crop, farmers in Malaysia and Indonesia are now earning US $20 per day – compared to US$ 2 per day they were making 30 years ago when oil palm was not a major crop. (Perhaps the anti palm oil crusaders, would like to explain to farmers and plantation workers who want to have a better life just like their counterparts in developed nations, why they should not be able to!).
Greenpeace’s campaign against the use of palm kernel extract (PKE) as an animal feed by the dairy industry is based on claims that demand for PKE by New Zealand dairy farmers helps cause deforestation in Indonesia and Malaysia. Yet, the Greenies neglect to explain that PKE is actually only a by-product - even a waste product - of producing palm oil. The fact is that until it was found that PKE could be actually fed to cows - it was thrown away! So in fact, PKE use by NZ farmers makes no difference to forests being cut down in Asia, as the palm oil is still being produced anyway!
So is not the use of PKE actually making the production of palm oil a more efficient, productive, sustainable and carbon friendly product? The Saint thought greenies loved these kinds of buzz words. Perhaps if palm oil was able to be used to fuel trains then it would get the green tick. (Why do smelly hippies like trains so much?)
Another point the anti-palm oil crusaders forget to mention is that NZ’s natural forests were mostly wiped in the 19th and 20th centuries. These natural forests were replaced with grazing land, to produce milk, meat, and wool – which are now the country’s main exports. It begs the question: why is an agricultural product produced out of deforested land in New Zealand acceptable to Greenpeace, while an agricultural product from deforested land in Malaysia demonized? Both countries cleared land for agricultural purposes long ago. Seems to be both somewhat xenophobic, as well as economically illiterate
Meanwhile, by discouraging New Zealand farmers from using palm kernel meal as a supplementary feed for cows, this will damage the country’s fragile economy as milk yield and diary production will surely decline. (Palm kernel meal helps increase milk yield significantly). Without palm kernel meal, dairy farmers will have to supplement the feed shortage and overcome yield decline, by having larger grazing areas. This means more trees will need to be cut down and a much larger area needed to be deforested in New Zealand. What about reducing the country’s carbon footprint and enhancing New Zealand’s clean, green image!
So by wanting to ban PKE imports into New Zealand, one can fairly conclude that Greenpeace is not only racist, economically illiterate but also wants New Zealanders to cut down more trees! Ok, we better start the chainsaws.
See what happens when you fudge information to jump to self determined outcomes.
Greenpeace’s latest protest is against the use of palm kernel animal feed. This has seen its activists chain themselves to a ship in Tauranga’s port and unveil banners that read "Fonterra Climate Crime", while calling for the Prime Minister to ban palm kernel feed imports. These “environmentalists” claim that palm oil plantations cause destruction to rainforests in Indonesia and Malaysia, and threaten species including orangutans.
However, to put a little more perspective into some of the warped claims being made by Greenpeace and other do-gooders, who would rather chain themselves to ships and create a media circus, than actually tell the full truth - the Saint recently came across an informative article written by one Dr Yusof Basiron of the Malaysian Palm Oil Council. Now your old mate is not completely naïve or gullible enough to think that Dr Basiron does not have an agenda in promoting the benefits of palm oil. Of course he does! Let’s face it the man is – after all – the paid mouthpiece and front man for the industry.
However, is his view any less blinkered than the anti-palm oil critics such as Greenpeace? I seriously doubt it. But then again, the media do not give the palm oil industry unfettered space in their newspapers and TV programmes to make all kinds of unsupported and outrageous statements that allows NGOs to impart maximum damage to the image of palm oil products.
The Saint read some facts about palm oil by provided the good doctor and then weigh them up against the claims being made by anti-palm oil campaigners to help give some balance to this debate. Here is what he came up with.
Palm oil is exported mainly from Malaysia and Indonesia and produced from legitimate agricultural lands - just like competing soybean or rapeseed oils. Palm oil has helped farmers in Malaysia and Indonesia climb out of the poverty trap. With oil palm as their main crop, farmers in Malaysia and Indonesia are now earning US $20 per day – compared to US$ 2 per day they were making 30 years ago when oil palm was not a major crop. (Perhaps the anti palm oil crusaders, would like to explain to farmers and plantation workers who want to have a better life just like their counterparts in developed nations, why they should not be able to!).
Greenpeace’s campaign against the use of palm kernel extract (PKE) as an animal feed by the dairy industry is based on claims that demand for PKE by New Zealand dairy farmers helps cause deforestation in Indonesia and Malaysia. Yet, the Greenies neglect to explain that PKE is actually only a by-product - even a waste product - of producing palm oil. The fact is that until it was found that PKE could be actually fed to cows - it was thrown away! So in fact, PKE use by NZ farmers makes no difference to forests being cut down in Asia, as the palm oil is still being produced anyway!
So is not the use of PKE actually making the production of palm oil a more efficient, productive, sustainable and carbon friendly product? The Saint thought greenies loved these kinds of buzz words. Perhaps if palm oil was able to be used to fuel trains then it would get the green tick. (Why do smelly hippies like trains so much?)
Another point the anti-palm oil crusaders forget to mention is that NZ’s natural forests were mostly wiped in the 19th and 20th centuries. These natural forests were replaced with grazing land, to produce milk, meat, and wool – which are now the country’s main exports. It begs the question: why is an agricultural product produced out of deforested land in New Zealand acceptable to Greenpeace, while an agricultural product from deforested land in Malaysia demonized? Both countries cleared land for agricultural purposes long ago. Seems to be both somewhat xenophobic, as well as economically illiterate
Meanwhile, by discouraging New Zealand farmers from using palm kernel meal as a supplementary feed for cows, this will damage the country’s fragile economy as milk yield and diary production will surely decline. (Palm kernel meal helps increase milk yield significantly). Without palm kernel meal, dairy farmers will have to supplement the feed shortage and overcome yield decline, by having larger grazing areas. This means more trees will need to be cut down and a much larger area needed to be deforested in New Zealand. What about reducing the country’s carbon footprint and enhancing New Zealand’s clean, green image!
So by wanting to ban PKE imports into New Zealand, one can fairly conclude that Greenpeace is not only racist, economically illiterate but also wants New Zealanders to cut down more trees! Ok, we better start the chainsaws.
See what happens when you fudge information to jump to self determined outcomes.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Putting the hole back into Hami-hole
The Saint was rather amused by – and then bemused by the reaction – to the comments of Springbok coach Peter de Villiers, and others, on why his team had decided not to stay in Hamilton this week, during the build up to the test match against the All Blacks on Saturday night in that city.
A while ago leading South African rugby journalist Mark Keohane, a former Springboks media manager, dubbed Hamilton as “Hicksville” and made no secret of teams from the republic wanting to avoid spending too much time there. A couple of years ago, former Australian fullback and former Queensland Red’s skipper Chris Latham blamed his team’s loss to the Chiefs on them being bored because that had to stay in Hamilton.
Meanwhile, the hapless De Villers – who to be quite Francis – has a knack of inserting both feet in his mouth on most occasions, would have gained a fair amount of sympathy from people when he acknowledged his world champion team would rather stay on the Gold Coast than spend the week in Hamilton.
Let’s get real here and put aside all the fake indignation over the Yarpies bagging of Hamilton. We have all done it – by calling it the Tron, Hamil-hole, Cowtown. Hamilton’s only real claim to fame is being the sexually-transmitted disease capital of New Zealand. Hicksville Hamilton, billed a place so boring even rugby players can't stand to spend time in it. And the Saint agrees whole heartedly.
So why did the cow pats hit the fan when poor old “Two Feet” Pete admitted there was bugger all to do in Hamilton and the Springbok squad would get bored in Hamilton if they stayed there for a week? So why all the fuss when the South Africans chose to bypass Hamilton and the very high risk of gaining a STV ( and I am not talking about any long distance phone calls back to South Africa), and instead enjoy the sunshine and fun parks of the Gold Coast?
I pretty sure any reasonable person would have chosen to as well. Unfortunately for de Villiers, Hamilton – and in fact the greater Waikato region – is somewhat short on the ground of reasonable folk. Probably something to do with the province’s over representation of dairy farmers and its reputation for in-breeding – and not just cows!. Anyhoo, I digress.
There is no doubt that de Villier’s candid comment, saw much gnashing of teeth and wringing of six-fingered hands in the cowbell capital. But the reality is there the pace is a dump.
In a previous life, the Saint had the misfortune of having – each year – to attend the National Fieldays just out of Hamilton. It was four days of hell and Hamilton was always the foggiest, wettest, coldest shithole he ever had the misfortune to visit. Lucky for the Springboks that tonight’s test is being played in September and not in the middle of June when the Fieldays are.
The Saint has real sympathy for Peter de Villiers and his honest opinion about Hamilton. Honestly, the place is full of bogans and fat dairy farmers' wives and best thing about Hamilton is leaving the place. End of story.
Go the All Blacks!
A while ago leading South African rugby journalist Mark Keohane, a former Springboks media manager, dubbed Hamilton as “Hicksville” and made no secret of teams from the republic wanting to avoid spending too much time there. A couple of years ago, former Australian fullback and former Queensland Red’s skipper Chris Latham blamed his team’s loss to the Chiefs on them being bored because that had to stay in Hamilton.
Meanwhile, the hapless De Villers – who to be quite Francis – has a knack of inserting both feet in his mouth on most occasions, would have gained a fair amount of sympathy from people when he acknowledged his world champion team would rather stay on the Gold Coast than spend the week in Hamilton.
Let’s get real here and put aside all the fake indignation over the Yarpies bagging of Hamilton. We have all done it – by calling it the Tron, Hamil-hole, Cowtown. Hamilton’s only real claim to fame is being the sexually-transmitted disease capital of New Zealand. Hicksville Hamilton, billed a place so boring even rugby players can't stand to spend time in it. And the Saint agrees whole heartedly.
So why did the cow pats hit the fan when poor old “Two Feet” Pete admitted there was bugger all to do in Hamilton and the Springbok squad would get bored in Hamilton if they stayed there for a week? So why all the fuss when the South Africans chose to bypass Hamilton and the very high risk of gaining a STV ( and I am not talking about any long distance phone calls back to South Africa), and instead enjoy the sunshine and fun parks of the Gold Coast?
I pretty sure any reasonable person would have chosen to as well. Unfortunately for de Villiers, Hamilton – and in fact the greater Waikato region – is somewhat short on the ground of reasonable folk. Probably something to do with the province’s over representation of dairy farmers and its reputation for in-breeding – and not just cows!. Anyhoo, I digress.
There is no doubt that de Villier’s candid comment, saw much gnashing of teeth and wringing of six-fingered hands in the cowbell capital. But the reality is there the pace is a dump.
In a previous life, the Saint had the misfortune of having – each year – to attend the National Fieldays just out of Hamilton. It was four days of hell and Hamilton was always the foggiest, wettest, coldest shithole he ever had the misfortune to visit. Lucky for the Springboks that tonight’s test is being played in September and not in the middle of June when the Fieldays are.
The Saint has real sympathy for Peter de Villiers and his honest opinion about Hamilton. Honestly, the place is full of bogans and fat dairy farmers' wives and best thing about Hamilton is leaving the place. End of story.
Go the All Blacks!
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Plastic fantastic and the green propaganda
The Saint is delighted to see at least some sensible, people power finally paying dividends.
Your old mate’s bon vivant attitude towards his fellow man (and woman) was stirred up with Foodstuffs recent about turn over its ridiculous, stupid and rather foolish plastic bag tax.
The supermarket co-operative had decided - in a pique of faux green washing - a month or so back to impose a plastic bag tax on all of its customers. It appears the owners of the Countdown, New World and Four Square chains mistakenly thought this token effort would not only curry favour with consumers, but also earn them bonus green miles with the tree huggers as well.
However, following hugely negative customer backlash, in which all they seemed to achieve from the stupid 5 cent a bag charge was to piss their customers off and send them through the doors of their competitors and fierce rivals Progressive Enterprise, the powers that be at the co-op changed their minds and dropped plans for the bag charge.
This was done faster than your average Green MP claims air points, when they found out their customers were revolting. However, the saint humbly suggests, that it was not the customers who were revolting, but Foodstuffs for making such a wussy, lily-livered, feel good decision in the first place.
Apart from seriously misjudging their customers and the actual commitment of New Zealanders’ to non problems like this – especially when they are going to be charged for it – the Saint has a few more questions such as:
Just how serious a problem are plastic bags anyway? Is it really the number one environmental problem in world?
And, even if you believe all the doom and gloom propaganda emanating from the likes Greenpeace, the Green Party et el on a daily basis about the impending end of the world, is this the sort of issue a supermarket chain should be involved in.
Did Foodstuffs actually do any research in to the subject? Or did they just think their customers would tow the line because it was one of those green, feel good causes?
The fact is that there are so many myths about the evils of plastic bags circulating around in the media that it is not hard to get caught up in all the green wash. It seems our green friends have taken a leaf out of Hitler’s very able and very evil propaganda maestro Joseph Goebbels’ PR handbook by using the mantra of if you repeat a lie enough times the public will believe it. But if you cut through all the hype and puffery much of the anti plastic bag claims do not stack up.
Here are a just few examples:
Claim: Plastic bags kill 1,000 of marine mammals and sea turtles every year.
In the marine environment, plastic bag litter is lethal, killing thousands of whales, turtles and other sea life every year.
- World Wildlife Fund Report 2005
Fact: In 2006 the Australian government corrected claims that thousands of animals were being killed by plastic bags.
Note: In September 2006, the report was revised to correct an error on page 30.
The sentence:
'A figure of 100,000 marine animals killed annually has been widely quoted by environmental groups; this figure was from a study in Newfoundland which estimated the number of animals entrapped by plastic bags in that area from a four-year period from 1981-84'.
Has been replaced with:
'A figure of 100,000 marine animals killed annually has been widely quoted by environmental groups; this figure was from a study in Newfoundland which estimated the number of animals entrapped by plastic debris in that area from a four-year period from 1981-84'.
- Australian Government
Claim: Most bags end up as litter.
"Bags get blown around…to different parts of our lands…and to our seas, lakes and rivers. Bags find their way into the sea via drains and sewage pipes."
CNN.com/Technology, November 16, 2007
Fact: The vast majority of bags are actually reused or disposed of properly.
The Australian government pointed out that ”60% of bags taken home are reused as bin liners or waste bags, lunch bags, and general carry bags.”
Plastic Shopping Bags in Australia: National Plastic Bags Working Group Report to the National Packaging Covenant Council
DECEMBER 6, 2007
Claim: Plastic bags are the most common beach litter.
"Plastic bags account for over 10 percent of the debris washed up on the U.S. coastline."
- National Marine Debris Monitoring Program
Fact: The Ocean Conservancy’s 2007 International Costal Cleanup Report notes that among litter 8% of the items picked up were plastic bags. Bags even trailed cigarette related items at 27.2%, food wrappers at 9.6%, and caps and lids at 9.1%.
- Ocean Conservancy’s 2007 International Costal Cleanup Report
It appears even a rudimentary check of the facts shows that plastic bags are probably not the root cause of the earth’s eventual destruction as portrayed by some.
Meanwhile, the Saint is delighted that Foodstuffs has seen the error of its ways and will no longer be trading on people’s guilt in an effort to make a few cents and pretend they are saving the planet.
Perhaps it is time someone told the do-gooders in the red shirts at the Warehouse the facts as well. The company would do a whole lot more for the planet if they stopped importing the plane loads of junk, made in high C02 polluting countries like China and India into NZ each week, rather than taxing the bags those poor ugg-boot-wearing saps who carry this crap out of their stores in every day.
Your old mate’s bon vivant attitude towards his fellow man (and woman) was stirred up with Foodstuffs recent about turn over its ridiculous, stupid and rather foolish plastic bag tax.
The supermarket co-operative had decided - in a pique of faux green washing - a month or so back to impose a plastic bag tax on all of its customers. It appears the owners of the Countdown, New World and Four Square chains mistakenly thought this token effort would not only curry favour with consumers, but also earn them bonus green miles with the tree huggers as well.
However, following hugely negative customer backlash, in which all they seemed to achieve from the stupid 5 cent a bag charge was to piss their customers off and send them through the doors of their competitors and fierce rivals Progressive Enterprise, the powers that be at the co-op changed their minds and dropped plans for the bag charge.
This was done faster than your average Green MP claims air points, when they found out their customers were revolting. However, the saint humbly suggests, that it was not the customers who were revolting, but Foodstuffs for making such a wussy, lily-livered, feel good decision in the first place.
Apart from seriously misjudging their customers and the actual commitment of New Zealanders’ to non problems like this – especially when they are going to be charged for it – the Saint has a few more questions such as:
Just how serious a problem are plastic bags anyway? Is it really the number one environmental problem in world?
And, even if you believe all the doom and gloom propaganda emanating from the likes Greenpeace, the Green Party et el on a daily basis about the impending end of the world, is this the sort of issue a supermarket chain should be involved in.
Did Foodstuffs actually do any research in to the subject? Or did they just think their customers would tow the line because it was one of those green, feel good causes?
The fact is that there are so many myths about the evils of plastic bags circulating around in the media that it is not hard to get caught up in all the green wash. It seems our green friends have taken a leaf out of Hitler’s very able and very evil propaganda maestro Joseph Goebbels’ PR handbook by using the mantra of if you repeat a lie enough times the public will believe it. But if you cut through all the hype and puffery much of the anti plastic bag claims do not stack up.
Here are a just few examples:
Claim: Plastic bags kill 1,000 of marine mammals and sea turtles every year.
In the marine environment, plastic bag litter is lethal, killing thousands of whales, turtles and other sea life every year.
- World Wildlife Fund Report 2005
Fact: In 2006 the Australian government corrected claims that thousands of animals were being killed by plastic bags.
Note: In September 2006, the report was revised to correct an error on page 30.
The sentence:
'A figure of 100,000 marine animals killed annually has been widely quoted by environmental groups; this figure was from a study in Newfoundland which estimated the number of animals entrapped by plastic bags in that area from a four-year period from 1981-84'.
Has been replaced with:
'A figure of 100,000 marine animals killed annually has been widely quoted by environmental groups; this figure was from a study in Newfoundland which estimated the number of animals entrapped by plastic debris in that area from a four-year period from 1981-84'.
- Australian Government
Claim: Most bags end up as litter.
"Bags get blown around…to different parts of our lands…and to our seas, lakes and rivers. Bags find their way into the sea via drains and sewage pipes."
CNN.com/Technology, November 16, 2007
Fact: The vast majority of bags are actually reused or disposed of properly.
The Australian government pointed out that ”60% of bags taken home are reused as bin liners or waste bags, lunch bags, and general carry bags.”
Plastic Shopping Bags in Australia: National Plastic Bags Working Group Report to the National Packaging Covenant Council
DECEMBER 6, 2007
Claim: Plastic bags are the most common beach litter.
"Plastic bags account for over 10 percent of the debris washed up on the U.S. coastline."
- National Marine Debris Monitoring Program
Fact: The Ocean Conservancy’s 2007 International Costal Cleanup Report notes that among litter 8% of the items picked up were plastic bags. Bags even trailed cigarette related items at 27.2%, food wrappers at 9.6%, and caps and lids at 9.1%.
- Ocean Conservancy’s 2007 International Costal Cleanup Report
It appears even a rudimentary check of the facts shows that plastic bags are probably not the root cause of the earth’s eventual destruction as portrayed by some.
Meanwhile, the Saint is delighted that Foodstuffs has seen the error of its ways and will no longer be trading on people’s guilt in an effort to make a few cents and pretend they are saving the planet.
Perhaps it is time someone told the do-gooders in the red shirts at the Warehouse the facts as well. The company would do a whole lot more for the planet if they stopped importing the plane loads of junk, made in high C02 polluting countries like China and India into NZ each week, rather than taxing the bags those poor ugg-boot-wearing saps who carry this crap out of their stores in every day.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
How did we manage to survive?
The Saint wishes tip his hat for this email, which he recently received and wanted to share with all those who were born in 1930's, 40's, 50's, 60's and early 70's!
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, raw egg products, loads of bacon and processed meat, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.
Then after that trauma, our baby cots were covered with bright coloured lead-based paints. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle.
Take away food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Nandos.
Even though all the shops closed at 6.00pm and didn't open on Sunday’s weekends, somehow we didn't starve to death!
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and no body actually died!
We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner shop and buy Gobstoppers, Bubble Gum and 50 cent mixtures.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in them, but not many of us overweight because...
We were always outside playing. And fat kids were called fatty, porky or chubby. Not told they were physically challenged or had a slow metabolism!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back before dark. No one saw us all day and we were O.K.
We’d spend hours building go-carts out of old prams and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and dens and played in streams and on rivers.
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no
lawsuits from these accidents.
We did not have Play stations, Nintendo Wii or X-box. There were no video games, no 999 channels on SKY or video/DVD films.
No mobile phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms. We had real friends (not Facebook "Friends") and we actually went out and met them – not online!
Only old ladies had pierced ears and only men who had been in the Navy had tattoos.
We made mud pies made from dirt, and played with frogs, worms and snails and we didn't wash our hands before eating blackberries, apples and plums.
You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross Buns (yes, the buns were allowed to have crosses on them and non Christians were happy to buy them as well!) at Easter time
we were given air guns and catapults for our 10th birthdays. We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!
Mum didn't have to go to work to help dad make ends meet!
Rugby and cricket had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Getting into the team was based on merit.
Our teachers used to hit us with canes and gym shoes, and bullies always ruled the playground at school.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of.
They actually sided with the law!
Parents didn't invent stupid names for their kids like Kiaora, Blade, Ridge, Vanilla, Sky, Galley Eyes or Zepplin.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all. It may have not been the good old days, but at least it was real!
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, raw egg products, loads of bacon and processed meat, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.
Then after that trauma, our baby cots were covered with bright coloured lead-based paints. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle.
Take away food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Nandos.
Even though all the shops closed at 6.00pm and didn't open on Sunday’s weekends, somehow we didn't starve to death!
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and no body actually died!
We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner shop and buy Gobstoppers, Bubble Gum and 50 cent mixtures.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in them, but not many of us overweight because...
We were always outside playing. And fat kids were called fatty, porky or chubby. Not told they were physically challenged or had a slow metabolism!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back before dark. No one saw us all day and we were O.K.
We’d spend hours building go-carts out of old prams and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and dens and played in streams and on rivers.
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no
lawsuits from these accidents.
We did not have Play stations, Nintendo Wii or X-box. There were no video games, no 999 channels on SKY or video/DVD films.
No mobile phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms. We had real friends (not Facebook "Friends") and we actually went out and met them – not online!
Only old ladies had pierced ears and only men who had been in the Navy had tattoos.
We made mud pies made from dirt, and played with frogs, worms and snails and we didn't wash our hands before eating blackberries, apples and plums.
You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross Buns (yes, the buns were allowed to have crosses on them and non Christians were happy to buy them as well!) at Easter time
we were given air guns and catapults for our 10th birthdays. We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!
Mum didn't have to go to work to help dad make ends meet!
Rugby and cricket had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Getting into the team was based on merit.
Our teachers used to hit us with canes and gym shoes, and bullies always ruled the playground at school.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of.
They actually sided with the law!
Parents didn't invent stupid names for their kids like Kiaora, Blade, Ridge, Vanilla, Sky, Galley Eyes or Zepplin.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all. It may have not been the good old days, but at least it was real!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
It’s a man eat dog, cow, pig, sheep, fish world!
The Saint suggests all those holier-than-thou types - such as the SPCA, SAFE, Paul Holmes, John Banks and others - who are baying for the blood of a South Auckland Tongan man for killing his pet pit bull, chucking it on the BBQ and then serving it to his family last week, need to get a grip.
The man said the decision to kill and cook the dog was made only after it became unruly attack. What would the bleeding hearts from the SPCA or the vote-seeking politicians have said if the dog had gone on to attack visitors to the house and inflict horrendous injuries? What’s the bet they'd have turned on the owner, particularly if he'd confessed the beast had tried to bite people before, but he'd done nothing.
Now I know my view on this subject will upset the management – she is an avowed animal lover and big fan of dogs – just not on her plate! However, I am willing to undertake her wrath – which can be a whole lot more scary than a pit bull in full attack mode – to make a genuine point.
However, I am not alone with this opinion. Even NZ Herald columnist and sickly white lefty - whom yours truly rarely agrees with - writes rather controversially that Paea Taufa should be giving him a medal for his actions.
“Because if every pit bull owner in the land followed his lead, New Zealand would be a safer place to live.” Rudman also quotes the SPCA as saying what happened was not illegal - but believes it was not "morally right". He then poses: “I wonder how morally clear they would be if the animal had lived on to monster a passing jogger or playful toddler.”
Yes, the thought – to most, middle-class, townie New Zealanders – of knocking Rover on the head and then turning him into Sunday dinner via a backyard umu is abhorrent. However, while we might not like to admit it, eating dog is very common around the world in places like Korea, China and in the Pacific Islands.
Yet, how many of these same people who were outraged by the friendly Tongans actions have thought about how abhorrent some of their behaviours are to others?
The Saint hails from a farming background and would not blink twice at a farmer taking the family pet lamb, raised from birth by his kids, behind the shed, then re-appearing with the Sunday roast. Or calf, or piglet or chicken! So why is it so different when it happens to be a dog?
How do you think a Hindus might view us slaughtering and eating cows? An animal which is sacred in their religion!
New Zealand is a country with an economy based on killing animals for export. It is our lifeblood and it is highly hypocritical for us to reel against people killing and eating animals – as long as it is done humanely and quickly as possible. Admittedly, Mr Taufa’s method of dispatch was unconventional - a whack on the head then, when unconscious, a cut to the throat. But is that so different from what most farmers or abattoirs do up and down the land?
Again I’ll quote Rudman: “We're also a hunting, shooting, fishing culture. There's no squawking from the politicians or the general public about the morality of dropping a live crayfish into a pot of boiling water or, if they're lucky, sticking them into a freezer to slowly "go to sleep".
He goes on: “Our culture also lauds the heroism of brave fishermen, torturing majestic beasts of the sea by hoodwinking them into biting on vicious hooks which are then "played" for long periods until the "gamefish" finally succumb. This is called sport.”
Like Rudman I'm no vegetarian – in fact I am proudly carnivorous. I love my steaks and crayfish, and chicken and lamb and beef. But I'm not a hypocrite either.
Luckily man is at the top of the food chain and like it or not all animals – including cats and dogs – are further down. So sorry to the management and all other “animal lovers” but all are fair game.
But for some reason, our culture, unlike, say Tongans and Koreans, has decided to treat dogs primarily as pets rather than food. However, even with pets, the line is hazy. Pet sheep and calves do turn into the Sunday roast. So let's not get too sanctimonious over one dead pit bull.
The man said the decision to kill and cook the dog was made only after it became unruly attack. What would the bleeding hearts from the SPCA or the vote-seeking politicians have said if the dog had gone on to attack visitors to the house and inflict horrendous injuries? What’s the bet they'd have turned on the owner, particularly if he'd confessed the beast had tried to bite people before, but he'd done nothing.
Now I know my view on this subject will upset the management – she is an avowed animal lover and big fan of dogs – just not on her plate! However, I am willing to undertake her wrath – which can be a whole lot more scary than a pit bull in full attack mode – to make a genuine point.
However, I am not alone with this opinion. Even NZ Herald columnist and sickly white lefty - whom yours truly rarely agrees with - writes rather controversially that Paea Taufa should be giving him a medal for his actions.
“Because if every pit bull owner in the land followed his lead, New Zealand would be a safer place to live.” Rudman also quotes the SPCA as saying what happened was not illegal - but believes it was not "morally right". He then poses: “I wonder how morally clear they would be if the animal had lived on to monster a passing jogger or playful toddler.”
Yes, the thought – to most, middle-class, townie New Zealanders – of knocking Rover on the head and then turning him into Sunday dinner via a backyard umu is abhorrent. However, while we might not like to admit it, eating dog is very common around the world in places like Korea, China and in the Pacific Islands.
Yet, how many of these same people who were outraged by the friendly Tongans actions have thought about how abhorrent some of their behaviours are to others?
The Saint hails from a farming background and would not blink twice at a farmer taking the family pet lamb, raised from birth by his kids, behind the shed, then re-appearing with the Sunday roast. Or calf, or piglet or chicken! So why is it so different when it happens to be a dog?
How do you think a Hindus might view us slaughtering and eating cows? An animal which is sacred in their religion!
New Zealand is a country with an economy based on killing animals for export. It is our lifeblood and it is highly hypocritical for us to reel against people killing and eating animals – as long as it is done humanely and quickly as possible. Admittedly, Mr Taufa’s method of dispatch was unconventional - a whack on the head then, when unconscious, a cut to the throat. But is that so different from what most farmers or abattoirs do up and down the land?
Again I’ll quote Rudman: “We're also a hunting, shooting, fishing culture. There's no squawking from the politicians or the general public about the morality of dropping a live crayfish into a pot of boiling water or, if they're lucky, sticking them into a freezer to slowly "go to sleep".
He goes on: “Our culture also lauds the heroism of brave fishermen, torturing majestic beasts of the sea by hoodwinking them into biting on vicious hooks which are then "played" for long periods until the "gamefish" finally succumb. This is called sport.”
Like Rudman I'm no vegetarian – in fact I am proudly carnivorous. I love my steaks and crayfish, and chicken and lamb and beef. But I'm not a hypocrite either.
Luckily man is at the top of the food chain and like it or not all animals – including cats and dogs – are further down. So sorry to the management and all other “animal lovers” but all are fair game.
But for some reason, our culture, unlike, say Tongans and Koreans, has decided to treat dogs primarily as pets rather than food. However, even with pets, the line is hazy. Pet sheep and calves do turn into the Sunday roast. So let's not get too sanctimonious over one dead pit bull.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Helen shows why she is no dame!
The Saint suggests that former Prime Minister Helen Clark should take on board the smug and oft-quoted advice given by her erstwhile deputy Michael Cullen a few years back: “They won; you lost – eat that!”
This suggestion follows reports about Clark putting pressure on a former Labour ministerial colleague Margaret Shields not to accept the title "Dame". Apparently Clark sent Shields a letter setting out why Labour had abolished the titles and saying she hoped she would not accept one.
It was Helen Clark's Labour Government that replaced the titles in May 2000 with the non-titular honours of principal and distinguished companions of the order. However, National restored the titles back in March and gave the 84 people affected by the change the option to choose whether to become dames and knights.
Shields – a former Labour MP for Kapiti - ignored Clark’s plea - and has instead chosen along with 24 other women and another 48 men to be formally installed as dames and knights. Only 13 people who had the option of becoming dames or knights turned down the opportunity.
Shields joins other luminaries such as former PM Dame Jenny Shipley, sports heroes Sir Russell Coutts, Sir Peter Snell and Sir Colin Meads, Maori leaders Sir Tumu te Heuheu, Sir Archie Taiaroa and Sir Harawira Gardiner and businessmen Sir Stephen Tindall, Sir Ralph Norris, Sir Peter Maire and Sir George Fistonich, Fonterra chairman Sir Henry Van der Heyden – who all decided to take up the Government’s offer.
The Saint can see the former PM Clark’s face doing a great impersonation of sucking a lemon upon hearing the news that “Dame” Margaret Shields had ignored her edict not to accept her gong. We all remember how Clark did not take kindly to people not doing what she told them to do when she was PM. In fact, she is still not best pleased with the people of New Zealand for having the temerity to vote her and Labour out of office last election.
Mind you, she can take some solace in the fact that at least 13 lackies heeded her advice and refused to take their gongs. Mind you the Saint reckons her baker’s dozen all appear to be either fawning crawlers or Labour party lackies – or in some cases both! They include former Speaker Margaret Wilson; actor Sam Neill, academics Ranginui Walker and Vincent O'Sullivan and authors Patricia Grace, Joy Cowley and Witi Ihimaera-Smiler.
Apparently Clark is understood to have been deeply disappointed that Shields and others whom her Government awarded high non-titular honours had accepted titles. Again, the Saint would use one of Clark’s own remarks to comment on her disappointment – “diddums”.
Clark needs to understand that the decision by her Government to unilaterally remove knights and dames was very unpopular and an overwhelming majority of New Zealanders have welcomed their return. She should also get use to the fact that John Key is now Prime Minister and he and his National Government are running the country.
So get over it Helen, you are yesterday’s news and we don’t want to be bossed around by you anymore!
This suggestion follows reports about Clark putting pressure on a former Labour ministerial colleague Margaret Shields not to accept the title "Dame". Apparently Clark sent Shields a letter setting out why Labour had abolished the titles and saying she hoped she would not accept one.
It was Helen Clark's Labour Government that replaced the titles in May 2000 with the non-titular honours of principal and distinguished companions of the order. However, National restored the titles back in March and gave the 84 people affected by the change the option to choose whether to become dames and knights.
Shields – a former Labour MP for Kapiti - ignored Clark’s plea - and has instead chosen along with 24 other women and another 48 men to be formally installed as dames and knights. Only 13 people who had the option of becoming dames or knights turned down the opportunity.
Shields joins other luminaries such as former PM Dame Jenny Shipley, sports heroes Sir Russell Coutts, Sir Peter Snell and Sir Colin Meads, Maori leaders Sir Tumu te Heuheu, Sir Archie Taiaroa and Sir Harawira Gardiner and businessmen Sir Stephen Tindall, Sir Ralph Norris, Sir Peter Maire and Sir George Fistonich, Fonterra chairman Sir Henry Van der Heyden – who all decided to take up the Government’s offer.
The Saint can see the former PM Clark’s face doing a great impersonation of sucking a lemon upon hearing the news that “Dame” Margaret Shields had ignored her edict not to accept her gong. We all remember how Clark did not take kindly to people not doing what she told them to do when she was PM. In fact, she is still not best pleased with the people of New Zealand for having the temerity to vote her and Labour out of office last election.
Mind you, she can take some solace in the fact that at least 13 lackies heeded her advice and refused to take their gongs. Mind you the Saint reckons her baker’s dozen all appear to be either fawning crawlers or Labour party lackies – or in some cases both! They include former Speaker Margaret Wilson; actor Sam Neill, academics Ranginui Walker and Vincent O'Sullivan and authors Patricia Grace, Joy Cowley and Witi Ihimaera-Smiler.
Apparently Clark is understood to have been deeply disappointed that Shields and others whom her Government awarded high non-titular honours had accepted titles. Again, the Saint would use one of Clark’s own remarks to comment on her disappointment – “diddums”.
Clark needs to understand that the decision by her Government to unilaterally remove knights and dames was very unpopular and an overwhelming majority of New Zealanders have welcomed their return. She should also get use to the fact that John Key is now Prime Minister and he and his National Government are running the country.
So get over it Helen, you are yesterday’s news and we don’t want to be bossed around by you anymore!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Stick to riding whales Keisha!
What is it with actors and celebrities who think that they can tell us all how to run our lives?
The Saint previously blogged on this very subject back in May with the post: "Adding 'schelb' to do-good causes". At the time, I opined how it was both arrogant and pompous of so-called "celebrities" to lecture us little people on cause celebs they want to endorse.
Now before the Saint is accused of being a right-wing, one-eyed, fascist, Tory git - as he has been by at least one of his tiny following of readers - I am not saying people can't express opinions that I don't agree with. Even though this would make me so smug and superior compared to the average punter - a bit like the bunch luvvies lecturing NZ to back Greenpeace's campaign and reduce our carbon emissions by 40% by the year 2020.
But let's put this campaign into perspective and what it would really mean for our economy. The only way NZ could make such a ridiculous target would mean eliminating around one fifth - or 700,000 cows - from the country's dairy herd. Now what the faux self-proclaimed eco warriors fronting this Khmer Green, eco-terrorist campaign forget to mention is that the dairy industry contributes something like 27% of NZ's export earnings. You know, the income the country earns so it can pay for things like schools, hospitals, nurses, teachers, roads (even though actors and Greenies never use them - yeah right), police and nice to have things like grants for cultural activies - such as theatre and ballet etc.
So the Saint finds it somewhat ironic that the only reason most actors in NZ survive is by bludging off the public tit. Yet, it is these same people who are now telling us - during the worst recession in 70 years - that we should slash our dairy herd and biggest export earner by 20% - just so they can feel smug and superior. Guess who would be the first to whinge and moan if their acting junkets were given the chop due to the drop in national income from their genocide of NZ's productive sector? You bet your tax payer-funded art scheme they would!
So what is Keisha and her mates' wonderful solution? That we slaughter 700,00 cows from the national dairy herd. But they spin it so nicely by calling it "de-stocking". What it really means is killing 700,000 cows and making our farms less productive and thus the country less productive. No cars, no trucks and 700,000 less cows. But no doubt, by converting all these cowless farms to organic mung bean production will have the cash pouring in and solve are worsen balance of payments problems!
Sorry, but Lucy Lawless might be hot and Robyn Malcolm able to play a westie-slapper so well you would swear she really is one! But that does not make them experts on climate change. As for Keisha Castle-Hughes, as far as the Saint knows, her only qualification to lead the country on this course of economic suicide - is a best supporting actress Oscar nomination when she was about 10 and getting knocked up by some loser called Bradley and going on the DPB at 16. So eminently qualified, obviously!
So when PM John Key told her to "stick to acting" this week - it was not an insult, but good advice! Greenpeace, the Greens and Keisha Castle-Hughes and her mates are the trying to tell the world how to run our lives. So why is it not fair enough for the PM to tell this little do-gooder how to run hers?
Stick to riding whales Keisha, so far your record outside the acting profession is not so fantastic.
The Saint previously blogged on this very subject back in May with the post: "Adding 'schelb' to do-good causes". At the time, I opined how it was both arrogant and pompous of so-called "celebrities" to lecture us little people on cause celebs they want to endorse.
Now before the Saint is accused of being a right-wing, one-eyed, fascist, Tory git - as he has been by at least one of his tiny following of readers - I am not saying people can't express opinions that I don't agree with. Even though this would make me so smug and superior compared to the average punter - a bit like the bunch luvvies lecturing NZ to back Greenpeace's campaign and reduce our carbon emissions by 40% by the year 2020.
But let's put this campaign into perspective and what it would really mean for our economy. The only way NZ could make such a ridiculous target would mean eliminating around one fifth - or 700,000 cows - from the country's dairy herd. Now what the faux self-proclaimed eco warriors fronting this Khmer Green, eco-terrorist campaign forget to mention is that the dairy industry contributes something like 27% of NZ's export earnings. You know, the income the country earns so it can pay for things like schools, hospitals, nurses, teachers, roads (even though actors and Greenies never use them - yeah right), police and nice to have things like grants for cultural activies - such as theatre and ballet etc.
So the Saint finds it somewhat ironic that the only reason most actors in NZ survive is by bludging off the public tit. Yet, it is these same people who are now telling us - during the worst recession in 70 years - that we should slash our dairy herd and biggest export earner by 20% - just so they can feel smug and superior. Guess who would be the first to whinge and moan if their acting junkets were given the chop due to the drop in national income from their genocide of NZ's productive sector? You bet your tax payer-funded art scheme they would!
So what is Keisha and her mates' wonderful solution? That we slaughter 700,00 cows from the national dairy herd. But they spin it so nicely by calling it "de-stocking". What it really means is killing 700,000 cows and making our farms less productive and thus the country less productive. No cars, no trucks and 700,000 less cows. But no doubt, by converting all these cowless farms to organic mung bean production will have the cash pouring in and solve are worsen balance of payments problems!
Sorry, but Lucy Lawless might be hot and Robyn Malcolm able to play a westie-slapper so well you would swear she really is one! But that does not make them experts on climate change. As for Keisha Castle-Hughes, as far as the Saint knows, her only qualification to lead the country on this course of economic suicide - is a best supporting actress Oscar nomination when she was about 10 and getting knocked up by some loser called Bradley and going on the DPB at 16. So eminently qualified, obviously!
So when PM John Key told her to "stick to acting" this week - it was not an insult, but good advice! Greenpeace, the Greens and Keisha Castle-Hughes and her mates are the trying to tell the world how to run our lives. So why is it not fair enough for the PM to tell this little do-gooder how to run hers?
Stick to riding whales Keisha, so far your record outside the acting profession is not so fantastic.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
It’s going to be All Black season for NZ rugby fans
The Saint has had an uneasy feeling about the depth of talent and quality of the 2009 All Black squad all year.
In case you hadn’t noticed; this team is seriously average! If this was not already apparent when we lost to a tired and so-so French team back June, or when we barely snuck past perennial six nation wooden spooners Italy a couple of weeks later – then it is clearly evident now.
The All Blacks woeful performances in South Africa during the past fortnight have proven just how bad this current NZ team really is and the lack of depth we have waiting in the wings. Not to take anything away from South Africa, but the way the All Blacks have played against the Springboks in the last two weeks you could be forgiven for thinking the current Boks were the greatest team ever. Now, while they are a pretty handy bunch, many better teams than them have graced rugby paddock around the world before.
While it is true that in the past five or so years, we have seen a plethora of quality players and coaches leave the New Zealand rugby scene to chase the glint of the UK pound, French franc and Japanese yen. But as that horrible little gnome and former coach John Hart was fond of saying: it is the “professional era” after all.
This mass migration of NZ rugby talent offshore still does not make up for the current atrocious All Black play or mindless tactics these guys are employing – or may be it is. But even a garden-variety club footy player, like the Saint, knows some basics of the game. Like when you are under the pump by the world’s best lineout you are asking for trouble if you throw it deep in your own 22. Or, instead of throwing Hail Mary passes in your own half - that put your team under undue pressure - you kick it out. And even a brainless chimp would know that if the ball is kicked over your line you force it down and take the drop out, rather than trying to run in a 120 metre miracle try. Yet, apparently, the current bunch of “professionals” who represent NZ and are paid handsome, six figure sums to do so are unaware of such basic concepts.
Sack the coaches – I hear some cry. Yeah? And replace them with just who?
These punters seem to have forgotten that the NZRFU, in its infinite wisdom, let two of this country’s best coaches in Robbie Deans and Warren Gatland bugger off overseas to lend Australia and Wales – respectively – their coaching skills, while we reappointed the three clowns who took us to our worst ever World Cup exit at the quarter finals in Cardiff in 2007! Great move lads!!
Bring in new players – others say. Again, oh yeah, exactly where from? While there is no doubt the talented Dan Carter should be rushed back into the squad and the likes of the hapless Joe Rococo be given a rest. There are not a whole lot of undiscovered rugby talent hiding around the country who can be rushed into the squad and stop the Aussies and Springboks putting the All Blacks to the sword?
Unfortunately, just like those DPB beneficiaries found out this week when they wanted more handouts, there are no pixies at the bottom the garden printing money for the Government to dole out to them; the NZ rugby public are going to have to come to terms with the fact we have a poor All Black team and a miserable season ahead.
After all it is only a game!
In case you hadn’t noticed; this team is seriously average! If this was not already apparent when we lost to a tired and so-so French team back June, or when we barely snuck past perennial six nation wooden spooners Italy a couple of weeks later – then it is clearly evident now.
The All Blacks woeful performances in South Africa during the past fortnight have proven just how bad this current NZ team really is and the lack of depth we have waiting in the wings. Not to take anything away from South Africa, but the way the All Blacks have played against the Springboks in the last two weeks you could be forgiven for thinking the current Boks were the greatest team ever. Now, while they are a pretty handy bunch, many better teams than them have graced rugby paddock around the world before.
While it is true that in the past five or so years, we have seen a plethora of quality players and coaches leave the New Zealand rugby scene to chase the glint of the UK pound, French franc and Japanese yen. But as that horrible little gnome and former coach John Hart was fond of saying: it is the “professional era” after all.
This mass migration of NZ rugby talent offshore still does not make up for the current atrocious All Black play or mindless tactics these guys are employing – or may be it is. But even a garden-variety club footy player, like the Saint, knows some basics of the game. Like when you are under the pump by the world’s best lineout you are asking for trouble if you throw it deep in your own 22. Or, instead of throwing Hail Mary passes in your own half - that put your team under undue pressure - you kick it out. And even a brainless chimp would know that if the ball is kicked over your line you force it down and take the drop out, rather than trying to run in a 120 metre miracle try. Yet, apparently, the current bunch of “professionals” who represent NZ and are paid handsome, six figure sums to do so are unaware of such basic concepts.
Sack the coaches – I hear some cry. Yeah? And replace them with just who?
These punters seem to have forgotten that the NZRFU, in its infinite wisdom, let two of this country’s best coaches in Robbie Deans and Warren Gatland bugger off overseas to lend Australia and Wales – respectively – their coaching skills, while we reappointed the three clowns who took us to our worst ever World Cup exit at the quarter finals in Cardiff in 2007! Great move lads!!
Bring in new players – others say. Again, oh yeah, exactly where from? While there is no doubt the talented Dan Carter should be rushed back into the squad and the likes of the hapless Joe Rococo be given a rest. There are not a whole lot of undiscovered rugby talent hiding around the country who can be rushed into the squad and stop the Aussies and Springboks putting the All Blacks to the sword?
Unfortunately, just like those DPB beneficiaries found out this week when they wanted more handouts, there are no pixies at the bottom the garden printing money for the Government to dole out to them; the NZ rugby public are going to have to come to terms with the fact we have a poor All Black team and a miserable season ahead.
After all it is only a game!
Friday, July 24, 2009
A Clayton's defence!
The rightful conviction of Sophie Elliot’s killer – that full of himself Ranga, Clayton Weatherston, – for murder; has reminded the Saint just why he detests smart-arse, defence lawyers so much.
The Ginger tosser’s defence team – consisting of another ugly Ginga - Judith Abbott-Kerr - and the perennial defender of criminal scum - Greg King – and the methods they employed in trying to get Weatherston off have only gone to further decrease the already poor reputation of the law fraternity in the eyes of the general public.
What’s worse is you can bet that their well paid, amoral legal actions were funded by you and me – the long suffering taxpayer – as the self-proclaimed well hung, genius Dr Weatherston would not have had to shell out for this pair of sharks fees and their provocation defence tactics.
If anything good has come out of the gutless attack orchestrated on the character of the innocent Sophie Elliot – carried out by Weatherston, but aided and abetted by Abbot-Kerr and King’s tactics, is that Justice Minister Simon Power is moving fast to close the loop hole of provocation as a defence for murder.
Undoubtedly, the inevitable whines of “injustice” will emanated out the mouths of defence lawyers about this move from the likes of Abbot-Kerr, King - and their fellow bottom-feeding legal colleagues such as Chris Comesky, Peter Williams and Barry Hart. However, the general populous will applaud this decision – especially if it saves good and innocent families of victims – like Sophie Elliot’s parents – having to endure their child’s reputation being unfairly dragged through the mud in a desperate attempt to justify a murdering maggot’s actions.
The Saint understands that there is already a bounty out amongst the country’s incarcerated fraternity on Weatherston’s life. What do they say about honour among thieves? So it looks like Sophie Elliot will get some real justice after all – let’s just hope her blood and that of her murderer’s finally pricks the conscious of defence lawyers around the country that it is not ok to use any means necessary to get their clients’ off a rap.
However, it is doubtful that such smug and superior types as the Greg Kings and Judith Abbott-Kerrs of this world will pay any attention and only go on to prove this old adage:
What is the difference between a dog fish and a defence lawyer?
One is a scum-sucking, bottom feeder and the other is a form of marine life!
The Ginger tosser’s defence team – consisting of another ugly Ginga - Judith Abbott-Kerr - and the perennial defender of criminal scum - Greg King – and the methods they employed in trying to get Weatherston off have only gone to further decrease the already poor reputation of the law fraternity in the eyes of the general public.
What’s worse is you can bet that their well paid, amoral legal actions were funded by you and me – the long suffering taxpayer – as the self-proclaimed well hung, genius Dr Weatherston would not have had to shell out for this pair of sharks fees and their provocation defence tactics.
If anything good has come out of the gutless attack orchestrated on the character of the innocent Sophie Elliot – carried out by Weatherston, but aided and abetted by Abbot-Kerr and King’s tactics, is that Justice Minister Simon Power is moving fast to close the loop hole of provocation as a defence for murder.
Undoubtedly, the inevitable whines of “injustice” will emanated out the mouths of defence lawyers about this move from the likes of Abbot-Kerr, King - and their fellow bottom-feeding legal colleagues such as Chris Comesky, Peter Williams and Barry Hart. However, the general populous will applaud this decision – especially if it saves good and innocent families of victims – like Sophie Elliot’s parents – having to endure their child’s reputation being unfairly dragged through the mud in a desperate attempt to justify a murdering maggot’s actions.
The Saint understands that there is already a bounty out amongst the country’s incarcerated fraternity on Weatherston’s life. What do they say about honour among thieves? So it looks like Sophie Elliot will get some real justice after all – let’s just hope her blood and that of her murderer’s finally pricks the conscious of defence lawyers around the country that it is not ok to use any means necessary to get their clients’ off a rap.
However, it is doubtful that such smug and superior types as the Greg Kings and Judith Abbott-Kerrs of this world will pay any attention and only go on to prove this old adage:
What is the difference between a dog fish and a defence lawyer?
One is a scum-sucking, bottom feeder and the other is a form of marine life!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Getting sucked in by the Lemon Detox Diet
During the past week, the Saint embarked on one of the more foolish endeavours he has endured during his time on this planet - the Lemon Detox diet (LDD)!
What? Yip, old mugsy decided to give the latest fad in supposed weight loss a burst. Now just what possessed yours truly - who is supposed to be reasonably well-educated, somewhat worldly-wise and avid cynic about most things in life - to go down this track is a little hard to explain. However, suffice to say a combination of middle-aged spread, winter discontent and encouragement from the management led me to give it a go. I guess the seduction of imagining my less than cut torso being magically transformed into an Adonis version after a week on the LDD was a key catalyst.
So after visiting one of the the snake-oil shops - ie "health stores" - pawning this latest fad on the general populace and shelling out 120 bucks, I had all the necessary ingredients to make up the LDD and was all set to go.
And just what do these ingredients consist of I hear you ask? A paperback book of instructions of about 100 pages, a two-side brochure showing how to make up the "magic" drink, a one litre tin of "miracle" syrup, a 50 gram bag of cayenne pepper and 20 "special" herbal tea bags. How about them lemons?
Well, just like those toys you got as a kid, where the batteries were not included - believe it or not - the $120 kit pack for the Lemon Detox Diet did not include lemons.
Despite such a glaring omission, which did not set off alarm bells of derision in the Saint's mind - who obviously was still captivated by his soon-to-be Michael Phelps-like physique - continued on his foolish citrus fruit-fuelled way.
So Sunday night, after a 'last supper', the LDD began in earnest. That night a drink of 'special' herbal - supposed bowel movement inducing - tea was dutifully consumed. Also prepared was the two litres of liquid which was to be the sole component of any sustenance for the next 7-10 days while on the LDD. This drink mix consisted of 120 mls of "magical" syrup, 140 mls of lemon juice (hand squeezed from about 6 lemons), a pinch or two of cayenne pepper with the rest made up of water.
Let's just say after three-long days of starvation, living on nothing more than this sickly liquid, as well as two to three cups of laxative tea - the Saint called it quits before a splitting headache, hunger pains and liquid bowel movements lead to imminent death or suicide.
So what was the outcome of the LDD - apart from what has been graphically detailed above?
Any weight loss? Don't know, as I did not have access to bathroom scales and failed to weigh myself before starting or when finishing. Was I healthy, energised and detoxified afterwards. No - more like lethargic, bored and starving.
However, it is likely I did drop a few pounds - as would anyone who starves themselves for three days - but the weight is now probably back.
At least I have a new appreciation for food and a renewed cynicism for quick and easy miracle cures.
Lessons learnt. If i want to lose weight in the future - I'll just eat less and exercise more.
So it is not all sour grapes - or more correctly - lemons as it should be in this case!
What? Yip, old mugsy decided to give the latest fad in supposed weight loss a burst. Now just what possessed yours truly - who is supposed to be reasonably well-educated, somewhat worldly-wise and avid cynic about most things in life - to go down this track is a little hard to explain. However, suffice to say a combination of middle-aged spread, winter discontent and encouragement from the management led me to give it a go. I guess the seduction of imagining my less than cut torso being magically transformed into an Adonis version after a week on the LDD was a key catalyst.
So after visiting one of the the snake-oil shops - ie "health stores" - pawning this latest fad on the general populace and shelling out 120 bucks, I had all the necessary ingredients to make up the LDD and was all set to go.
And just what do these ingredients consist of I hear you ask? A paperback book of instructions of about 100 pages, a two-side brochure showing how to make up the "magic" drink, a one litre tin of "miracle" syrup, a 50 gram bag of cayenne pepper and 20 "special" herbal tea bags. How about them lemons?
Well, just like those toys you got as a kid, where the batteries were not included - believe it or not - the $120 kit pack for the Lemon Detox Diet did not include lemons.
Despite such a glaring omission, which did not set off alarm bells of derision in the Saint's mind - who obviously was still captivated by his soon-to-be Michael Phelps-like physique - continued on his foolish citrus fruit-fuelled way.
So Sunday night, after a 'last supper', the LDD began in earnest. That night a drink of 'special' herbal - supposed bowel movement inducing - tea was dutifully consumed. Also prepared was the two litres of liquid which was to be the sole component of any sustenance for the next 7-10 days while on the LDD. This drink mix consisted of 120 mls of "magical" syrup, 140 mls of lemon juice (hand squeezed from about 6 lemons), a pinch or two of cayenne pepper with the rest made up of water.
Let's just say after three-long days of starvation, living on nothing more than this sickly liquid, as well as two to three cups of laxative tea - the Saint called it quits before a splitting headache, hunger pains and liquid bowel movements lead to imminent death or suicide.
So what was the outcome of the LDD - apart from what has been graphically detailed above?
Any weight loss? Don't know, as I did not have access to bathroom scales and failed to weigh myself before starting or when finishing. Was I healthy, energised and detoxified afterwards. No - more like lethargic, bored and starving.
However, it is likely I did drop a few pounds - as would anyone who starves themselves for three days - but the weight is now probably back.
At least I have a new appreciation for food and a renewed cynicism for quick and easy miracle cures.
Lessons learnt. If i want to lose weight in the future - I'll just eat less and exercise more.
So it is not all sour grapes - or more correctly - lemons as it should be in this case!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Quack, Quack, Quack...
The Saint is reminded of the saying: "if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck; then it is probably a duck", at the recent deaths of the three boy racers in Invercargill.
Jesse Langeveld, 19, Tylar Parry, 16, and Ethan Peek, 16, lost their lives when the modified car Jesse was driving slammed into a wall after clipping a parking meter and spinning out of control for more than 100 metres. Police say the car was travelling at well over 120kmh and the boys had been drinking.
Despite overwhelming evidence - and none more so than the Tui beer stickers adorning the coffins of the Invercargill teens - indicating in all probability that all three were indeed card-carrying boy racers; their family and friends tried to claim otherwise.
However, despite their protestations, the facts speak for themselves. Three teenagers, hooning around town in a souped-up car, fuelled by alcohol and they are not boy racers! As their favourite beer billboards say - Yeah, right!
Then to endure the site of most of the those attending the funerals; only reinforced their deceased friends bogan-itis (how about that for a new word) with their behaviour. The Saint is not sure what planet the white trash family and friends of the dearly departed came from, but on planet earth Tui beer labels plastered on coffins and a family spokesman - in a Tui cap - urging the congregation at one of the funerals to "keep cruising" and "party hard", before leading them in in a drinking song - did not do much for dispelling any rumours about their supposed non boy-racer associations.
In this case, the Saint honestly suggests the demise of these three boys is no great loss to the human gene pool. Here's an idea for a Tui billboard - which I am not sure if the deceased's friends and families would see the irony in: "Jesse, Tylar and Ethan were not boy racers. Yeah, right!"
Jesse Langeveld, 19, Tylar Parry, 16, and Ethan Peek, 16, lost their lives when the modified car Jesse was driving slammed into a wall after clipping a parking meter and spinning out of control for more than 100 metres. Police say the car was travelling at well over 120kmh and the boys had been drinking.
Despite overwhelming evidence - and none more so than the Tui beer stickers adorning the coffins of the Invercargill teens - indicating in all probability that all three were indeed card-carrying boy racers; their family and friends tried to claim otherwise.
However, despite their protestations, the facts speak for themselves. Three teenagers, hooning around town in a souped-up car, fuelled by alcohol and they are not boy racers! As their favourite beer billboards say - Yeah, right!
Then to endure the site of most of the those attending the funerals; only reinforced their deceased friends bogan-itis (how about that for a new word) with their behaviour. The Saint is not sure what planet the white trash family and friends of the dearly departed came from, but on planet earth Tui beer labels plastered on coffins and a family spokesman - in a Tui cap - urging the congregation at one of the funerals to "keep cruising" and "party hard", before leading them in in a drinking song - did not do much for dispelling any rumours about their supposed non boy-racer associations.
In this case, the Saint honestly suggests the demise of these three boys is no great loss to the human gene pool. Here's an idea for a Tui billboard - which I am not sure if the deceased's friends and families would see the irony in: "Jesse, Tylar and Ethan were not boy racers. Yeah, right!"
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Can Winston moonwalk?
The Saint reckons just like Jurassic Park - the extremely bad, Hollywood blockbuster about dinosaurs making a comeback on planet earth - New Zealand's political equivalent of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, Winston Raymond Peters, has finally come out of hibernation.
And similar to a bear that comes out of his cave after a long winter of slumber, old Winny is as bad tempered, cagey and evasive as ever. Winston has decided to make a comeback, nearly a year since he and his horrible lot were kicked into touch by voters at the 2008 election general.
His demise was much to the relief and delight of most thinking New Zealanders. That is except for the core group of oldies, red necks, malcontents, grumpies and nutters who will vote for Winston no matter what ... until they die. [The good news is that more and more of this bunch of Alzheimer suffers - also known as NZ First supporters - will die each year, meaning there will be less and less of them in time.]
Anyway, these hardcore NZ First supporters will have emptied their catheters and been rattling their walkers in pure excitement after seeing their demi-god back on the TV and returning from the political wilderness again.
For them; Winston's Lazarus-like return, spewing his well-versed lines about separatism, dishonesty and conspiracy theories would have been like the sweet music of WW2 darling Vera Lynn to the ears for this backward-looking bunch of cemetery fodder.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending where you stand on the political spectrum, for both Winston and his supporters his messages were about as fresh as the old war horse's suit and tie - which happened to be exactly the same as when he exited stage left on election night.
So the Saint suggests that Winston's scaremongering and fanciful claims are likely to have a similar smell and taste to the general public as his policies did at the last election - somewhat stale and well passed their used-by-date!
Let's hope that just like his polices and core supporters, Winston Peters chances of making a comeback in election 2011 are about as dead as Michael Jackson!
And similar to a bear that comes out of his cave after a long winter of slumber, old Winny is as bad tempered, cagey and evasive as ever. Winston has decided to make a comeback, nearly a year since he and his horrible lot were kicked into touch by voters at the 2008 election general.
His demise was much to the relief and delight of most thinking New Zealanders. That is except for the core group of oldies, red necks, malcontents, grumpies and nutters who will vote for Winston no matter what ... until they die. [The good news is that more and more of this bunch of Alzheimer suffers - also known as NZ First supporters - will die each year, meaning there will be less and less of them in time.]
Anyway, these hardcore NZ First supporters will have emptied their catheters and been rattling their walkers in pure excitement after seeing their demi-god back on the TV and returning from the political wilderness again.
For them; Winston's Lazarus-like return, spewing his well-versed lines about separatism, dishonesty and conspiracy theories would have been like the sweet music of WW2 darling Vera Lynn to the ears for this backward-looking bunch of cemetery fodder.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending where you stand on the political spectrum, for both Winston and his supporters his messages were about as fresh as the old war horse's suit and tie - which happened to be exactly the same as when he exited stage left on election night.
So the Saint suggests that Winston's scaremongering and fanciful claims are likely to have a similar smell and taste to the general public as his policies did at the last election - somewhat stale and well passed their used-by-date!
Let's hope that just like his polices and core supporters, Winston Peters chances of making a comeback in election 2011 are about as dead as Michael Jackson!
Friday, June 26, 2009
A sad end to that '70s Show!
As a child of the '70s, the Saint is somewhat saddened by today's news over the sudden demise of both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson.
Both were icons of the 1970s. The decade that taste forgot - as someone so cruelly, but accurately once opined.
However, the Jackson 5 - in which young Mick was the undisputed star; and Charlie's Angels - where Farrah Fawcett and her hair-do ruled supreme; were both iconic and powerful representations of that particular decade for me and my peers.
What 70's child - particularly of the male persuasion - will ever forget Farah's permanent sun-kissed look and how she made red swimsuits oh so sexy. Or our pangs of envy and jealousy over her marriage to another 1970's super star - and all-round lucky bugger - the Six Million dollar man Lee Majors.
Or what about the endless debates over the respective musical abilities of the Jackson 5 versus the toothy Osmond Family. And especially the talents of the gifted Michael over the sickly and sarine Donny! (Mind you Marie was quite hot, but no where near the smoking hotness of Farrah Fawcett's Jill from Charlies Angels!).
Somehow both the Fabulous Farrah and the Mercurial Michael were apt symbols for the superficiality of the 1970s, when both were at the peak of their fame - although MJ's run also went through most of the 80s and some of the 90s as well.
Sadly, they both became examples of what not to do when you have fame and money, and unwittingly ended up as parodies of the celebrity-worshipping culture that the 1970s began.
The lovely Farrah never really regained her 70s demi-god status after walking out on Charlie and the other Angels in the latter part of the decade. Her reputation was not helped much by making a host of bad, made-for-TV movies. Or ditching the bionic man and taking up with washed-up, serial cheat Ryan O'Neal. The only thing she appeared to ever successfully do with O'Neal was produce acres of tabloid headlines and a loser, druggie of a son called Redmond.
Meanwhile, Michael Jackson left his four siblings behind to embark on a hugely successful musical career, that set the standard for others in the industry to aspire to. Yet his clearly eccentric life and kiddy fiddling habits also helped keep the tabloids in business. Unfortunately the Prince of Pop ended up having more plastic surgery than most of California's Hollywood set put together, which left him looking like a 50 year-old, freaky and weird-looking, pedophile - which is ironically exactly how he ended up!
I guess both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson are good reasons why we should not put people - especially so-called celebrities - up on pedestals, as they more than likely will come crashing down and bring our dreams with with them.
Still, the Saint can look back on the 70s with warm memories - despite the passing of these two icons. He can be thankful that not all his innocent childhood illusions from this period have being totally shattered. Which would be the case if say Colonel Hogan from Hogan's Heroes was ever found murdered in a seedy motel, following a kinky sex hookup or if they discovered Kane from Kung Fu hanging dead in a Bangkok hotel room with a rope around his dick.
Now that really would be just too much - eh Grasshopper!
Both were icons of the 1970s. The decade that taste forgot - as someone so cruelly, but accurately once opined.
However, the Jackson 5 - in which young Mick was the undisputed star; and Charlie's Angels - where Farrah Fawcett and her hair-do ruled supreme; were both iconic and powerful representations of that particular decade for me and my peers.
What 70's child - particularly of the male persuasion - will ever forget Farah's permanent sun-kissed look and how she made red swimsuits oh so sexy. Or our pangs of envy and jealousy over her marriage to another 1970's super star - and all-round lucky bugger - the Six Million dollar man Lee Majors.
Or what about the endless debates over the respective musical abilities of the Jackson 5 versus the toothy Osmond Family. And especially the talents of the gifted Michael over the sickly and sarine Donny! (Mind you Marie was quite hot, but no where near the smoking hotness of Farrah Fawcett's Jill from Charlies Angels!).
Somehow both the Fabulous Farrah and the Mercurial Michael were apt symbols for the superficiality of the 1970s, when both were at the peak of their fame - although MJ's run also went through most of the 80s and some of the 90s as well.
Sadly, they both became examples of what not to do when you have fame and money, and unwittingly ended up as parodies of the celebrity-worshipping culture that the 1970s began.
The lovely Farrah never really regained her 70s demi-god status after walking out on Charlie and the other Angels in the latter part of the decade. Her reputation was not helped much by making a host of bad, made-for-TV movies. Or ditching the bionic man and taking up with washed-up, serial cheat Ryan O'Neal. The only thing she appeared to ever successfully do with O'Neal was produce acres of tabloid headlines and a loser, druggie of a son called Redmond.
Meanwhile, Michael Jackson left his four siblings behind to embark on a hugely successful musical career, that set the standard for others in the industry to aspire to. Yet his clearly eccentric life and kiddy fiddling habits also helped keep the tabloids in business. Unfortunately the Prince of Pop ended up having more plastic surgery than most of California's Hollywood set put together, which left him looking like a 50 year-old, freaky and weird-looking, pedophile - which is ironically exactly how he ended up!
I guess both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson are good reasons why we should not put people - especially so-called celebrities - up on pedestals, as they more than likely will come crashing down and bring our dreams with with them.
Still, the Saint can look back on the 70s with warm memories - despite the passing of these two icons. He can be thankful that not all his innocent childhood illusions from this period have being totally shattered. Which would be the case if say Colonel Hogan from Hogan's Heroes was ever found murdered in a seedy motel, following a kinky sex hookup or if they discovered Kane from Kung Fu hanging dead in a Bangkok hotel room with a rope around his dick.
Now that really would be just too much - eh Grasshopper!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The French Connection and the changing face of our national game
Now that the first All Black tests of the year are over, the Saint feels like reflecting a little on the current state of our national game.
Rugby in New Zealand used to be not so much a sport, but more of a religion. However, it would be fair to say the recently completed French series highlights just how much the game has changed in New Zealand over the past few years.
This very average French team - remember they only came third or fourth in the most recent six nations championship, a competition in which New Zealanders like to bag as weak - managed to draw the two match test series with the All Blacks one-all. These Frenchies have come and gone in the space of a week. And in that time, they have taken away the silverware (the Dave Gallagher Trophy) and the All Black's reputation as being hard to beat at home, smashed up our forward pack and left our backline in tatters. And all we have managed to do was further enhance New Zealand's reputation as an attractive tourist destination with five losers beating up one of the French players on his way back to the hotel after a night celebrating in Wellington.
Yet the only reaction from the NZ public appears to be a muted acceptance that the All Blacks managed to square the series, or even buy into the coaches pathetic excuses about New Zealand only having a 'young and inexperienced' team.
To the Saint's way of thinking this is the kind attitude is why rugby today has lost much of the allure and mystique it held in yesteryear. Blame the advent of professionalism, or the fact that rugby is now played seemingly 12-months of the year, or that commercialisation of game into a multi-million dollar business, or the fact that the today's players are just plain soft and money hungry.
If you ever wanted a metaphor to see just how much the game has actually changed over the years; then nothing more portrayed this than the big plates of sushi in the All Black's changing room after last Saturday's game! Can you ever imagine players of the past like Frank Oliver, Mark Shaw, John Ashworth or any of their ilk trudging off the paddock after a hard fought game against the Frogs and happily chowing down on raw fish and rice, wrapped in seaweed?
But it is just not the sushi. Something magical has disappeared from the game that once ruled but also at one time (the South African tour of 1981) divided the country in half. Gone are the days when touring sides would come to NZ and spend two to three months - not just playing test matches - but travelling up and down the country and taking on every province, or a combination of smaller teams, as well as NZ Universities, the junior All Blacks and NZ Maori.
By the time a visiting team had left our shores; we not only knew who each member of the touring squad was, but what village and club they hailed from, their position, their proper jobs (remember these were the days when rugby was not a fulltime occupation) and number of games played on tour.
The Saint well remembers the touring British Lions side of 1977. Names like Andy Irvine, Phil Bennett, Steve Fenwick, Bill Beaumont, JJ Williams and Moss Keenan are still etched deeply in the memory. He will never forget the Lion's epic test series with the All Blacks. NZ won it 3-1, but this does not tell the full story. Things such as how the fine careers of All Black greats such as Grant Batty, Sid Going and Ian Kirkpatrick were ended. Or how the name Colin Farrell will be forever remembered as the worst fullback to have ever donned the hallowed black jersey! And how new talents such as Graham Mourie, Stu Wilson and Garry Knight were discovered.
It was during this series that Andy Irvine's place kicking for touch or the Lions' forwards beating up our scrum so badly that we had to invent three-man scrums to compete were etched into the brain.
Other premonitions include the feisty Grant Batty's 60 metre intercept try that won us the first test and then the mustachioed dynamo's shock announcement of his immediate retirement from international rugby due to a chronic knee injury. Or the handsome third test victory in Dunedin, where from out of deepest darkest central Otago came a big kicking fullback named Bevan Wilson. Or the sight of All Black No.8 Laurie Knight scoring in the corner to secure a narrow victory for New Zealand in the fourth and final test to be greeted with a handshake from an estactic supporter who had rushed on to Eden Park to personally thank the big Poverty Bay doctor for clinching the all-important series win.
These memories are still vivid in my mind more than 30 years later. Yet the recent French series is less than 30 hours old, and I am struggling to remember any of the players' names (from either team) or any highlights from the test matches - except for the sublime try scored by the French winger in the second test.
I guess it is a good thing that rugby no longer commands such a strong pull over our little country's collective conscious. Maybe as a nation we have grown up a bit - after all rugby is only a game. Yet so too has much of the romance disappeared from our national game.
Somehow, I seriously doubt that any 10-year old boy from today will be reminiscing in 30-odd years time - in a rather poorly written and non-read blog - about the fabulous 2009 French rugby tour of New Zealand!
Oh well - Ce l'est vie !
Rugby in New Zealand used to be not so much a sport, but more of a religion. However, it would be fair to say the recently completed French series highlights just how much the game has changed in New Zealand over the past few years.
This very average French team - remember they only came third or fourth in the most recent six nations championship, a competition in which New Zealanders like to bag as weak - managed to draw the two match test series with the All Blacks one-all. These Frenchies have come and gone in the space of a week. And in that time, they have taken away the silverware (the Dave Gallagher Trophy) and the All Black's reputation as being hard to beat at home, smashed up our forward pack and left our backline in tatters. And all we have managed to do was further enhance New Zealand's reputation as an attractive tourist destination with five losers beating up one of the French players on his way back to the hotel after a night celebrating in Wellington.
Yet the only reaction from the NZ public appears to be a muted acceptance that the All Blacks managed to square the series, or even buy into the coaches pathetic excuses about New Zealand only having a 'young and inexperienced' team.
To the Saint's way of thinking this is the kind attitude is why rugby today has lost much of the allure and mystique it held in yesteryear. Blame the advent of professionalism, or the fact that rugby is now played seemingly 12-months of the year, or that commercialisation of game into a multi-million dollar business, or the fact that the today's players are just plain soft and money hungry.
If you ever wanted a metaphor to see just how much the game has actually changed over the years; then nothing more portrayed this than the big plates of sushi in the All Black's changing room after last Saturday's game! Can you ever imagine players of the past like Frank Oliver, Mark Shaw, John Ashworth or any of their ilk trudging off the paddock after a hard fought game against the Frogs and happily chowing down on raw fish and rice, wrapped in seaweed?
But it is just not the sushi. Something magical has disappeared from the game that once ruled but also at one time (the South African tour of 1981) divided the country in half. Gone are the days when touring sides would come to NZ and spend two to three months - not just playing test matches - but travelling up and down the country and taking on every province, or a combination of smaller teams, as well as NZ Universities, the junior All Blacks and NZ Maori.
By the time a visiting team had left our shores; we not only knew who each member of the touring squad was, but what village and club they hailed from, their position, their proper jobs (remember these were the days when rugby was not a fulltime occupation) and number of games played on tour.
The Saint well remembers the touring British Lions side of 1977. Names like Andy Irvine, Phil Bennett, Steve Fenwick, Bill Beaumont, JJ Williams and Moss Keenan are still etched deeply in the memory. He will never forget the Lion's epic test series with the All Blacks. NZ won it 3-1, but this does not tell the full story. Things such as how the fine careers of All Black greats such as Grant Batty, Sid Going and Ian Kirkpatrick were ended. Or how the name Colin Farrell will be forever remembered as the worst fullback to have ever donned the hallowed black jersey! And how new talents such as Graham Mourie, Stu Wilson and Garry Knight were discovered.
It was during this series that Andy Irvine's place kicking for touch or the Lions' forwards beating up our scrum so badly that we had to invent three-man scrums to compete were etched into the brain.
Other premonitions include the feisty Grant Batty's 60 metre intercept try that won us the first test and then the mustachioed dynamo's shock announcement of his immediate retirement from international rugby due to a chronic knee injury. Or the handsome third test victory in Dunedin, where from out of deepest darkest central Otago came a big kicking fullback named Bevan Wilson. Or the sight of All Black No.8 Laurie Knight scoring in the corner to secure a narrow victory for New Zealand in the fourth and final test to be greeted with a handshake from an estactic supporter who had rushed on to Eden Park to personally thank the big Poverty Bay doctor for clinching the all-important series win.
These memories are still vivid in my mind more than 30 years later. Yet the recent French series is less than 30 hours old, and I am struggling to remember any of the players' names (from either team) or any highlights from the test matches - except for the sublime try scored by the French winger in the second test.
I guess it is a good thing that rugby no longer commands such a strong pull over our little country's collective conscious. Maybe as a nation we have grown up a bit - after all rugby is only a game. Yet so too has much of the romance disappeared from our national game.
Somehow, I seriously doubt that any 10-year old boy from today will be reminiscing in 30-odd years time - in a rather poorly written and non-read blog - about the fabulous 2009 French rugby tour of New Zealand!
Oh well - Ce l'est vie !
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