Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts

Friday, December 29, 2017

A Curmugeon's Christmas


On Christmas Eve I travelled to Auckland from the Bay of Islands. It takes just under four hours,  but I had one very good reason for making the trip. On the day after Boxing Day I returned to the Bay of Islands. It took just under six hours, but I had three very good reasons for making that trip.
Traffic was the reason it took so long to get back. I accept that; it is the holidays and the Bay of Islands is a popular holiday destination and if the circumstances had been different I would have avoided travelling at that time.
However, what I don't expect and what perplexed me most—even during the  holidays—was a throwback to a time when as a child I went on holidays with my family and had to endure the almost continual cursing of my father. The reason?
Caravans.
Yes, there were caravans on the road back. Three of them, seemingly in convoy, one after the other, from Whangarei to Kaiwaka. I am not talking campervans, nor even the fold-down-types that are streamlined to the point of being trailers. No, I am talking the old type: the classic bulbous egg-shape that these days are beloved only by the eggs who own them.
At no point on this long (61 kilometres) and often twisting drive did those eggs exceed 80 kilometres an hour. Nor at any point when safety permitted did they pull over to the left. Nor on the few passing straights did they reduce their speed to allow more cars to pass them—there are six vehicles to be passed, remember.
In other words, they were plain pains in the arse, and certainly deserving of the derision that was repeatedly directed at them. They were doing nothing illegal, of course—though the antiquated caravans they were towing were an affront to the senses—but the lack of courtesy by them and the possible danger posed by impatient drivers held up by them pushed an already near unbearable trip over the edge.
My advice to such caravan owners wishing to take them on holiday is…don't. If that is impractical, at least not go in convoy like the jolly campers you think you are. You are probably all ageing swingers anyway and in the final event are going to wind up in the same caravan, so you don't need three. If you do indeed need three (or even one) keep to the maximum allowable speed or, failing that, pull over when you can safely to allow others to pass. Above all, exhibit some courtesy and common sense.
On a somewhat higher plain, may I suggest you upgrade to a motel or a tent? Either would be easier on the traffic and the stress of an already stressful season. If even that is insufficient reason for you to consider others, consider: do you really want to look like you never lost the yearning to be in a Carry On movie?

Friday, December 8, 2017

To all the children of America



 Trump Annex
Office of The President of the United States of America.
1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA
Telephone: You’re Crazy, right? Twitter: #millionsofpeopleloveme.

AN OPEN LETTER TO
ALL AMERICAN CHILDREN
FROM
THE PRESIDENT

I can imagine you are as excited as I am knowing the great American, Santa Claus, is so busy right now making great presents for me and you. He will have his little elves—or, as I like to call them, Mini Me’s—hard at work at their little desks making such great toys.
And you know what, children? What is best about that? Santa is giving those jobs to Americans. Yes he is. They may be little people. But they are still Americans. If you visited his workshop today you wouldn’t see Mexicans and other drug dealers, rapists and swimming pool cleaners. No, you would only see Americans. Real Americans. Americans like you and me.
And that is what is good about Christmas. It’s American. It’s ours. None of those folks from the Meddle East get to share it. No Christmas gifts for them. But Christmas is a time for love. So we show love, don’t we? If you have a Meddle Eastern kid in your class (they are usually the darker ones with names like Mustapha or Fatima or something), you go up to them and say how sorry you are that they weren’t born an American.
You tell them it not their fault.  It’s their parents.
On a sad note. Did you read where all Santa’s reindeer are getting killed on Alaskan roads? Runover and squashed. I was sad too when I read that. So I am going to do something about it. I am immediately authorising more oil and gas pipelines all across Alaska so we won’t need as many roads to cart oil and kill reindeers. That will allow us to do more drilling for oil too.
Won’t that be good? And, you know what? You can help! Go right through to your mom and Dad right now and tell them that President Donald J. Trump is saving Santa’s reindeer and they need to get right behind congressmen on the More-Drilling-Platform. Do that, and there could even be an extra present for you in Santa’s sack.
But let’s not forget the true meaning of Christmas—Family. I love my family. I have a great family. But let’s also not forget that other family of long long ago who gave birth to a  son. A special son. Thiers was the true gift of Christmas. A son destined one day to be President of your United States.

Merry Christmas one and all. God bless America.
Donald J. Trump
President of the United States of America.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Yule Be Right

Yuletide is a word rarely heard these days. It is archaic, and irrelevant, like Hamilton and Hone. Yet it is a lovely word that evokes a more pleasurable and innocent past. It smacks of logs on the fire and snow on the sill. It’s better than the more didactic Christmas, which is in reality two religious words stung together. But Yule (a pagan festival) and Christmas (another) are not about etymology, they are about serenity—the time in which the little pleasures of life reign over the self-absorption of other times of the year. A time to share good fortune with friends and family. I will have my brother staying with me, and that is the first time that has happened at this time of the year in, well, years. I have written of my brother before. He lives in Christchurch. He is completely unfazed by quakes, or anything else for the matter. He loves his dog, and to him that’s all that matters. The little pleasures. Serenity. Looking back on my own year, I have met more good people than bad, and again it has been a long time since that happened. It’s been a great year, and it’s going to culminate in a great Christmas…Yuletide, with friends and family. Here’s wishing the same for you, for everybody, even, yes, Hamilton.

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Now playing: Joan Sutherland, Zubin Mehta; London Philharmonic Orchestra, John Alldis Choir - Puccini: Turandot - Diecimila Anni Al Nostro Imperatore!
via FoxyTunes

Friday, December 18, 2009

Shut the Closet

Salivating at the prospect of Christmas and the attendant break, are you? I am. It has been a harsh year for many, me included, what with the economy, employment uncertainty and the return of the Backstreet Boys. In addition I have this year played a tutu-wearing fairy, a gay hairdresser and, most recently, a character whose propensity is to get into another man’s trousers. I have also with my wife bought a new house, which is good in most respects but does add to my already over-burdened vocabulary the phrase “household chores” and commits me to a life in servitude to the National Bank. I have written little of significance in 2009 and with the departure of George W. Bush and Helen Clark, Fryday has struggled. Thank God for Brian Tamaki, though God has little to do with Tamaki. On the positive side I have bought that house, my resilient wife still tolerates me, Lagavuhlin still distils and imminent puppies insist. Life after all is good and destined to get better.

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