A Bastard of a Boss

Most of us know that Monday is not the Queen’s birthday other than in the honouring. Queen Elizabeth II’s actual birthday 20th April and she is now 87. But we and other countries of the Commonwealth choose another day. Though, to be more accurate, the day is chosen for us. You may not know that whilst Queen’s Birthday varies among countries it is usually around the end of May beginning of June to coincide with—and get this—“the likelihood of fine weather in the Northern Hemisphere to accommodate outdoor celebrations.” All very fine for the Brits and the Canadians but looking out my window at the weather here I more than content to leave the mother-country to it and go back to bed. Some see Queen’s Birthday as an archaic and foreign tradition. Some want to do away with it entirely; others want it replaced with Matariki (Maori New Year) or the more politically palatable Hillary Day. The impetus for the last was as late as 2009. But as far as I am aware there is no intent to change in the near future. One change I have noted of late though is the newly-found propensity to turn Queen’s Birthday into a four-day weekend a la Easter. I know many who are taking today (Friday) off. Maybe it is the proximity to Easter and our desire to “shout” ourselves another long(er) weekend , maybe employers are more flexible—maybe we are more in tune with life balance. Whatever the reason, I am pretty sure that traffic on the road this morning will be lighter than usual, at least inbound to the city. So what is it to be for me? Bed or business? It be business. I work for myself, self-employed, and I be a bastard of a boss. Have a good weekend, whenever it starts.

Ties that bind

Two things that seemingly have gone out of fashion are farting and ties. The former was once omnipresent and everybody except the Queen did it. For men farting was greeted as an abject multi-sensory display of machismo—competitions were made of it; a film—Blazing Saddles—was made by it. But no more; it seems years since I have heard or smelt a good manly fart—and I spend much of my life working with roading engineers! Ties have also gone. I see them rarely these days, and none at all on people I like. When seen, ties almost have a priggish effect and are, these days, most often confined to senior bankers, junior arse-lickers, HR managers and politicians, upon which I rest my case and my contention. The only person with some modernity who assiduously wears a tie is Seven Sharp’s Jesse Mulligan but he hails from Hamilton and the tie may also have been a quick exit mechanism had the show’s ratings not improved and he decided to hang it all. But the question I often ask is where did the tie go? Its exit seems so quick and complete. Only a matter of two or three years ago most men—and some women—were wearing them. So, what happened? Did we all wake up one morning and say today I am not wearing a tie? Yes, we did. It was a Friday. It was the day that companies created casual Fridays—the adult equivalent of school-days’ mufti days. For one day a week we were allowed to wear what we willed and for most that meant jeans, and for men it didn’t mean ties. And we got used to that, liked it. On Monday we were back to slacks or suits but the tie remained in the closet, which these days is about the only thing that does. Does anybody miss Ties? No. They are I think and on balance much like Hone Harawira: ill-conceived, of no practical use, and now past their use-by date. We have cut our ties with ties. But you can stay Jesse.