Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in hpoonis' LiveJournal:

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Thursday, June 29th, 2006
5:32 pm	Custard The above colloquially describes the state of things at this time. How often we see life the wrong way. We direct ourselves along a certain path not knowing what may be around the next bend or what would happen if we were to deviate this way or that. So often we look back and think 'what if...', or 'if only...' when what we really should be doing is telling ourselves that we made those choices and no amount of magic should change that even if we could. There is nothing I regret in life but a few days ago I did. The details are unimportant, what is important is that a chapter in this life has closed without really ever being opened except within me. The point being that it has cost me the friendship of someone I held very dear. Simplicity was always something I cherished yet how often we complicate our existence at every turn. What matters most are those we let in and consider closest to ourselves. Yet I seem to spurn every and all opportunies to be happy or to allow others to get close. It appears that the more I become distant from my life point of origin the more isolated I make myself. Several of those I was close to have found themselves to this place: this journal. The greatest desire I have is to be connected to someone special yet it seems to be the hardest thing to achieve. My dreams do not dictate my reality at all in this case. I make myself available to impossible relationships; that, for one reason or another are set to fail because I chose those that will. The truth of the matter is that once I realise this I speed the process up dramatically and opt for failure. Choices. Sometimes I feel that I am unable to choose. That I let the world carry me to places and events that will always be weighted against me. Yet still these are choices. I have been described as a shallow cunt. Maybe a truism, maybe not. I'd like to believe that we seek those we find attractive to us rather than attractive to others. I have been accused of self-pity yet this is not really the case either: I have been aware for some time that, although I am comfortable with myself, I rarely like me and have never loved me, yet I am not so lacking in confidence that I pity myself. In truth my confidence was always very solid. Twice it has been shaken: once by me and once by what I thought another expected of me. I also learned during the dark moments of the beginning of the year that I live with the results of my choices and actions. Too often we seek to justify ourselves: why do we do a thing? Why do we behave a certain way? When, in all reality, we find ourselves too weak to stand up when it matters the most. A world-famous and physically dead, yet alive Christian stood up where we could not; accepted responsibility for what we found ourselves unable to. If we find ourselves at the crossroads of our life where the time comes to stand tall, can we not do the same? Since being in this land the choices I have made have progressively added turmoil and grief to the life I gently hold on to. It is with determination yet sadness that I remain to accept the rest of what life this country affords me. Current Mood: drained (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 15th, 2006
7:52 am	Basting a Turkey We encounter people throughout our lives. One old philosopher remarked that if you were to remain in the same place long enough eventually you would meet everybody. This is not strictly true, of course but we do meet a number of individuals. Some of them give us cause to reflect; others pause for thought; some rock our world to its very foundations. Whatever the outcome, we often fail to spot the small things about these characters and meetings/liaisons/happenings that, when we look back, have shifted us even mildly. After all, I am here now at the tail end of New Zealand because of people and events: each of us can tell a similar tale but more often than not it is because of one person that we do what we do or go to a certain place. It is interesting that the closest individuals that we bring into our private space do not necessarilty cause us to look at the world diffently but, more often then not, to look at ourselves differently. It is usually those people that we observe but not necessarily connect with that make us look at the world with new eyes. Because we see the world objectively rather than from the standpoint of direct influence upon us. At time of writing I have encountered a few people that caused me to look at myself clearly and deeply. It seems I have forgotten the art of people-watching and thus world-watching. I'd suggest it is due to the unsettled nature of me that I am unable to see the broader picture. A lack of stability maybe. I am currently homeless, single, still a temporary dweller in this land and the future is a very cloudy thing. They come, they go, they leave ripples in their passing that may or may not change us but we remember them all, some deeply and others a mere passing thought. Whatever the case, those that you have now make the most of. We may never met all of the people in the world but there will be enough to make up a catalogue of interesting memories; several will give pause for thought for the future; one or two will remain with you always. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 13th, 2006
6:01 pm	Class struggles The day finds me camped in a motel in Invercargill. Weather currently one stage short of dreary, or maybe that is my mood. Whatever it is it is not helping the mood. New job, new town...what else can I class as new? Body is more inked than last time I scirbed in here. I have acquired a Chinese name which I shall get inked on the last remaining naked limb. The southern end of NZ is not covered in penguins, ice or arctic travellers awaiting a hop to what was once the last unspoilt wilderness until science discovered a loophole in yet another treaty. Life moves and so do I. Current Mood: contemplative (Comment on this)
Thursday, April 6th, 2006
9:58 pm	Put your own words here Dear all, April 6th 2006 I have lived 42 years. How much have I seen? How little? What have I let slip by? What did I hold on to? For most of those years I, like many others, never truly see what the world is about. Sometimes some of us draw closer to God during these moments others may look to their friends, loved ones. I recently told someone I hold dear to me that there is so much beauty in the world yet it seems that I may only look and not have any of it. This is not completely true. I have told a few this. Some years ago I took a young lad surfing, the eldest child of my ex-partner. I drove him to Macauley's Head at Park Beach, Coffs Harbour. It was about 6.20 in the morning. We were the only two people there: he on the water and me on the beach. I took some photos. Then sat on the sand watching. The sky, un unsullied, clear, beautiful blue met a horizon that blazed with the most ardent splendour from the rising sun and there on the water, this solitary boy living his life doing the one thing at that time that gave the most pleasure. I was not, at that time, either saved or a believer in God. Yet now, when I look back, I realised that God made that one day just for me. To understand that the world has so much to offer those who open their eyes; who listen closely; feel the rhythm of life. It has happened again but not with such clarity yet I know when to open my eyes, slow down and let the world in. The pursuit of happiness is not measured by the things we can acquire, the years we have in us, how much we can see but by who we touch in our journey. What we do that affects others? Who affects us? What do we give and to whom? How much does it actually cost to live this way? Tbe acquisition of wealth, influence, status is not a measure of success, not to those that love you truly. It is a milestone that others who care little for substance use to see how they are measuring their own lives. The things that matter to those close to you are those which cost less yet mean the most. Christ knew this and mentions it accordingly. Lose your life to gain your life. Gift your wealth away, not that it will benefit others but because it will make you richer than you could have imagined. Love fully and without conditions, even those that DO persecute you. These things are not the watchwords of the current age. This may be the rambling of a disordered mind or the prattling of an idiot but here in this place, ethereal as it is, we speak our minds, give life to our thoughts and feelings. Current Mood: loved (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 30th, 2006
1:32 am	Ugh and Piff! Well, dear friends (and even those who may be reading this that miss the qualification), I have re-read the previous piece, straight from the heart but at the arse-end of the English table (probably not even the breakfast bar!) :) but then my first-hand apology did do wonders to alleviate the pain of looking at such a mis-typed missive. So forgiveness should issue forthwith from the souls of you gentle readers without too much effort or cost. Am on the road to Wellington later this morning. Road to Wellington...yet, alas, not in the company of either Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, or Dorothy Lamour. Still, we make the best of things nonetheless. Perchance I'll pen myself a little ditty, something that Mr. Crosby could have crooned on a moonlit night or an early morn shortly before a giant armadillo was to tear him limb from limb. I shall, however, be armed with a camera and if requests are forthcoming I may ether-spamm something to the old Yahoo photo page. The travelling Hpoonis p.s. That long list of emotions only really has several faces! Pointless opting for anything other than the norm really. p.p.s Anyone that puts a "p.s" in their writing is several logs short of a rip-roaring fire. Unless of course they had gas which made the previous colourful metaphor moot and, were that the case, then the previous metaphor was not worth the posting to start with which kind of makes this "p.p.s" moot as well. Makes one's head spin! Current Mood: loved (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 29th, 2006
8:20 pm	Flipper, the wonder mammal OK, am not really sure how this will come out. If the spelling gets all fucked up and poobah forgive me, I am a couple of bottles of wine down. I shakll attempt to correct any discrepancies but for some reason today, it is the content that matters and the grammar, syntax and spelling can go shit in its hat! The later details of the Hoppins love life have taken a dramatic turn for teh whatever. I shall not attempt psycho-whatever myself into a pink gymslip or even make an effort to codify my actions in to anything that makes any sense to anyone...not even me! Am using this fnecking medium as a window to my blasted but eternal soul. Have discovered some feelings for a certain someone that I have been in some form of communication for some time. A pain to discover thaty this someone you had the best of intentions for turns out to be someone you seem to have more than basic friendship for...and that this certain person has always brought out the Byron/Shelley/Shakespeare in you. Where do you go from there? The scenario according to camp Hpoonis is never that simple, is it were you woud all be robbed of an interesting plot and enticign storyline...suffice it to say this...she (for 'tis thus) has encorached upon my meagre world in a nice way...in THE nicest, in fact! And at this time - I am watcnhing 'Buena Vista Social Club' - I am touched with a certain other-world quality. "What is this shit?" you may ask yourself...nothing for you to worryabotu of course. After all, 'tis my entry and I dictate the content. Her name is not important at this stage. But who she is IS. A person of integrity, character, principles, and loving that, as a romantic soul. I find it hard to ignore. The fact that I know her adds all the more to the splendour of it all. Anyway.............. Normal service will be resumed once we ascertain what 'normal' is! Yours... The Laird Hoppins Current Mood: life happens! (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 23rd, 2006
9:48 am	Climbing a trellis Well, the job hunt comtinues. In the UK life in the sticks is generally inconvenient: crappy bus timetables; small corner shop that only sells yesterday's paper, some stale bread and is run by a charming old dear with her hair in a bun and the odour of urine gently wafting about the place; all the locals are related by some ancient and long-forgotten period just after Harold took one in the eye for the team...and so on and so forth. Here in the land of the long, white cloud - that doesn't particularly prevent ultra-high UV from fritzing you into strange and previosuly unseen cases of melanoma - the situation is compounded. Example: being an old-hand at the IT job scene (and those of you in a similar vein will be aware) the IT pimps are prone to post spurious job ads to collect names and faces for the lists. It is also a partial practice that they like to meet their prospectives in person, press the flesh and generally make smalltalk to pad out their existence. Now being a resident of a centrally-positioned, known lake-based town I am some 3 hours from the middle of Auckland and some 5 hours from the middle of Wellington. Call from pimp went something like this: previous job blurb skipped over. PIMP: Well it is all good so far. I think a meeting should be next. MH: OK. Am good to go in a couple of days. PIMP: That's fine. You have our address? We are in Parnell. MH: Er...I know that. How is that relevant? PIMP: So you can find our offices. MH: I don't mean to be difficult or sound obtuse (I think I stumped him) but why would I spend a day coming to see you? It would not be practical for me to trolley 3 hours each way and to lay out $100 just to come and see an IT pimp (of course I never directly referred to him as a pimp...but we both knew the inference was there). If I did that regularly then I'd be bankrupt within a month! Unless you are prepared to meet some of the cost? PIMP: I don't think that is possible. MH: Then I suggest we arrange for an interview with the client as coming to Auckland would only be useful in that context. I'll be frank, I have had jobs offered based solely on telephone interviews. What's good enough for them is amply suitable for you. Somehow I think he kind of lost me there. Subsequent conversations have not been forthcoming. Still, his loss is...well, his loss! Current Mood: All will be revealed in time (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 4th, 2006
11:43 pm	Latest offerings Hello World. Here is a brief synopsis of the life of Hpoonis thus far from November-ish. November begins....plans are well underway for a Fijiian (sp) wedding twixt myself and the Aussie. Platinum wedding ring sits in a nice lacquer box here waiting to be used. Aussie goes to dance classes...suddenly the phone does not get answered and no texts responded to...what gives? Well what gives is that Aussie has discovered a turnip farmer from the Ukraine - being an Aussie since year one. The Hoppins-Bax scenario comes to a close. Hopping takes it hard....well after 7 years who wouldn't? She then tells me he has gone back to his wife. Doesn't prevent me taking a surplus of sleeping tablets. Attempt 1 fails but is comedic. Next morning I am carted off to hospital and awake to find myself wired up to all kinds of electronica. Every time I move an alarm goes off. I adopt stealth tactics...slow the heart rate down, disconnect the wiring, collect my apparel and ninja my way out of the hospital. Now here it becomes vague for a while... I call a friend and he meets me at my favourite cafe. I cannot even hold a cup of tea in my hand without it spilling everywhere. At some point two police cars and 5 officers arrive. "IS your name Marc?" I am asked. "No, Martin", comes the reply. I am home and hosed. The officer makes her way into the cafe. "While you are there can you get me another pot of tea?", I ask. She returns and questions em further whereupon I confess all and am calmly marched to the jam sandwich and hauled off to the clink. The cry goes up, "Bad Show, old boy!" I get searched...even semi-anally and spend some time in the cells before a Psyche comes to give me the once over and I am released. I cannot really recall getting home. Now.....Aussie informs me after a period of time that turnip boy has not really gone back to his wife seeing as he was divorced 6 years previously. He only went back for Xmas to see the children! They have been constant companions ever since. There has also beena certain amount of financial, emotional and other stress factors involved but one thing leads to another and attempt #2 occurs via knife and wrists. There is not a lot of damage overall so I don't really inform anyone. Just patch up and carry on! On top of this my job suddenly disappears. So I have no job, no woman, no residency. I am able to own property and pay taxes but not get any assistance from NZ at all....but this is of no moment. Seems that I am now very aware of 3 things.... I am supposed to be alone at this point. God wants me for something...I believe this. I have to begin to think creatively vis-a-vis finances. OH! And one more thing....she has also fucked me financially :) Current Mood: rejuvenated (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 5th, 2006
2:59 pm	More bureaucracy My rubbish has been attacked by an unknown several times since the last installment. Rubbish collection Wednesday morning. I leave the house and the contents of the paper sack are everywhere. I have to leave it as I have a conference to attend. After conference I return home to collect the debris and put it in a new paper sack on the way home I spot a dog rummaging through a paper sack. The new paper sack I put into the boot of the car. Some 10 mins later finds me at the Engineering (and refuse collection) department of the local council. MH: My rubbish was attacked again last night. Why are we still using paper sacks????? RDC: Policy MH: How is it that in the civilised portions of the world they get wheelie bins? RDC: Policy MH: My name is and my mobile number is . Now every time that my rubbish gets attacked I shall leave my rubbish in one of your paper sacks somewhere randomely around the council building. Can you get the head cheese to call me? Thank you. Later that day the phone rings and the RDC cheese is talking to me. DC: I understand you have had a dog going through your rubbish. MH: Possibly, might be a cat or a possum. RDC: We can get the animal control officer to investigate. MH: And what hours does he work? RDC: From 7am to 8pm MH: So anything that occurs outof those hours will not get spotted by him. After all, he is not likely to be sniping outside my house with camoflage and night goggles, is he? And as I said it may be a cat or a possum they are not registered so he is not looking for those. RDC: No MH: And on the way back to my house to tidy up the mess I spotted another dog going through rubbish. It possibly may even be owned by the house whose rubbish it was going through! RDC: We had a man driving around that area and he never saw any dogs. MH: So let me finally get this aright: You have one man driving the truck; two hanging off the back picking up the bags and a third in a completely seperate vehicle looking for dogs. I sense some deficiency in your adequate use of resources and taxpayers money!!! I told the girls on the desk that every time my rubbish gets waylaid I would randomly deposit it somewhere in this building. Stay on alert for more of my rubbish in future. (Comment on this)
2:57 pm	Greed: High   Gluttony: Medium   Wrath: Medium   Sloth: High   Envy: Medium   Lust: High   Pride: Very Low   Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz (Comment on this)
2:48 pm	Dark, dark, darkness The world is currently a very dim and dismal place and as a result I am thinking of becoming a goth! Nothing witty on the horizon to write about. Christmas sucked arse, New year sucked arse and currently the beginning of January is sucking arse like a gold medal-winning felching champion! Current Mood: melancholy (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 29th, 2005
4:16 pm	The Policies in place Local bureaucrats, don't you just love them? They are like mini Pol Pots. It matters not which location one finds oneself they are alike. I was under the mistaken premise that local government was there to serve the people at a closer level than nationally. However, they follow the same path as their larger cousins. It will always be a question of "I'm all right, Jack!" and fuck the rest of us. Example... Here in the glorious and warm tourist-y town of Rotorua (so they have us all believe) our refuse collection is managed in paper bags. Oh! I have no doubt they may be made up of 20% recycled something-or-other but the factof the matter is that they are still paper. One of the side-effects is that under wet conditions the paper tends to lose a bit of its integrity and has a tendency to deposit the ex-contents of your house where the neighbours can see and figure out you had several vodkas and a large chicken the night before. The other is that some enterprising night-hound, cat or possum is alerted to the fact that last night's chicken carcass is in said paper container and subsequently NOT in the paper container any longer but strewn, along with everything else, all about the place. I travel to the RDC building to have words. MH: Why do we not have wheelie bins, instead of these pathetic bags that are too msall to get anything in? RDC: We are actively encouraging people to create less waste. MH: But if a family creates a regular amount of waste they will only use more than one bag anyway. RDC: I don't make the policy I just provide information. At this point I am reminded of the man in Hitchhiker's that is attempting to demolish Dent's quaint English home. MH: But I keep getting my rubbish attacked! IF we had wheelie bins it would not be a problem. RDC: We can get the animal control officer to have a look. MH: And what will that do? Is he likely to camp outside my home on the off-chance that a wandering animal will appear at 2 or 3 in the morning? Or is he likely to come about 4pm when all chance of apprehending the offending creature will be gone? I have a big plastic bin but your bags are too small to hook round it. If I use the black plastic ones then they do not get collected as they are not 'official' bags and of course they are far cheaper than your version. RDC: You can get holders for the bads that will fit. MH: So let me get this right: You want me to buy a plastic bin to put my paper bag in because you are unable to provide a bin? RDC: Yes. Once again my dumb was founded and my gast was flabbered. MH: How about I tell it like it is. You would rather supply the public with paper sacks that cost more to produce than the plastic ones. You would rather use paper sacks and not wheelie bins because ini this part of the world you can have a one-man collection operation rather than that which you currently have: one man drivign and two others hanging off the back of the truck. That would be far too efficient, wouldn't you say? Current Mood: frustrated (Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 12th, 2005
5:54 pm	Click on the button July 2nd...am off to Coolangatta on the GC of Oz. My flight departs 4pm from Hamilton. Now I seem to remember a personage in the UK called Hamilton Bland...and this exactly describes the town of Hamilton in NZ. Anyway...back to the topic at hand... I arrive at the airport in plenty of time but the check-in queue is mighty long. Still, I adopt the British pose and poise, remain stiff-upper lipped and join the milling throng. I begin to have a certain idea that we may not be offing on time...by the time I get closer I can hear the excuse from the flight wallah, "there is going to be a delay". A slow sigh escapes me. The full story is this: The plane we are supposed to board has been delayed as this is a domino effect from the previous night's flight diversion to Auckland. The thought instills itself that they only have the one plane. Still I accept the fact. And 2.5 hours later than expected I touchdown in Australia - the restaurant I was booked to dine in at 7.30pm would not be pleased that I failed to arrive. The diversion was due to fog. Round two of this outgoing episode grated me like nothing before. I am becoming vehemently anti-rugby since being in NZ. This is the singular, most one-tracked nation I have encountered. The constant, daily, in-your-face coverage of the sport - which, by the way, has no break in it...they move from union to league without pause - is causing me to detest the game and despise these people for it. So what do we get on the outward journey....the chief flight whore declares publicly that they can divulge the score of the NZ-Lions game if anyone cares to hear it. I pipe up loudly...NO! But the general consensus overpowers my opinion and they provide regular updates to the clamouring herd. Tale of the tape.... Sunday 10th July I am due to depart Brisbane at 6.40pm. I text Rhys the night before...YOU NIT-PICKED MY TEXT...the night before was in reality the early part of the morning, same day. Anyway...the slight confusion over days and work and meets was resolved and a few nice but semi-windy hours were passed in the company of Mr. & Mrs. Thomas of Brisbane. Flight departs on time...due to land at the usual 1150pm at Hamilton. 40 mins from Hamilton we get the "fog at Hamilton airport, we may have to divert to Auckland" speech. I sense deja vu. Biggles never had these problems! Captain fliyboy declares that we will approach from the south and try that. We get almost to the ground...I suspect something like 1-200 ft when the engines kickstart themselves and we make a supersonic liftoff. Away we go to Auckland. Flyboy says nothing but I know they are secretly chuckling in there. We are duly informed that there will be buses that will take us back to Hamilton...a journey of some 2-2.5 hours. Well I settle in for the haul back. It is a chilly night as you can imagine, being winter 'n' all. I sit back and attempt to doze...not an easy feat for a six-footer. We hear a kind of a dull bang followed by a long hiss of sorts. After 15 mins or so we hear a bleeping sound...rather like an alarm in fact. After a time the alarm sound is followed by the smell of burning...well rather like burning brake pads, which is exactly what it was. The bus pulls to the side of a dark, lonely road and the bus driver goes looking at the problem. He returns to the bus and collects the fire extinguisher, returns to the probable conflagration and empties the contents of the fire device with a certain amount of immediacy and vigour. Smoke billows into the cold night sky rather reminiscent of Rome burning. I fiddle silently in my mind. Suddenly the outermost tyre explodes and seems to propel me into the air a little...did I not mention that my seat was directly above the rear axle? Well it was. My diagnosis is this...something freaked concerning the air-brakes which vented and caused one or more to lock; the ensuing friction super-heating the disc (or drum) which resulted in alarms going off. Eventually, the heat (or fire) blew one or more tyres. Anyway, we are sat by the road like Greeks awaiting the fall of Troy. Eventually a replacement vehicle appears and ferries us all to the lifeless Hamilton airport. I still have a one-hour drive in front of me. Current Mood: in a pissed-off kind of way (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, February 28th, 2005
4:02 pm	Clipping hair No idea why I used that title but it does, however, remind me of a barber/gentleman's hairdresser in Stuttgart West. The kind of shoppe that has been there for years and they built the city around it. A timeless establishment that the British thought twice about levelling during the glory days of carpet bombing. "20 seconds to target. Bomb doors open" "Hang about, chaps, isn't that Herman the Hairdo's place down there?" "I believe it is indeed, Pongo, why?" "Well we can't jolly well blow the place, can we?" "It does seem rather bad form, what? Shall we bomb the hospital instead?" "Top hole idea, Biffo. It should be noted in despatches how sporting we were." "Bombs away! Hope this doesn't inconvenience anyone." and so the place was probably spared. This may be urban legend but the place has an aura. And afterward, even though my command of German is as impressive as my grasp of Quantum Space Theory, I could usually manage to indicate a small amount from all over...although one day I think he thought I meant a small amount left on all over. The session usually ended with "zwei und zwanzig, bitte". At which point I handed the princely sum of 22DM over and went back to my laundry. The laundry was the place of Saturday mornings. The black triumph and I would sally forth to the 'Waschbar' to do our laundry and spend an hour or so in the company of a good book. As previously stated the German language and I did not see too much action so I occupied my time with some of the classics: Dumas, Stoker, Childers, Scott, etc. The premise of the business was - I feel - founded upon 'My Beautiful Launderette'. Briefly, two gay guys, an Indian and English set up shop as a laundry but with a cafe experience thrown in. Well the 'Waschbar' was the same but in reality. It was indeed staffed and run by two gay guys and you can get coffees or, more pertinantly for some of us, beer. It was all very amiable. I'd rock up with full bikey regalia and Reneé would greet me in the usual manner. "Hello, Marc, your machine She is ready." All the machines were called 'she' as though they had been launched by HM Queen rather than a raging one. Giant posters of ABBA and Maria Callas adorned the corner...I say posters they were actually lifesize cardboard cutouts. Did some pose next to them and get a photo taken? I did not have to guess at Callas as I mistakely said, "is the other Nana Mouskouri?" "No," came the reply, "that is Madame Callas". I suspected there was a hint of 'don't be utterly ridiculous' thrown in. But other than that things were usually tickety-boo. I always thought the experience rather more convivial that sitting in a sad, dingy coin-op in Beckenham, or Basildon. After all, I can think of nothing more relaxing than enjoying a book and a beer whilst my smalls were manhandled by a pink German. Now an aside.....specifically for Uncledisgusting hisself. You remember Moonie, aka Neal Thompson...you hexed him. Last year he came in to work one morning and did not leave. It seems something untoward happened or a heart attack overcame him or some such. I doubt he got a 'death in service' payout. (Comment on this)
Thursday, February 24th, 2005
4:32 pm	Erst and while Sorry to have been absent for so long. I was helping Siegfried and Roy get their act back on track after the mauling incident. Bad kitty!! So I have convinced them that they ought not to keep popping heads into the very dangerous and tooth-filled mouths of the genus Panthera tigris altaica but instead they should, in future, use a cement mixer. This idea was initially greeted with derision, "but, my dear", implored Roy, "that is the whole essence of our act! If we do not have the head in the tiger which gives the crowd the 'ooh' and 'aah' that they pay jolly well for we have nothing! They will surely see that we are talentless old queens with shit for brains and old hand-me-downs from MC Hammer!" "Calm yourself", I responded, "your average Las Vegas patron is probably drugged up to the hilt on gambling adrenalin and doesn't really give a fetid rat's ass about your act. They all gave up the ghost when Frank (Sinatra) died as all they have left are you two ponces and Celine Dion! Not much of a show really!" At which point they proceeded to weep utterly and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The building game. There are facets of life you pass through which are commonly called 'character-building'. This usually by those who have had a hard life and now teach. However, I am currently experiencing such a moment. A brief background follows. Item: one building - small by commercial standards but large for your average purchase - consisting of two levels of 840m2 (more or less). Currently partially occupied by one shop selling haberdashery and other assorted sewing paraphernalia. The remainder lying generally unused. Venus (as mentioned in previous despatches) has the bright idea of purchasing said building (using yours truly as major player in the land game) and turning the unoccupied portions into residential dwelling-places. Mars (being the author) taking the stance of skeptic and tut-tutter goes along for the sake of love, kisses and general entente-cordiale. Now the unoccupied parts of the building were, in the misty days of yore, occupied by various physicians, quacks and medicos that comprise a (semi) modern doctor's practice. Because of this the remaining space was divvied up into small, hutch-like portions. With sinks, cupboards and dispensing bits and bobs that usually accompany such occupations. "It will all have to go", says Venus. Mars rolls his eyes in a I-bet-I-am-the-one-who-will-have-to-donkey-all-the-work kind of way but we go along with it all the same. Time passes and this edifice has not really undergone too much change during the last year of ownership. However, the addition of a new roof to the premises was well-received by the occupiers of the lower floor who were rather miffed at having to mop out the place when the rains came. New roof = no leaks, result: happy campers! Now we come to the opening up of the small spaces into a larger and more useful one. Unsurprisingly we find the hero of our story (Mars) armed with various demolition tools and weapons of minor destruction (George W Bush take note). Tangentially...the 'W' in George Bush definitely stands for 'Warmonger' or more specifically, George 'Warmongering, Hill-billy that only managed to get anywhere cause his dad owned the company!' Bush. Well it fits for me. Anyhoooo...back to the main tale. We - and when I say we I really mean I - set about reducing the walls to movable pieces and the small spaces into a larger whole. A salient point to note is that your average DIY-er only works on smaller dwellings and thus manages to see an end point in his endeavours. When your upper floor is some 40yards long and 13 yards wide which, in England anyway, is larger than most houses and gardens in entirety! It makes the end seems very far away, a bit like running a marathon only in a straight line. On the upside....well maybe not. Also on the upper level is the remains of a strongroom whose purpose has me thoroughly flummoxed. The prominent feature of this room is the large steel door which is a regular feature of safes and strongrooms all over the globe. I secretly hint at its weight although I can find no trace of such an object on the net which can give me a comparison. Suffice it to say that the general mass of the object falls into one of two categories: heavy and unwieldy, or extremely heavy and unwieldy. I rather suspect the latter may be the case. We shall have a point of reference on Sunday morning when someone will be appearing (rather like the Shopkeeper in Mr. Benn) to cart the bloody thing off. I did suggest that he come armed with a Samoan rugby squad to ease the passage of the thing. Point two and more pertinant to the 'character-building' portion of this now long-winded episode is that while making less wall on the ground floor and generally bashing, bopping, tugging, twisting and removing stud walls from their long-held position, a piece of wall with some very large nails proceeded to pierce me in the right bicep. Which for those of you that know me, is in the general vicinity of a painted dragon...that now has two deep puncture wounds in it's carcass. The aforementioned nails were not of the rusty kind so I do not anticipate anything untoward happening to cause me to froth at the mouth or chase cars, etc. I am not altogether sure that I have developed further character but time will tell. (Comment on this)
Friday, February 4th, 2005
9:46 am	Spit'n To paraphrase the ol' Bard - To rant or not to rant? Well a rant may be in order or it may get one lobbed out on one's ear. Of course being completely anonymous here things should be fairly spiffy. SLAs. For those of you in the know these are directives set up so that upper management can cream off a few more bob out of the corporate coffers; middle management can get it in the neck when the numbers don't add up and the plebieans at the bottom of the pond can cop the flak when the previously named middle mob feel like passing the wounds on. However, when things are semi-glorious the pondlife rarely get a look-in, middle management get a pat on the back and a christmas ham and upper management lean back in their fat, leather recliners inhaling the fumes off a big fat cuban...or smoke a cigar. Being a reasonable sort of Johnny - most of the time - I try my best but somedays you are predestined by circumstance, rosters and locality never to win. Am currently one of the numbers that did not make an SLA but in all honesty on that day my teleport broke and I had to resort to the old-fashioned internal combustion engine attached to a metal chassis with accompanying electrical, mechanical and pneumatic accompaniments. This made me miss my on-site/restored SLA of 2 hours as from A to B was 60 mins; B to C was 20 mins and C to D was 80 mins in travel alone regardless of actual work done at the various points and the SLA related to a job at point D. I suspect my cynical reply to the missive sent out will earn me a shaking of the head. In the parlance of the United Nations it will be an equivalent of "strong condemnation". Which leads me laterally onto that point. "The UN today issued 'strong condemnation' to the Taleban for....". Does the free-thinking world really believe that the UN's 'Strong Condemnation' matters in the slightest? It is the political equivalent of sticking one's thumbs in one's ears, waving fingers whilst poking out one's very ugly tongue. Then singing "nah na-na nah nah". Very, very silly. Remind me to send the UN to bed early without any supper. (Comment on this)
Friday, January 14th, 2005
3:17 pm	Wheels and things Alas! Another ticket. The tally so far is...20 years of driving in the UK 1 speeding ticket. 2.4 years of driving in NZ 7 tickets. Does one sense a pattern? A recent news article I read ran something like: In the UK there are some 4500 speeding cameras. In NZ 340. In the UK 6% of drivers fined for speeding. In NZ 10%. Am I a happy camper, rhetorically? On the other coin of wheels. I was recently introduced to a new word, the spelling of which escapes me but that is incidental to our story. The word is "bogan" or 'bogun". It came to me via Australia and refers to one that cruises about in his slapmobile. Lowered, chrome rims - usually 17" or more in diameter. Turbo blow-valves and a big fat exhaust to match their big, fat heads. This was highlighted yesterday evening as I entered the carpark of a local supermarket. One of these individuals had lowered suspension (to match his IQ I suppose) but no bonnet. Ie., the engine of his spazwagon was open to the elements. My preferred conversation would go something like: MH: Are you OK? Bogun: What do you mean, Bro? In NZ everyone is someone's 'Bro' even if you have no earthly relation whatsoever! MH: Well you seem to have lost your penis and this veiled attempt at substituting it for a crappy set of shiny wheels on a clapped-out rustbucket, whilst compensating for your lack of manhood by farting your car along the highways and byways of New Zealand seems rather obvious, don't you think? Bogun: ? MH: I realise that you seem to be rather short on grey matter in addition to a lack of length but you certainly make up for it in testosterone. I can heartily recommend a decent urologist should you feel the need. Bogun: Sweet as. Most NZ conversations have the phrase "sweet as" pitched in there to indicate a smattering of understanding or an end to the dialogue. In this case I suspected the latter as although the key was in his ignotion he must have run out of gas a while ago. Where is my tea wallah when I need him? (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 13th, 2005
4:18 pm	All things bright and blah-de-blah Well a new year and a new horizon. I'll begin this by clearly stating that my New Year was very very sedate. I'll provide details below. Let me just say for the record that I am genuinely amazed by the correlation between a good new year and consumption of alcohol. For the first time since my chequered drinking career began at the tender age of 16 or so I had a COMPLETELY dry new year's eve. Not a drop from midnight to midnight. I slurped a happy beverage at 0002 Jan 1st and attempted another at 0350 but by then I was too tired to finish it. The travelling mudberries were with me for the festive season and this was useful in itself. I had no time off aside from the regulation Monday and Tuesday following Yuletide and New Year (aka Silvester in Germany). This meant that my alcohol intake had to be tempered due to a semi-clear head being the minimum requirement for a normal working day. Christmas dinner consisted of a very spicy and hot curry which must have been a hit as they appeared for seconds. There was no outbreak of gas following said meal so I guess I got it fairly right. Beats turkey every time...unless of course it is a curried turkey. Hordes of sreaming Asians will soon be beating a path to my door clamouring for a taste of my fayre. "Bring forth the Hindu hotpot!!", they will holler and I, being a magnaimous host, will issue forthwith such tasty morsels as have never been seen in New Zealand due to the tastebuds of the regular NZ-er not being suitable for hot, spicy dishes. Now the new year...I opted to be driver. This was not an excuse not to drink, I had already determined that sobriety was to be the watchword for the time and thus it was. We beavered out and at the first of two watering holes we visited my drink of choice was a flat, white coffee. Oh! what an interesting evening it was going to be. However, at the second establishment we had camped out in a prominent part of the bar. During the course of the evening my guests were sipping beers at a casual rate and I was engaged in orange and sodas for the night. Some time elapsed, I raised a camera to snap a willing travelling friend when POOF! Like some macabre spectre from a hammer horror film this gnomish gorgon draped herself around Mr. Manning and would not vacate the scene until I had snapped away. The made-up madame then proceeded to blah away at a fast clip as though we were all old school buddies reunited meeting for the first time in years and discussing such poetic histories as have nver been heard of in any age of man. Woe to us! During several portions of our evening this feind visited us repeatedly like a German dive-bomber returning to make sure of its kill. At one point she mesmerised a pair of Scottish vet assistants to seat themselves at our table. This was rapidly becoming an invasion: Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of Rotorua! Now far be it from me to be the wet Nigel that declares an innings over with several overs remaining but this was becoming weary. My plan, simple though it was, was to be out and about until shortly after new year, say 0030-0045 then repair homeward for relaxing drinks with friends. This was not a large demand on my part. It was not to be. I had to mill about for some time before I called a halt to my efforts in the proceedings. Enough was definitely enough. Travelling friends, Scottish vets, small gorgon and latterly local semi-friend were off to another establishment to get their funky dancing freak on. I had had enough. I bid them all a fond farewell and lit off in search of car. I came across travelling friends before too long. They had had enough of the Medusa for the night. Medusa - I understand - was left in the company of semi-local friend. Next year I may drink somewhere very very dry rather than endure that again. Gorgons are easily tolerated when the snakes are becalmed by beer, vodka or copious amounts of fermented grape. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 5th, 2005
4:15 pm	Glug THREE NAMES YOU GO BY: 1. Marc 2. Hoppins 3. n/a THREE NICKNAMES YOU HAVE: 1. TGH 2. Hpoonis 3. Marc Large THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD: 1. hpoonis 2. bow 3. Fartypants THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: 1. My wonderful spelling abilities compared with the global heathens. 2. Lack of patriotism 3. My ability to concoct something from whatever I locate in the kitchen without poisoning those who eat it. THREE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: 1. My lack of patience when driving in NZ 2. The thinning pate 3. I am easily distract................. THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE: 1. Anglo-Saxon 2. Whatever of Europe that we inherited along the history of our being conquered 3. anything else I completely disinherit! THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS: 1. Tea 2. Palm pilot 3. timepiece THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW: 1. Work shirt 2. blue pants 3. black shoes THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS: 1. Ski 2. Design a kitchen 3. get my gospel song performed in public THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given): 1. Conversation 2. Equanimity 3. Get as much as give. TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE: 1. Man cannot live alone and remain sane. 2. I don't want to carry on without a fast ride. 3. Ganja makes your penis indestructable. THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX (or same) THAT APPEAL TO YOU: 1. Legs and Ass 2. Smell 3. Less hairy than men (unless you happen to be an Albanian turnip farmer called Olga!) THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO: 1. Touch my right elbow with my right hand. 2. Breathe underwater without articficial means. 3. Acknowledge Harley riders as real bikers (LMFAO) THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES: 1. Reading 2. Cooking 3. Travel THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW: 1. Go Home 2. Have a pot of Tea 3. Kiss my woman THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING: 1. Cafe owner 2. Kitchen designer 3. Property developer (this one has started) THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION: 1. Spain 2. Long, long train journey - across Oz, India, Russia 3. Deserted Island...no technology, no clocks. THREE KID'S NAMES: 1. Oik 2. Entity 3. Tresc THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE: 1. Save someone 2. Save myself 3. Save a few bob Current Mood: of work! (Comment on this)
Friday, December 24th, 2004
4:00 pm	TFIF Well, for those of you on this side of the world...merry Xmas eve. Now the two travelling doodahs from the old home town have arrived. This is semi-entertaining. On the one hand it is good to catch up, chew the whatnot and talk over old times. On the other it always leads to alcohol-induced tiredness. Today I am an example of what not to do when there is a surfeit of wine in the house. After several beers I decided to slurp some fermented grape juice. There is an adage whcih runs: don't mix the grain and the grape. I fear I know why. Seems the more one slurps the less energy one has the next day. I feel as though I had contested a triathlon and finished last in 3 out of 4 events. I won the drinking stage of course. Is that the most important part? Oh well. So the season of goodwill to all men is here. Why not goodwill all year? And I absolutely dig this album (Rattus Norvegicus). The Stranglers were an awesome band...until they went all odd and stuff. So a pair of wee snippets...Hugh Cornwell appeared on an art programme alongside george melly. Jean_Jacque Burnell represented France at Karate. (1 Comment |Comment on this)