Hitting a Roar Nerve

I was saddened to see on last night’s news the beginning of the end for the venerable Press building in Cathedral Square Christchurch.
It was there in 1967 that I began my earlier career in newspapers. It was there in 1969 that I sat in the company of crusty journos and watched in mutual and ageless awe the first man to walk on the Moon. It was there, a year later, that I had my only knife fight, in the top right corner we saw being demolished last night. And it was in the opposite corner that I communed vicariously with the man of the moment Bob Dylan and shared a light bulb.
It was from there that I began a new life.
So the building is about to go. No doubt the decision to demolish it is justified (though there are those who will dispute that) and I have no issue with the decision—just an incredible sadness, and a baseless anger that Nature and Mortality has in the last 12 months wrought such havoc on my youthful years.
But I was somewhat brightened by the experiences and pontifications of another group for whom the Earth (apparently) moves in far more pleasurable terms. This was the Campbell Live item later in the night about The Obedient Wives Club. Now, that sounds like one of those movies from the 80s starring Dianne lane or Diane Keaton. But, no, this is a group of Islamic wives who believe in complete subjugation to their husbands’ wishes, including sexual. They even include a support group in which they share notes and experiences aimed at being a better “whore” in bed. That seems to me and my untutored but omnipresent voyeurism a totally new perception of Islam. Who thought? We all knew that treatment of Islamic woman, particularly wives, did not meet Western mores, but for Islamic wives to have a position on positions is mind-blowing (so to speak).
Do I condone it? I am Man!! Hear me roar.
After I get Maggie her coffee.