The Swinging Sixties

On Monday I turn 60. Sweet. Time to bring out the bucket and, to quote Jack Nicholson, not trust a fart. I have two consolations. One is that I hated the fifties –there is no particular reason and I felt much the same about the thirties; twenties were great, so were the forties, so will be the sixties--it’s every second decade, seemingly, that I get my shit together. The second consolation I have in turning 60 is that I am far from alone and far from old. The post-war baby boom saw to that. I am sure that in the history of the world there has never been as many people in their 60s or a greater determination not to think of it as a termination. Having said that, one must at this age wrestle with mortality. So, here is my bucket list. Rather than fill it with things I want to do before I die, I am filling it with things I hope I live long enough to see:
• The Black Caps win a match
• The Bulldogs win the Telstra Cup
• Canada win anything
• Intelligent life form discovered in Hamilton
• Me (society) not being blamed for every ill befalling Maori
• The return of the whiskey lake
• The Man Booker Prize given to someone readable
• Wilson Parking reduce its fees
• A Tui Billboard: Wilson Parking Reduces Fees—Yeah Right
• Recycling bins for infomercial exercise equipment
• Recycling bins for failed ideas—sorry, we already have that, it’s called Parliament
• A stop to the smaller and smaller type faces on anything I read these days
• President Jed Bush—let’s have some more fun
• A bald televangelist
• No televangelists
• The Super City work
• Mark Sainsbury ask an intelligent question
• Phil Goff give an intelligent reply
• Benjie Marshall as prime minister
• 70.


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