Typists

 Hi there

above: old typewriter,  stock photo

Way back in the 1800s, there was a protest march through Manhattan.  By typists.  Or 'typewriters', as they were called in those days.

The protesting typists/typewriters were all men, objecting to women wanting to  take over this male role.  Oh goodness, when greedy bosses offered less salary to women than the salary that men were getting, the women snatched at the offers and the men got upset.

In the 1800s this takeover was definitely a triumph for women. It wasn't scrubbing floors, doing laundry, or being a house maid.  It was a break-through.  It was professional office work with better labour conditions - and, yes, better pay - than any maid-servant job could match.

So, women the world over became typists....

Now .. Think to the 1990s and the advent of computers into the women's typing haven.  Some business firms started calling typists 'word processors' (my typing pool even had that name put on a sign on our door, much to the hysterical laughter of the 'girls').

Then the job title changed again:  'data input operators' ...

And men perked up their ears.  The modern guy didn't want to be a typist, with its 'girlie' implications but, hey, being someone who input data sounded masculine enough, right?

And as fast as the snap of fingers, men were rushing to become typists (oops, sorry, I mean Data Input Operators, or any other title that sounded as away from 'typist' as a word could get).

Full circle, people......?

In place of those naughty words...

 Hi there

Let me set the picture:  It's the 1960's, a government typing pool comprised of, say, a dozen typists.  When typing mistakes on (foolscap) paper are made, all that can be used to erase them is, well, an erasure (or a 'rubber' in that decade's vernacular).  Some typists would erase the mistake along with a sad sigh, others muttered  something angrily under their breath, citing that the job in question would have to be retyped.   Many typists shouted, "Fudge!"

At the age of 16, I didn't know that "Fudge!" represented a naughty word, but looking back, I'm surprised that noone told the typists off about using it.

During my early time in the pool, one typist did come up with my favourite typing exclamation phrase of all time:

"Oh, bunny rabbits and toadstools!"  

Thanks, Francie, that's a cute keeper.

Not perhaps as cute though as when I heard one annoyed lady on a reality show shout out, "For the love of little bunnies!".  I was in heaven over such a phrase.  I now use it all the time.  There's something about bunny rabbits ...

        cuteness overload?  Who cares if this isn't Easter?  Altogether now, "Ahhhhh.."

Books. And me as a kid...

 Hi there

Well, here is a photo of me at goodness-knows-what age? Nine?  Ten?  Younger? Was I in Wellington with my mum?  There were always street photographers down Manners Street.  They'd snap photos, hand you a card and you'd trot along to their studio to see the proof.

Or was I in New Plymouth?;  I lived in both Wellington and New Plymouth at about that age.

And I notice that I have library books in my basket.  New Plymouth was the real start of my discovering reading.  And it was Enid Blyton who did it.  At New Plymouth's Carnegie Library.

 My previous Newtown Library in Wellington had outlawed everything Blyton, except for the one book in which children staggered under burdens growing from their shoulders, each burden size representing things the child had done wrong.  Burdens could grow bigger by the day.

Anyway, thank goodness for the Carnegie Library.  I hoovered up those Blyton books, dozens and dozens of them.  I went to the library Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, right after school, cycling my little legs off to get home to start reading.  Darn it, why was I only allowed three books per visit?  

Enid Blyton was my awakening to reading  - 

LEARNING TO READ

I remember the look

of the unreadable page

the difficult jumble

& then the page

became transparent

& then the page

ceased to exist

at last I was riding this bicycle all by myself

     (by Cilla McQueen, NZ poet. Published in NZ School Journal)

I heart Cats

 Hi there

I love cats so much.  If I see one down the street I go all goo-y trying to pat the animal.  And crooning to it in baby language.  So embarrassing if a passerby stares at me quizzingly.

But let's talk about cat videos on You Tube.  How come I look at one video that leads to me looking at 'just one more', which leads to three, then four, then one hundred...  Me, I thought I was just addicted to Diet Coke but now it seems to be cat videos as well.  All cats:  zoomy ginger cats, fluffy cats, tabby cats, tuxedo cats, snobby cats, and not forgetting the thoroughly mischievous Siamese cat (RIP, my beautiful StarGirl).

I am such a softie.

above: StarGirl and me, when she was just a kitten.

Musicals in Sydney

 Hi there

When I was in Sydney last week, I saw three shows:  

Back to the Future - the musical

Goodness, the special effects in this show were the best I'd seen in any musical.  The DeLorean car was definitely the star. At the end when Marty had to drive the car at exactly 88 mph to get through the time barrier whilst simultaneously Doc Brown was trying to get to the top of the clock tower, and all in the middle of  a lightening strike....?   Well, I would have one hundred percent sworn that the car was speeding, skidding along roads, turning corners, and not in a theatre at all. There was noise, and light, and rain, and darkness, and the speedometer registering the mileage neon-like to the audience.  And Doc Brown doing his thing up there on the clock tower....  And the car flew.   Wow.

above:  me, standing in front of an outdoor poster advertising "Back to the Future - the musical".  The poster is made to look as if the DeLorean car has crashed through it.

above:  Before the show has started.  No swishy curtain, just the title.

Calamity Jane - the musical

Oh, I so loved this.  Well, I've also loved the songs in the movie musical, though when I re-watched the movie a good 40 years later, I was stunned that it was so not politically correct in many places (see earlier blog).  Several lines of song and dialogue were changed in this stage adaptation to appeal more to modern audiences.

The show was in The Studio at the Sydney Opera House, a small venue that I believe had once been a storage area under the high dome.  The whole inside of the theatre was done up like a western saloon. The stage was really small and the cast did most of the acting away from that stage.  They walked, strode, argued, sang in the aisles and around the tables.  I was sitting right in the front row of the entrance aisle and just behind the tables and chairs.

above:  inside The Studio theatre at the Sydney Opera House.  Calamity Jane - the musical

above.  Side view of the Sydney Opera House.  The Studio theatre is under a dome.

Calamity Jane made her entrance, singing, and as she sang she shook hands with people in my row.  Including ME!   Then later on, when there was a sort of hoedown going on, the bar floozie pulled me up from my seat and we did a jig.  My attending senior improv classes had prepared me well.  I noticed the actress only chose women to dance with her.

A guy in a front table had a bartender part.  He had to read a line from a card held out in front of him.  And when he said "What's Your Poison?" to a cowboy, all of the audience cheered.

Here You Come Again

This musical is about a sad young man who's fave singer is Dolly Parton.  In moments of crisis she appears to give him advice and, my gosh, she sounded just like Dolly when she both sang the most-loved songs and when she spoke.  Perfect.

NB:  I've got to find out how to get rid of the automatic underlining and that bold print...

My Sydney trip, part 1

 Hi there

I returned yesterday from Sydney.  I went there to see "Back to the Future - the musical" and "Calamity Jane - the musical".  And when I got to Sydney I discovered that it was the second to last day for "Here You Come Again", a musical, with Dolly Parton as a main character. Because I'd booked at the box office and I would be attending  the next day, I got my seat for half price; I love this about booking Australian shows.  Oh, and more about the shows in "My Sydney Trip, Part 2"

So ...  it was very very very hot in Sydney.  Now, it has to be remembered that October is Spring in both New Zealand and Australia but in Sydney whilst I was there the temperature went up to 35c.  It never got lower than 24c.  On the 35c day, the temp hit an all-time-high for a day in October.  On the same day in Wellington, it was 15c.

And I got dehydrated at the start of my holiday.  Terribly.  With all the symptoms that go with being dehydrated.  I went to the pharmacy and was given some dehydration sachets and told to not eat anything for a day, except dry toast.  I couldn't access dry toast so I bought a packet of Cruskits from the supermarket instead.  And I drank so much water I thought I was going to drown from the inside. I figured the "not eat anything for a day" order was counting a day as 12 hours.  So exactly 12 hours later, I sat down to the Australian dish of grilled barramundi fish. Surely, barramundi was bland enough not to make me sick.  I had barramundi every day on holiday.  Sigh.

I felt all airy-fairy the whole time I was away.  I still managed to go over to Manly for a walk along my favourite path (turn left as you come out of the ferry terminal), but there were flies everywhere and I had to keep the walk short.  I guess fly breeding season is in the spring.

I also strolled Circular Quay, looking for a place to get a good bland meal.  Couldn't find a place.

above: Sydney Opera House.  Photo taken from The Rocks area. The poles are not poles.  They're palm trees. Or they could be New Zealand cabbage trees, I know that several seaside resorts in the United Kingdom have planted our cabbage trees and pretended they were palm trees.

Photo taken from Nick's Restaurant at Darling Harbour.  First time in my life a waiter has whipped out my serviette from under the cutlery on my table, shook it open in one theatrically grand flourish, then elegantly dropped the serviette into my lap.  Great drama.

Back to the Future - the musical

 Hi there

I'm back to my future after a week in Sydney where I went to see "Back to the Future - the musical".  I just got home about half an hour ago.  The plane landed at midnight.  I will write more about my trjp tomorrow.  Look after yourselves...

Scones and Muffins

 Hi there

When I was a kid, I loved scones.  They had to be my Mum's scones, straight from the oven.  Every Saturday lunch-time, after a big roast dinner and the oven was still hot, my BFF Shirley and I would impatiently wait for those hot scones.  I mean, it was the ritual: Saturday roast, followed by buttered and jam-y scones, and then the Saturday afternoon movie in town, or down the road at the Rivoli or the Ascot picture theatres.  Mum always said that scones had to be eaten the same day, otherwise they would turn into bricks.  So ... we hoovered them up with alacrity!

Then ... scones went out of favour. They were considered too peasant-like.  I mean scones had to have been around for a few thousand years, right?  Newer ideas were on the New Zealand horizon.

Muffins were the next big thing.  Not British muffins, but more the American kind.

"Wow," Shirley pointed out authoritatively, "muffins are like that new yoghurt stuff; they're great, but an acquired taste."

Muffins are so entrenched now, it's like they've been around forever.  Forty years ago they certainly trumped scones.  

Until ...  scones made a resurgence.  Now, both scones and muffins are the under-glass options on any cafe counter.  A bit boring, perhaps, as often they're the only choices at hole-in-the-wall kiosks.

But, ahh, the variety of scones that are now around...  Love them all.

Above: scones, stock photo

 

It's Not a Bucket List

 Hi there

Before that bucket list movie came out, I was mentally storing up a list engagingly entitled The Little Things I Can't Do and Wish That I Could. Or alternatively, My Genie Wishes, just in case I ever do meet a genie.

This list is sort of the lesser cousin of the bucket list.  There are still a few items that I have not been able to complete.  I don't think I ever will -

1    Play the piano.  To my regret, all I mastered - at age 12 - was "Home on the Range" and "God Save the Queen" before I threw a tantrum, swearing to run away from home if I ever had to go to one more piano lesson

2    Do up zips that are at the back of my dress.  Where's a lady's maid when I require one?

3    Be able to put in my pierced ear-rings without looking in a mirror.  I envy my friends.

4    Take on the lead role in a Broadway musical ...    I am totallly aware that I can't sing a note

5    Be able to hook up my bras without having to do them up in the front, then whirl the bra around to my back to finish the operation - I get so contorted. 

6   Using willpower to never put on weight...     Don't snigger.

                 

Franchise Shops - Skechers and Uggs

 Hi there

Photo: stock Skechers advert

In 2014 Skechers shoes got a shop in New Zealand.  It was in Auckland.  I went up to Auckland on holiday and discovered the store.  It was positively crowded with customers grabbing shoes.  I hadn't even known Skechers existed - 

I fought my way through the crowd.  I gushed to a shop assistant, "Oh, I love these shoes.  They are ... coloured!"

They were a light blue court shoe.

And so wonderful to walk the hard floor in them.  "Ahhh, the comfort...."

But could I really be seen in blue shoes?  Out in the real world?  Yes!!!  

Goodness, how daring of me to step out in blue shoes, instead of plain old ordinary black, navy, or brown.  Very few people wore colour on their feet in those days.

I have been wearing Skechers since I chanced upon that first store in Auckland.  I still buy coloured pairs.

Today, there are Skechers stores everywhere.  I first noticed this franchise takeover a couple of years ago when I was wandering through Sydney.  It was a surprise to see a Skechers store on practically every city block.

The Skechers franchise epidemic has also hit New Zealand. 

But ... isn't there a saying about familiarity bringing contempt?

I hate to say the magic words, 'Too many..'  But are there too many Skechers shops in 2025?  Have I been so bombarded by so many stores that they're not meaning anything any longer to me?

And .... there's a second shoe franchise snapping hard behind Skechers' heels:  UGGS?   UGGS shops are beginning to spread through New Zealand.

Both firms, please be careful.  You could be flying (walking?) too close to the sun...

Thinking about my visits Las Vegas

 Hi there

I have been to Las Vegas ten times!  My friends ask WHY?  Or more specifically "WHY 10 TIMES?"

It's because I love the exciting vibe of the place.  I adore walking down the neon-splashed Las Vegas Strip and being surrounded by thousands upon thousands of others:  Singles.  Conventioneers.  Adventurers.  Newbies.  Locals.  Dads and Mums grumpily herding their family of chicks away from those cosplayers working the pavement on The Strip - hey, but, doesn't every kid want a photo with Tinkerbell or Shrek?

Well, be careful, travellers.  Shrek can be meaner than he looks.  The second after you've taken his photo with your kids, this cute character in costume may intimidate you into handing over cash.  On my first visit to Vegas I photographed two high-heeled, leggy, be-feathered, scantily-dressed, glittery showgirls who I figured were advertising something.  But the pair demanded a cash fee from me that was the equivalent of a front row seat at a Celine Dion concert over at Caesars Palace.  

 I threw a five dollar note at them and took off.  

That first visit to Las Vegas introduced me to continual tipping.  During the week I was there, I spent two hundred American dollars on tips.  On later visits to the place, I economised and just tipped where I couldn't get away with not paying out.  

Being a single traveller, I appreciated that as long as I kept to The Strip, or Downtown's main street, I was completely safe.  Weaving one's way through those thousands and thousands of people ensured I was always surrounded by others. Day or night

I varied hotels a lot in LV.  The tariffs weren't that steep, there were magnificent buffets, and lots of shops to meander through.

When I arrived in Vegas last year, I was surprised by the changes since three years before.  previously the queue for taxis at the LV airport had been a winding roped maze of - always - a minimum of a hundred people ahead of me in the queue.  Yet, surprisingly, I would get through in not too many minutes because of the continuing line of taxis waiting for passengers. The airport guy at the head of the queue would ask for my hotel name, pass it on to the driver, usher me into the cab, and take my one dollar tip. 

But in 2024, I exited the LV Airport to see.... nobody lined up for a taxi.  I quickly wound my way through the rope maze, and straight up to the head taxi.  I was Numero Uno, number 1, head of the no-queue.  And there wasn't even an airport guy to usher me into a cab.  Such a heady feeling to shout "Flamingo Hotel please" to the cabbie.  I should have tipped myself.

Now, I don't know if any of my five readers have you-tubed or googled "Is Las Vegas Dying?" but I suggest you give it a try.  Vegas is now touted as "out to get tourists"

The hotel Resort Fees - only added to a bill about a dozen years ago by greedy hotels, one following the other as the idea spread -  was a hidden not-optional extra fifty or so dollars per night that you often discovered as you were checking in.  Or out.  

A Resort Fee covers use of the gym, wi-fi, and the pool, even if you don't want any of them. Authorities have just recently moved in to declare that Resort Fees must be openly stated by a hotel as the guest reserves their stay. 

I guess a Resort Fee is a little  similar to our city council plotting to bring in a nightly hotel bed tax - don't let them do this!

Most LV hotels have dropped buffets and brought in food courts (think Westfield Mall food courts).  Hotel parking is no longer free.

The city bosses are worried that tourist numbers visiting the city have dropped substantially.  Well, who wants to pay $19 for a hotel bottle of water? 

Or negotiate oneself around so many buildings under construction...

...and no stage musicals any longer.   Vegas has become sports-orientated ... Casinos are concentrating on the high-rollers.

Then there's the heat....  Last year I was there in August.  The daytime temperature never dropped below 41c.  The highest was 47c.  I couldn't take it.  I tried putting up an umbrella, but the heat still surrounded me.  I tried a hand fan, but the flapping just moved the heat around.  The wind was hot, and I'm sure you could cook an egg on the outside escalator bannisters.  To walk across a road or a bridge, or through the grounds of a hotel took all my effort; it was like negotiating crossing the Sahara Desert.

Sadly ... because of the heat, and the extra taxes everywhere, and the construction-work, and not many hotel buffets or musical shows any longer, and every hotel determined to take all your money, I don't feel I can go back to Vegas...

Sad emoji.

above:  taken from the outside balcony at The Venetian Hotel & Casino. From balcony to the main road doesn't look far but try walking it in the heat.

***

PS:  I tried to change photos on front page of blog.  Made a big mess of it.  Pass me a typewriter please? And a few months/years to sort everything out. Sigh.

Hataitai Beach Parking

 Hi there

I'm sorry, but I am just about fed up with the road and beach repairs going on around Hataitai Beach.  They have now been at it for a year.  I found out last week that the road repairs might be finished by Wednesday which, I guess, in road repair-speak means December?

I used to always drive to the southern end of the beach looking for a parking spot  but I can't turn the car around to get to the spaces now; it  would entail knocking over a dozen road cones, plus the lollipop person holding up a stop-go sign.  And don't think I haven't visualised doing all that ...?

So I line up for ages waiting until he turns over that darn sign.  I drive past the beach as slow as a snail and get to the northern end to discover the parking spots there are full of road cones and bull-dozers.

I turn my car around.

Lollipop guy number 2 (northern end) ensures that I have to wait for ages before I'm allowed the privilege of driving back past the beach again, but this time on the seaward side of the road.

I beep my car horn to let my swimming friends know that I am trying to get to them before dark.  

Last week I did find a space opposite a stop-go guy who glared at me as I hopped out of the car and I moved a road cone from the gutter to the footpath.  I am such a rebel.

LIKE?

 Hi there

Here's a rough guess ....  it's probably been about 15 or 20 years since young teens started inserting the word 'like' into their conversations:

"So he ... like ... walked into the classroom and he ... like ... was ...like ... wow..."

I think the word 'like' came into conversations around about the time the popular teen movie "Clueless" came out.  The rich ditzy main character - Cher - used it a lot.

But, still, I could never understand how 'like' was adopted by young people in the first place.  And what's more, the word has been carried forward with them.  Now, that those teens have grown up, they are still saying it.

But a few years' ago, I chanced upon something that was sort of mind-blowing.

The article I was reading said 'like' had taken the place of a word that older people have always been saying.

Huh?  What was this article talking about?  I had no idea...

Apparently, the word 'like' has taken over from the word "um".

Whaaaat?

Both the words 'um' and 'like', being used in the same context are, in other words, a pause in a sentence whilst the speaker is thinking of what to say next.

How's this:

"So he ... um ... walked into the office and he ... um ... was ... um ... wow."

Goodness, um, who'd have thought....?

 But it, like, totally makes sense.

Enough of super-heroes. How About Zombies?

 Hi there

I've never fancied zombies.  And that's slightly unusual because, nowadays, there are many people who really do fancy them. Some of this new crop of zombies from tv, movies, and books, are written as truly  likeable. Take the movie "Warm Bodies" as a for-instance; this one stars Nicholas Hoult as a young zombie in love with a human.  It's billed as a Romeo and Juliet story.  There's even a balcony scene.

But ... in love?  A zombie? Zombies are supposed to be brain-dead, lumbering, idiotic creatures who eat brains.  I'd run a mile from a zombie, which wouldn't be too hard, what with them doing all that lumbering.

Recently I read a book, "How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding" by Denise Wells. The high point is at the beginning with the row that causes a marriage break-up.

The couple - Tabitha and Pax - are watching a movie on the telly.  She hides her eyes because she thinks that the lovers, Mary and Bill, might be killed by a marauding horde of zombies.  

Uh-oh...  Bill is, indeed, killed.   Tabitha thinks Bill did the right thing, throwing himself in front of Mary, thereby making the supreme sacrifice, and allowing Mary time to get away whilst the zombies are chewing down on him.

Pax disagrees.  Mary has always been a dead weight, he says. It should have been she who died.  Mary couldn't run fast enough, was always complaining and crying.  She didn't know how to shoot, she lost their food ....

Tabitha is horrified. She says Bill's action was the ultimate proof of love for his partner.  Wouldn't Pax throw down his life for hers if there was a zombie apocalypse?

Pax snorts....  He wouldn't.

And so ... after the most hilarious, action-packed, dingdong of a row ever written, Tabitha and Pax are divorced....

But.... I wonder.  Would you, my dear reader, sacrifice yourself for your partner if a horde of zombies was at hand?  Or would you briskly speed-walk off in the opposite direction, leaving your loved one to their fate?

Um....

.

Weather turning for the good (for just a few days?)

 Hi there

above: Lyall Bay.  Eastern end.  If you're standing in middle of bay looking out to sea, this area is on your left. It was a calm-ish day today so no high waves.  I was sitting on a seat exactly between the surfers to the front of me and the airport runway behind me.

Here, in Wellington, we've had such an awful run of bad weather.  But as of yesterday, it's all changed.  We're a week away from Spring, I've swam, my daffodil flowers are out, I've promenaded and picnic-ed around Lyall Bay for two days now, everyone has a spring (spring?) in their steps, and some of us - the more adventurous ones - have dipped into their summer wardrobe.

I know the temperature high is only 15c today, but it has been all sun and no wind.  And I will repeat that:  there has been no wind.  You can't call us Windy Wellington today.  And what's more the weather forecast has said that the temperature actually feels like 16c - wow

Family myth has it that my mother saved a child in the sea at Lyall Bay, way back in the early 20th century.  It's said that she got her name entered onto a life-saving board hanging from the wall in the old surf club, which is now Maranui Cafe.  I never did get around to checking this story out.  And Maranui Cafe had a fire a few years' back.  The fire was some time after the Duke and Duchess of Sussex (Harry and Megan) visited Maranui Cafe.  See photos on earlier blog.

Super-hero Let-down ... wandering thoughts

Superman - 2025

Thor - Avengers Endgame - 2019

 Hi there 

As I type this, I am slouching on the couch, Diet Coke (Diet Coke?) beside me.  I am feeling all full and happy after eating an entire family pizza.  Oops ... oh, well, my true diet can start tomorrow ...

Feeling all full and happy makes me think about that old vintage song, "It's Illegal, It's Immoral, or It Makes You Fat".  Too true, eh?  But I don't want to think about that for too long, so my brain switches over to the super-hero genre. And there is a connection.  I promise.

I've been bored for quite a time with super-hero movies.  The last half-hour of any such movie is full of mayhem and destruction. Every film tries to out-do the previous super-hero film in the just-watch-how-much-I-can-destroy-a-city stakes.  Yawn....

It reminds me of a book by Megan Derr called "Trick of the Light' where the (non-super) hero specialises in super-hero destruction insurance.  Your shop-windows crashed into by a super-hero? - yep, this insurance guy can see to the repair. Your roof tiles blasted into smithereens (goodness, those villain rayguns can certainly pack a punch)?  Ditto.  Your house disappears into a kilometre-deep hole because the current super-hero and the current super-villain got into a hand-to-hand brawl? Well, this insurance rep can fix it.  The Empire State Building?  The Brooklyn Bridge?  The Statue of Liberty? - you pay your insurance, everything will be hunky-dory re-built.

But I'm having trouble with two super-heroes:  Thor.  Superman.

My super-heroes should be masculine.  And gorgeous.  And fighting-fit for every tangle they have with a super-villain.   I don't want wishy-washy heroes.  Ones who get slovenly, obese, and drunk  (Thor).  Or lose fights, get bloodied up, and a dog has to save them (Superman).

I got embarrassed for the weakling Superman when I saw him lying on the snow, bleeding out. And I was appalled by Thor slobbing on the couch, playing around on his computer (oh dear, just like me). I wanted to buy both Thor and Superman gym memberships to get back in shape.

I don't want my super-heroes to become me, lolling about, eating pizza.  I wouldn't be able to punch my way out of a paper bag, but I want Superman to beat every single baddie, except, of course, for the traditional ones carrying Kryptonite in their swag bag; no blood involved in those types of confrontations, so I wouldn't get embarrassed for him over that kind of take-down...

Come on, Hollywood, it's time to put our super-heroes back on their pedestals.

The Iconic Australian Lamington sponge cake

 Hi there

Aussies and kiwis have a wee bit of a rivalry (okay, maybe more than 'a wee bit') over some (lots?) of things, people, and objects.  For instance, Aussies like to lay claim over that mighty racehorse Phar Lap, whereas we, here in NZ, definitely know that he's ours.  

And how about the pavlova? - we invented that recipe a few years before the Aussies jumped on the band-wagon. The groups Split Enz and Flight of the Conchords are New Zealanders, not Australians.  So, too, is actor Sam Neill.  Oh, yes, and we were the first country in the world to come up with the flat  white (Sorry, Australia, but it was us, not you).  Granted, our claim over actor Russell Crowe is tenuous, but we do like to think of him as ours. 

And then, there is the lamington.  Darn, but the lamington cake is definitely Australian.  Traditionally, it's a sponge cake, cut into cubes, each cube coated in chocolate, and then in coconut.  I really like the lamington.

However, when I had the Sunday lunch buffet at the Grand Hyatt in Melbourne last week, the lamington had been updated.  Gasp - 

It was way more than delicious. 

Aussie, I'd like to swap Phar Lap's remains for an outright kiwi claim to this new version of the lamington.  How about it, mate?

Melbourne, Winter 2025

Hi there

It's Tuesday, as I type this, I am back from 6 days in Melbourne, and still very tired.  My sprained knee did play up a bit.  I took a collapsable walking stick with me, but I never used it.  The stick took up much-needed space in my bag when I was only allowed 7kg as cabin baggage.  Grrrhhhh...

I went across to Melbourne to see "Beetlejuice - the musical" which had spectacular special effects.  The story differed slightly from the movie but I think it made the plotline much better. The character of Beetlejuice was acted by the guy who wrote the show's music and Lyrics: Australian Eddie Perfect.  It must be wonderful for him to see his show put on all around the world and now in his home country.

 above:  you know by now, of course, that I am the world's worst mobile phone photographer.  Here is the curtain call for "Beetlejuice - the musical".  That's Beetlejuice in the black and white-striped suit.

But ... I couldn't go to Melbourne and just see one musical.  I went along to the box office to book for the matinee show "Annie", about the little orphan girl.  There were only two seats left in the whole theatre for the following day's matinee.

I'd seen "Annie" many, many years before.  This time there were digital effects used for some backgrounds, eg, streets of New York.  It worked really well.

above:  "Annie". I promise I did take better photos but none of them had the actual young lady playing Annie in them.  Here she is, walking down the stairs. ... You are not allowed to take photos while a show is in progress, but I checked at each theatre and was told I could photograph during the curtain call.

I also went to a third musical, "Kimberly Akimbo".  A Tony-nominated show.  About a 16 year old youngster who aged faster than other people.  She looked about fifty compared to her school mates.  Not a bad musical, even though most of the songs sounded just like most of the other songs. Very crisp stage sets.

above: me, in the Playhouse foyer

Unfortunately, I had booked to see "Kimberly Akimbo" way before I sprained my knee.  The steps from the foyer led me down terrifically tight stairs to get to the dress circle.  Weird, Weird (as "Snow White" musical actress Rachel Zegler would say).

On my holiday I managed to fit in going to the Victoria Market's weekly winter night market.  It's all food stalls, yummy.

above:  the photo was taken at about 5.15, just as the night market started.  Within another 15 minutes it got so crowded, I could hardly move, and certainly not find a seat at a table.

And.... I went to St Kilda to walk along the beach, which I love to do. St Kilda is crammed full of really nice cake shops, all side-by-side, and trying to outdo each other with fancy cakes and pastries.  I went for a pavlova, just to see if they were better than those from New Zealand.  It was awful, all rubbery and dense marshmallow-like.  Oh, for those people who don't know about the pavlova wars - both New Zealand and Australia reckon they invented pavlova.  NZ did, of course.....

above: me, at St Kilda Beach

above:  St Kilda cake-shopping area where the trams finish (you can see two trams at back of picture).  You can hop on a tram from/to Bourke Street Mall, like I did.  Or from/to the casino.

Last but not least I went to two buffet lunches:  Conservatory at the casino (I had 10 oysters on the shell) and Grand Hyatt Sunday buffet (12 oysters on the shell)....

Next holiday?  Well, that's going to be Sydney to see "Back to the Future - the musical"

Melbourne

 Hi there

I have just this minute  (12.20 am, 4 August NZ_time) returned from six days in Melbourne, Australia.  I went over to see "Beetlejuice -  the Musical".  Superb special effects.  But you know me, I can't just see one musical if there are others to visit.  So I also saw "Annie". Lots of kids in it.  And I got my seat half-price because I wandered into the box office to book the day before the show.  And they like to get rid of those empty seats.  ...  I also saw "Kimberly Akimbo - the Musical".

Will tell you more tomorrow.  Or sometime.  Goodness I'm tired...  Yawn.

Wellington CBD fallen apart

 Hi there

I was walking through Wellington's city centre (CBD) last week and I was stunned by how different from just a few years ago the shops are in Manners Street and Courtenay Place.  Dozens have closed down. The ones that are hanging on are shabby, tacky, slummy.  They're ghost shops.

And yet the Wellington City Council have seen fit to rebuild a little toilet block on the corner of  Courtenay Place and Taranaki Street.  The price: two million dollars. Two million dollars for a few toilets?  Wouldn't that money have been better spent polishing up the area?  Oh, wait, much of that two million dollar price tag includes some sort of expensive digital night-time lighting display on the outside walls of the structure.  I guess that's all right then...

above: Herald newspaper photo....  the toilets, all lit up.

As the top-named emporiums have moved out (Kiwibank, how patriotic of you?), a different sort of shop keeper has moved in.  Ones that sell healing crystals and incense.  Or insurance.  Or spa treatments and manicures. And there are lots of mobile repair shops, and hole in the wall coffee and sushi places.  And $2 Shops that have now had to drop that name because their products are quadruple the old $2 price tag.

In Auckland there are now dozens of little kiosks run by young entrepreneurs who are selling dresses for size 2 ladies. And chic raincoats for pet poodles.  And faux jewellery by the window-full.  Auckland's Smith and Caughey Department Store has closed, as has Wellington's David Jones, and Farmers in Cuba Mall.

 Cross fingers please that Courtenay Place and Manners Street will be able to revert back to being streets for Wellingtonians to be proud of.

above: Lambton Quay, July 2025.  This area has not, as yet, been breached by empty shops.  But how about empty streets?

Ladies (and Gentlemen) please remove your hats

 Hi there

Way back in the days of silent movies - late 1890s to about the 1920s - a sign would come up on screens imploring ladies to please remove their hats.  Otherwise, can you imagine what it would be like to sit behind a lady wearing a high many-feathered monstrosity of a head-piece?

A friend said to me, "Thank goodness, that's all over and done with."

'But .. Is it?" I said.   Really?"  I had my doubts.

I have been to many conventions, many stage musicals, many lectures over the years.  And there have always been guys, and some women, wearing duck bill caps.  When they look up at the stage the duck bills shoot up high to block the vision of the person sitting behind.

"You're too picky," said my friend.  He gave me a salute by flicking the side of his duck-billed cap.

I groaned.  "I'm giving up on you," I said. 

Those Airport scenes

 Hi there

There was a gang of us at the beach a while ago, and we got to nattering about airports.

"I get embarrassed when I exit out of the security section and into the arrivals hall," I said.  "Especially when I'm in another country."

"Oh, why?"

"Well ...  I emerge to a sea of upturned eager faces, everyone waiting for their loved ones to bounce through those doors. There are sometimes signs:  "Welcome Home, Mum"...  "Congrats, Cousin Alison". ... "Limo for Brad Pitt" (I wish)...  But, instead, they get ... me." 

On seeing me, everyone -  I mean really everyone - looks dejected, like little sad puppies.  Somehow, I feel I'm to blame for all that disappointed sighing, and shaking of heads, and pulling back from the railings they were full-tilt leaning across, ready to release their Big Welcome to Dad back from a business trip, or Auntie arriving from Australia, or that football team from England.  It's like a walk of shame for me to trudge past them all.  I have been dismissed.

I wish I was Dad, or Auntie.  Or that football team. I want to spot a sign that says something like "Welcome to any Solo Traveller. You made the journey!"  There should be an official airport hugger.

Mal, a long-time Hataitai Beach veteran, patted me on the shoulder.   He tsk-tsked.  "Just run up to some waiting stranger, throw your arms about them, and get that hug," he said.

Like, it's that simple....?

stock photo.  "Love Actually"  .Airport scene.   what follows this picture is thousands of people deliriously greeting loved ones.  The maker of the movie - Richard Curtis - has a lot to answer for.

Our Tasman Floods

 Oh dear.  Now, it's our floods in New Zealand.  The Tasman region, top of the South Island.  Houses, roads, power, rivers, phones.  And orchards and wineries. 

Not only does my heart go out to Texas, but now also to our Tasman district.

Texas Floods

 Oh, Texas, my heart goes out to you....

TYPIST-IN-CHARGE, Customs Department - Episode 20, 1978

Hi there

Typist-in-Charge, Typing Room, Customs Department Head Office, PSIS Building, Whitmore Street, Wellington

Whaaaaat???!!!!

I had arrived as the new Typist-in-Charge at Customs.  But within two minutes of my admin boss walking back out through the typing pool door, Mavis was confronting me with a we-don't-want-you-in-the-pool-leave-now-but-no-hard-feelings speech.

Apparently Senior Typist, Edith - who hadn't as yet said a word to me - should have my job.  Edith had been doing the in-charge job for a month before my arrival.  The dozen girls in the pool knew Edith well. They wanted Edith. Edith was their comfort zone, their security blanket.

No-one said a word.  Everyone looked over to me.  Me, sitting in the typist-in-charge seat.  Me, lording it behind the typist-in-charge desk   I was such a pesky annoyance.  And if (obviously power-behind-the-throne) Mavis had her way, I would be out, Edith in.

My mind swept back to the various supervisor seminars the bosses had sent me to over the years:  I had to keep my cool....  Oh, no.   Me, keeping my cool?  Me?

Um...

I kept my voice low, tried to gently point out to the typists how sorry I was about the circumstances, that the in-charge position was such-and-such grade and I'd worked my way through various grades to get to it.  And that Edith, as a senior typist, was quite a few grades beneath this position's level.

They didn't care a jot, most everyone chipped in.  They wanted me gone.  They wanted Edith, full stop.

The back and forth went on for about half-an-hour.  Do not lose my temper... Do not lose my temper ..  Do not lose my temper ..  Or, more importantly: Do not start crying ....  Do not start crying ...  Do not start crying ...

Never before have I had to bury my true feelings to such a deep recess of my mind.  I was shaking inwardly, I wanted to run from these inquisitors.  Heck, as the moaning went on... and on... I wanted to jump on the desk - it looked strong enough to hold me -  and scream out for this pack of wolves to bloody well put up with me, or get out!

Well, when I figured the pack had reached some level of exhaustion, I turned to my right.  "Edith," I said, with what I hoped was a calming voice. "Could you run me through the work for today please."  I ignored Mavis.

The typists returned to their work too.  It became like any other typing pool I had been in, with the low click-clack keystrokes of basic electric typewriters being the only sound.  

But I could feel the tension underlying everything. 

My in-pool job was to check all finished work that the typists placed on my desk before it was sent out to Customs officers.  I read through the typing, marking mistakes, and putting the good work into the 'Out' tray to be picked up over the course of the day.  If the job had been marked 'urgent',  I would ring up the writer for collection.  The phone on my desk was the only phone in this room of 13 people.

I spotted the under-the-eyelashes stares, and surreptitious side-eye glances reaching me from all corners. Mavis was click-clacking on the room's only IBM Golfball, like her fingers were on fire.  This over fifty-year-old woman was obviously the fastest in the room.  And, as it turned out, the most accurate.  She had only returned to the work force over the last few years and as she proudly pointed out to me at a later date, ".. because I wanted something to do, not because my husband and I need the money."

above: 2025 photo.  Customs building, also known as PSIS (Public Service Investment Society) Building.

That afternoon, Edith came to me, clutching a sheaf of papers.  "We have to tot up these figures weekly," she explained. 

Uh-oh, I recognised them: Time and Motion forms where typists had to mark out how many jobs they did per day.  We'd had them years ago at Education, as had every govt department.  Because they proved to be so impractical (see earlier chapter), they had been abandoned.  I had never been in a position before to follow all the mathematics involved with the finalisation of the process,  Oh, Mrs Rowley, why aren't you here when I need you?

Never-ever-even-on-my-deathbed-would-I-have-divulged-my-secret, let alone to anyone at Customs, but I had been diagnosed with Dyscalculia.  This meant I had trouble understanding anything to do with numbers.  When a shopkeeper counted out change into my hand, I tried to look intelligent.  I could count to 10 on my fingers but pound notes, inches, feet came in twelves, so that sank me.  If I wanted to find out the total of 50 x 20 I would have to twenty times write down the figure '50' on a sheet of paper and add it up that way, and on my fingers.  I couldnt understand times-tables, or do long-division.  Fractions killed me - how on earth could one-third be more than one-quarter?  Whenever a number was in front of me or I was required to add up anything mentally, my mind started to jumble around until my brain turned into a big black NOTHING!

Because of my non-arithmetic skills I was held back a year when I reached Standard 1, at about age 6,  and this was after skipping primer 4 where sums weren't even  an issue.  All through my school days I was bottom of every maths class.  Way, way down the bottom.  Dyslexia was not understood in those days, so why on earth would dyscalculia be an issue?

Sitting school typing tests, and later Public Service Typing Exams, and Trades Certification Board typng papers, I couldn't add up the money columns in confused manuscripts - which had usually been purposely totalled up wrong - so I just made up any total.  Better to lose one point for that mistake than spend half the exam time trying to work out the problem. 

So......?   Here I was, Edith by my side, in the Customs Department typing pool and trying to make sense over her explaining to me about the involvement of long division, and multiplications, and moving this figure over here, and that one over there, and don't forget this number, and how many typists had put this, and had  they really meant this.....? 

".....and once you've found out how many hours the typists have worked over the week, and the stuff that goes with it, you're all done," said Edith.  

Oh.

 Edith had done the job for me this week, it had taken her over half an hour.  But what about next week?  And the week after that?  My future?

'Thanks, Edith."  I beamed." Looks good. ".  No.  the situation looked bad.

'Oh, Edith," sing-songed Mavis from my other side.  "Don't forget to tell Lorraine to take the results upstairs- "

 ... to the Director of Administration.

I knocked on his open door and stepped into the room -

"Hi, everything going okay?" he asked.

"Fine.  I've brought you the time and motion results for the past week."

"Good.  Good."  He absently tossed them aside.

"Um...?"  I hesitated. "Every other department got rid of those results several years ago."

"They did?"

"Yes."

"Oh.  Okay."  He threw the result page into his waste basket.   "Anything else?"

No.  Nothing.  Nothing at all -

Back in the typing pool, I announced , "I got rid of the time and motion business.  We don't have to fill out the forms anymore." 

Silence.

Then -

Whoops and happy shrieks rang throughout the room. Mavis and Edith were smiling.  Even a Customs officer who had been standing over a frazzzled typist as she finished his ministerial - a big no-no - appeared to understand the pool's enthusiasm.  He applauded.  

Mavis said, "Well, thank goodness for that.."

And so ended my first day at Customs Head Office.  It haunted me for years.

*****

 

2025:  At my senior improv group, we were asked to do a short piece about a day that we had spent at work that affected us.  I chose the above story, dyscalculia and all.  During the last part where I had happily raced back to the pool with the decision, we improv typists broke out into the can-can dance, singing and laughing.  And you know what? -  I got my closure.

A visit to the dentist - ow, ow, ow.....

 Hi there

For goodness sake, wasn't it bad enough that I was just getting over a second bout of plantar fasciitis (bad heel),and that I was halfway through the anguish associated with a sprained knee of the other leg, as well as a bad neck because I slept the wrong way a couple of weeks before?  But now ...  Now I'd broken a tooth!

You. my four readers (maybe five?)  may remember that I am petrified of dentists?  And that it all traces back to when I went to the Wellington Dental Clinic as a kid.  

Because I kicked up such a fuss, the Clinic dental nurses threatened to put me in The Blue Room.   Now I'd no idea what The Blue Room was about, but in my little 8 year old mind, I imagined a completely dark-as-midnight place with a naked blue light bulb on the ceiling.  I had nightmares over that for years.  I also had nightmares over the witch in Disney's "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs", and the wicked witch in "The Wizard of Oz", but they're both for revelations on some future blog... maybe....

This time, my dentist managed to fit me in the morning after The Big Chomp Down that broke my tooth.  I trudged into the dental room like I was going to my own execution.  I could only think of that dentist in "Little Shop of Horrors" who sang about having found the perfect job for his sadistic tendencies.

above: Steve Martin, dentist "Little Shop of Horrors".  The movie

The second I got into the dental chair, my dentist brought out her phone.  "I've got a new kitten," she said.  The pride for her new house-mate shone out from her eyes.  She was rushing home in her lunch-hours, she said, to play with the little cherub.

It was a fluffy baby birman.  And so adorable.  The dentist and I peered down at maybe fifty photos, as well as an absolutely gorgeous video.  I felt better.  Well...kittens, yeah?   Awwwwwww.....

She promised me that my dentalwork wouldnt hurt as much as I was fearing..

And you know what?   Even the injections weren't too painful.  Maybe it was because my mind was still full of pictures of one bouncy little kitten.  

I think it was old-timer US comedian Shelley Berman who in a "A Visit to the Dentist" said that the dentist "emptied the whole damn drawer into my mouth".  ... For me - at one point - it truly did feel like that.  

But on the whole, the pain of having my broken tooth built up again was .... tolerable.  

What wasn't so tolerable was the $NZ440 bill...

PS:   

Conversation with my Dentist:

Dentist:  We read a book on good names for cats. I'd never heard of the name  before, but we came up with 'Freya'.

Me:  Like the goddess?

Dentist:  (astounded). How did you know that?

Me:  because I'm old.  I know everything.

 

Finished Swim

 Hi there

Sunday 22,  shortest day swim.  Hataitai Beach

Been there, done that ... I'm happy!

Beautiful day.  Water flat-ish.    One of our regulars - Grecian Goddess - was in a tiny bikini.  Brrrrhhh, we applaud you, girl....   Zito!

There might be more pictures to come.  You know me, I'm terrible taking photos.  I couldn't get my camera to work...  But others stepped in and took photos for me.....  Thanks guys.

There were up to 40 swimmers there today.  Different estimates as to how many..   Swimmers came and left over a 30 minute period.

......

Here's another couple photos, hot off the press,from a regular swimmer:

Down with the pollution notice Hataitai Beach

 Hi there

Today in NZ it is Friday, Matariki Day.  Maori New Year.

above...  : Matariki star cluster.  can be seen close to dawn.

***

After lots of emails and phone calls with departments who have all been saying "taking down the Hataitai Beach pollution notice is not our responsibility", we finally got the notices taken down.  The notices  should have been taken down on 29 May, a few days after the storm we had at that time.

Unfortunately, the seawall works and roadworks are still there.  Fo!low the gravel maze to the beach deck.

We discovered today that when it's a high tide the actual beach disappears.  Tough luck beach-goers come next summer.  Did anyone check on the outcome of building this seawall?

The shortest day swim is Sunday 22nd.  11 30 am.  Hataitai Beach 

The only 2 jokes I know.....

 Hi there

I've never been able to remember jokes.  I do so admire people who can tell jokes, especially Shaggy Dog jokes that go on... and on... and on...

I only have two joke. They're short and I learned them from a comedian on stage at the Victoria Palace Theare in London, way back in 1967.

1.

 "Did you hear the one about the two cows in the paddock?  :--

One anxious cow said to the other, "Goodness, Look at that bull over there!  Do you think he's  going to charge--?"

The other cow said, "I hope not.  I've only got 50 cents...."

2.

Did you hear the one about the two stallions in the paddock?-

One stallion said to the other, "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night.  I had a nightmare...."

Mid-winter Swim, Hataitai Beach, 11 30 am, Sunday 22 June 2025

 Hi there

The beach should-maybe-hopefully be cleared of the roadworks (and the wrongfully-put-up pollution notice) by Sunday 22 June.   Warning: the roadworks are in maze form but you really can get to the changing sheds, deck, and toilets.  Parking further away than normal.

So, don't forget:  Mid-Winter Swim, Hataitai Beach, Sunday 22 June, 2025 11 30 a.m 

Oh, and it's Matariki Weekend, and because of it being a public holiday, it's understood if many regulars cannot make it.

As things stand, it's a wet or fine weather swim, but if the weather is absolutely terrible, look on this blog a couple of hours before swim.  Hey, remember a couple of years back when it was pouring and the weather freezing and still the beach regulars showed up?  Brrrrhhh.

......

above: 2016..  Our mid-winter swim  L to r: Jay, The Young One, me, Tee-oh.    Looks like Tee-oh and me are the last of the originals; we're still going.  The Young One moved but she will try to get here for our swim this month.  Jay is now in Care...

me -  2015  Our mid-winter swim : Jay and I took turns wearing the polar bear snuggle for photos.   By this time, we'd been mid-winter swimming for quite a few  years.  Only us.  Until The Young One and Tee-Oh joined us. It was about another 3 or so years before The Little Mermaid hooked up for winter swimming. After Covid, lots more joined in and now it's winter whoopee ...

***

Thank you, Jay, for first of all coming up with certificates for the pair of us all those years ago, and then later the magnets - that you happily paid for - as more and more mid-winter swimmers joined us.   We've handed magnets out for many years.  

This year will be the last of the magnets as Jay is now indisposed and her son got this year's magnets done for her (under instructions!)   Thinking of you, Jay.  I still have fun remembering all those past swims.  Jay remembers when I rang her up one winter morning, and she proclaimed, "But I've just looked out the window; there's icicles hanging from the eaves...."  Well, we still went swimming that morning...

King's Birthday Weekend 2025

 Hi there

stock photo

 Last weekend, here in New Zealand, was King's Birthday Weekend.  We got a holiday to officially celebrate the monarch's birthday (2 June).  Of course, it's not his real birthday, just as it wasn't the Queen's real birthday.  I must admit that after Queen's Birthday Weekend was a holiday for something like 70 years, it was difficult for most New Zealand citizens to talk about King's Birthday Weekend - 

"Oi, Maisie, what are you doin' this Queen's Birthday Weekend?"

"Oh for goodness sake, Mum,, it's King's Birthday Weekend.  "King's, King's, King's...."

All of those sales tv adverts had to be changed for the first King's Birthday weekend.  In the past, stores would regurgitate tired commercials of corgis and queenly stick figures to sell their wares.  But then those ads were dumped without ceremony, and kingly animation ads appeared..

There's always rumblings about New Zealand sacking the monarchy and going republic.  Obviously the holiday will disappear...

But hang on,... maybe the powers-that-be are thinking ahead ... 

A few years' back, New Zealand brought in Matariki Weekend.  Matariki is a cluster of stars that signifiy a start of the Maori New Year.  It's always in June , on a Friday, and this year the holiday is on Friday 20th.  Matariki is probably more relevant to kiwis than King's Birthday.

But could Matariki be read as a substitute for a future deletion of King's Birthday Weekend, so as not to anger the NZ public who don't give a fig whose day it is as long as they get a holiday in June?  

And while we're at it, what other public holidays could be dumped as their true meaning disappears?  Christmas might evolve into some day in December called 'Santa Claus Day'?.  And Easter? - Ooooh, how about 'Bunny Day'?*

*Sarcastic much?

Reading books

 Hi there

Occasionally, when I'm reading a novel, I reach a passage that is so mind-blowing with a plot revelation, action, or clue that I immediately drop this hot potato of a book, gaze at the ceiling as if anticipating the second coming, and pray that my heart-racing palpitations will slow down before I have a full-blown attack. 

My breathing is shallow, my mind is skittering around with all kinds of scenarios that could fit in with the page I was just reading. Has she truly betrayed him?  Is there going to be another murder?  Is the next door neighbour involved (no, no, he's too nice for murder;  he owns a cat!).  

Is she really her husband's long-lost sister (oh, my...).  Was it actually the postie who put that  bomb in her letterbox?. - I mean, he's serving a life sentence for the deed, but what if he's innocent.....?

After a few minutes, when my mind is not so befuddled with the enormity of the book's revelation and my heart is not racing, I go back to reading.

I often wonder if other readers and reviewers have the same intense reactions to books, as I do?

Lots of reviewers declare that a book is too exciting to put down.  I differ; it's the other way around.  Sometimes a book is so exciting, it just has to be put down (but not in a derogatory way!)...