(I am not sure what prompted this report. It is pointless and irrelevant).
No, I have not read all of these books but I’ve sorted them out, more or less and now I have only to find some room in which to house my Winston collection and I’m all set. I’m ignoring the boxes in the garage for now. (And there are more, lurking in the cupboard under the stairs and some other little corners. But forget about that). Though really, if I was stuck on a desert island, I could probably manage with just the four books featured below.
Poor old Christchurch is a bit broke. These photos were taken on Colombo St–Christchurch’s main street–in Sydenham and Beckenham. And I can’t help wondering what has happened to the ceramic Nessie, resident of a windowsill at Rob Roy’s (erstwhile purveyors of cheap steaks and Irn-Bru cocktails). A picture of an Irn-Bru cocktail is also provided (see below).
This is an article I particularly enjoyed reading a while ago. I tore it out of the Sunday magazine.
I’m always a bit ambivalent about Steve Braunius. (And I should have emailed him to explain what Basildon Bond was–thought it was a household name). But this piece was, I thought, really quite good (thanks to Keith Waterhouse). And I do sometimes go to Smith’s bookshop myself.
This may simply reveal my (quite overwhelming at this stage) desire to regress to a happier world such as the one found when seated at the controls(?) of a pedal car going along at what seemed a breathtaking speed. (I’m ignoring, in this little spell of nostalgia, the memory of the rancorous arguments over whose turn it was to have a go in it). It is many years since I have been in a pedal car but I do remember the simple joy it induced. And I am not talking about those nasty things called go-karts, beloved of your typical tow-headed tyke. Let’s be quite clear on that.
The little red car belongs to my friend in Melbourne. I didn’t take it out for a burl around West Footscray. A regrettable omission. And the sign resting by the aluminium (yes, that IS the word–it has FIVE syllables) dinghy at the Chocolate Fish Cafe in Miramar (or Wellington somewhere) intrigued me greatly.
In the family archives (extensive, digitised, and now in my possession) there are a couple of pictures of children with pedal cars. Gleaming luxury items in wartime Australia.
I know this is getting quite ridiculous but I have been on holidays for a while now and have been able to resurrect my (ab)normal interest in the things, both big and small, in the world around me. And I have had time to put it on this blog. It will all end soon. (I don’t mean that as some hideous portent of doom but am merely referring to the fact that I’ll be back at work next week).
Anyway, among the things that caught my eye afresh were an owl or two. (I’m sorry that I didn’t see a tawny owl to photograph when I was at Yenda, and that I didn’t see the morepork* that I could hear calling–it’s not really a hoot–in the bush at Duncan’s Bay. And there is an owl tea cosy in the kitchen pic. You have to look carefully.)
*See http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/birds-of-prey/2/1
Here they be:
After a long time and some stupidity (I don’t mind admitting it) I have actually worked out how to use the scanner at home. This has opened whole new vistas and I can’t help but feel that life will be very sweet now. (It turns out that Cinders did not want me to be able to use this facility. That kid is really old before her time).
When I was at home and my mother was clearing out some of the treasures that just lie around I claimed the original ‘Fragments from All the Fronts’ that I read when I was very young. This copy is in very good order apart from an interesting patch of dry rot or something.
I have some restraint, of course, so there is only one illustration and the cover shown here (below).
There must have been a story behind this but I don’t know what it was. (At Duncan’s Bay).
1998 was the Year of the Tiger. But tiger stripes weren’t what I was wearing. I splashed out on a Keith Matheson leopard-print shirt. It remains the most expensive shirt I have ever purchased. It is a subtle presence in the (rather bad) picture below. I also have a cup and saucer with a leopard-print design. I bought it the day that photo was taken. I don’t much like it now.
However, I would never go as far as some members of the family have been known to do.
The fortunes of Australia were made off the sheep’s back, or so they used to say. I had a fossick around the old shearing shed when I was home and spent a bit of time contemplating the past. Lanolin is enduring, and surprisingly evocative. There are no sheep at home anymore.
(I must tell you all about a game called ‘Squatter’ some time).
I managed to avoid being signed up as a member of the kirk, but only just. A very polite gentleman of Scottish descent with a determined mien and pen and paper in hand met my friend and me at the door. Somehow we managed to shake him off. Some other chappie took us up into the organ’s innards. It was impressively clean. Apparently you have to keep an organ’s innards absolutely spotless for it to sound good. The young man who abandoned his jandals in order to play the organ is Thomas, who is studying Performance Music at Victoria University, Wellington. I don’t think that there are a lot like him around. (His shoes had suede soles).
gryphonelle 