I live a hectic lifestyle. I think it’s partly my nature. I seem to be constantly doing something for someone I promised them I would do sometime in the not-too-distant future and have put off as much as I possibly can till this very moment because I was too busy doing something else I promised I would do much earlier.
Boobs on Bikes
I was in Queen Street with a colleague, dropping off the collection from church at the bank. We left the bank and started walking up the street. Queen Street was busy, unusually busy. So busy in fact that people were lined up against the sides of the road, looking expectantly towards upper Queen Street.
It turned out that an event known as “Boobs on Bikes†was on town, and since we had never been before, we stayed around to wait and see what would happen. We waited an hour with the rest of the crowd in anticipation.
Peeps into the past
This weekend I went to see a play my brother Scot was acting in: “Compleat Stage Beautyâ€. Apart from watching Scot in his many and various roles, I was also fortunate enough to see a man acting as though he was a man playing the part of a woman who disguised herself as a man. Add to that the sublime vulgarity of the period and it was a great bit of theatre.
The thing that fascinated me most, however, was not the magnificent gender-bending performance of the lead actor, nor even the embarrassingly realistic gay sex scene. Rather, it was the references to the person whom we have to thank for recording this complicated subtext to the restoration period.
Flooding in Mercer
This is a brief update, I know, but I wanted to get something down. Last weekend I visited my family in Hamilton (a most enjoyable experience, I hope to write something about it later). On the way back up from Hamilton to Auckland (about an hour and a half’s drive), I stopped at a little place called Mercer.
Now, Mercer is a sleepy little farming community town known (presumably) for its cheese. One doesn’t normally stop in Mercer for any reason unless, perhaps, one is decidedly short on petrol. I stopped there at an Irish pub and had some food before continuing my journey on to Auckland.
I have to confess, for the first time in a while I felt uncomfortably out of place, as though I was participating in a clash of stereotypes. I felt like a gay city boy turning up in his left-handed hybrid car, trying to sit inconspicuously in a country-man’s bar, replete with tractors, Khaki shorts, long socks, beer and tweed.Â
As a part of my sojourn south of the Bombay hills, I spent a few moments taking pictures of the Mercer countryside. One of the things that caught my eye (and, in fact, the reason I stopped in the first place) was this rather striking situation: a farm house just off the road was completely surrounded by water. I guess all our prayers for rain paid off. More pictures of Mercer are available.
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Sebastian
As you know, gentle reader, I have had limited fortune in the area of romance for quite some time. That is until now. Some of you have met him, some of you have heard about him, some of you are reading about him for the first time now and some of you wish I would just stop talking about him.
For me, it all started at a new years’ party, 2007/8: I got rather drunk and curled up on the couch to have a little nap. I looked over my shoulder and was amused to watch a rather attractive, rather drunk young guy very nearly assault someone over a disagreement about computer operating systems. That was when Sebastian went onto a little list in the back of my head: my list of prospective mates.
Tapu
Apologies for the dry nature of this post.
Last month there was a big to-do about a student who left a communion ceremony without having consumed the communion bread he had in his mouth. He apparently wanted to show it to someone outside the church who was curious. When they realised he wasn’t playing by the rules, people even tried to compel him to eat the bread but he “escapedâ€. He kept the bread for a week before returning it because he had received death threats.
Welcome home, Maguires
Isn’t it always the way that when life gets most interesting you tend to have less time to reflect on it? One such event that has come and gone so quickly has been a milestone for the project I worked on in Texas. Dean Maguire, the last remaining member of the Kiwi team working in Texas has finally returned home with his family. This raps up our work in Texas and opens a new chapter for Dean, for all of us here in New Zealand.
Koeksisters
Today a friend and member of my church is leaving. He’s on his way back to South Africa after spending over 10 years here in New Zealand (he arrived shortly before I did). He’s an Anglican priest and has taken up a position in Cape Town, which is wonderful for him.
Anyway, as a part of his going away bash, we had a pot-luck dinner.
I decided to being a dessert as always. Now I should have done something uniquely New Zealand, but since he’s returning to South Africa, I decided to make a distinctively South African treat: koeksisters.
Now, these delicacies are created by deep-frying batter and then immediately dumping it into chilled sugar syrup. The batter soaks up the sugar and you’re left with little golden brown bits of sweetness. It’s diabetic shock waiting to happen.
Anyway, enough with the descriptions, this is how you make it.
Number 8 wired bed
I lay down on my bed to watch a nice classic episode of Star Trek (The Next Generation) and it happened: with a sickening crunch and a thud, the back-left bed post finally disengaged itself from the rest of the bed and the bed landed hard on the junk that I had stuffed under it.
Now, to answer the question everyone seems to ask when I tell this story: no it wasn’t in the throes of passion, this bed hasn’t seen much in the way of passion (at least not since I have used it). It’s also not because I’ve gained weight. The bed had been threatening to give out ever since I moved in and the second-rate rental property furniture (not mine, I should point out) finally gave way when I sat my suitably trim behind onto it to indulge in a movie.
So, in true kiwi style, I propped my bed up with the jack from my car and continued with my movie (click on the image for more detail). New Zealanders have a concept called “number 8 wire†which refers to a common gauge of fencing wire used here.
The notion is that New Zealanders have a “can-do†MacGyver attitude when it comes to problem solving and can generally solve a problem with simple, everyday resources at their disposal.
In South Africa, we would say “‘n boer maak ‘n plan†or “a farmer makes a plan†to describe a similar concept.
MacGyver image from Rienk Jan Schurer.
Eleanor Rigby
On Tuesday last week I dragged myself into work at 11am and stared blankly at the screen for a few hours, producing very little of any value. No, that’s not a usual day for me, quite the contrary. It turns out I had contracted the flu and simply couldn’t concentrate.
So, I dutifully went back home, took some bed rest and water and waited for it to subside.
It didn’t.