Those Mobile Phone Conversations

 Hi there

There are so many people who walk past me and talking loudly on their phones.  I've always wanted to join in.

Last week, I did join in.

 "Yeah, I really feel frisky, " this guy said loudly into his mobile.

 " Goodness, it's a frisky day for me, too, " I called out.

He looked embarrassed, then grinned widely.

I think I'll join in more mobile phone conversations.  Those loud people deserve my input.  Anyone else interested?  Let's start a habit.

Visit to the Doctor for Driving Licence Renewal

 Hi there

It was time for me to visit the doctor.  To renew my driver's licence.  The nurse and the doctor would be checking on my cognitive skills and my eyesight.  I was stressed out over it.

The nurse greeted me cheerily.  "Hop on the scales," she said.

"My goodness," I mused.  "There's now a law for what weight you have to be to drive a car?"

She looked at me, horrified. She was figuring I had been seriously thinking that.

"I'm joking," I said quickly, hopefully before she thought I was away with the fairies.  Younger people never can believe that older people have a sense of humour.  But I would have to watch my words.

"How many animals can you name in 30 seconds," she said.  "... Go!

I started listing household animals.

I transitioned to farm animals.

Then African animals.

Then birds  (oooh, were birds included as 'animals'?)

Then rodents  (think, lorraine, think!)  :Weasels, stoats, minks....stoles-"

Stoles???  Stoles?  For some reason I was getting muddled up with mink stoles. For goodness sake, I wasn't in a Doris Day or Audrey Hepburn movie...

I was stuck... So busy thinking about mink stoles, I couldn't move on.  My brain went blank for the last couple of seconds before the 30 seconds was up.

Still ... Because I had spoken at a fast speed, I still got 27 out of 30.  22 was average.  Not  many people got the high 30.  I think, because of the stress.

Whoopee, I passed the other cognitive tests too: memorising a full name and address,  drawing a clock face reading 1.05 pm, almost getting the day's date right - I mean, come on, I'm retired.  Retired people rarely know the exact date; they're too happily enjoying the day to worry about a dateline

I failed the doctor's eyesight test, couldn't follow his finger when he drew a big circle in the air. So, I now have to go to an optometrist for an appropriate drivers' eye test.  I may lose my licence.

At no time was I asked anything about road rules...

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Those future dreams we had at secondary school

 Hi there

When I started in the third form at Wellington East Girls' College, way back in the late 1950s, the teacher asked the students what job they wanted when they left school.  She began to work her way around the room.  "Daphne-?"

Daphne perked up.  "I'm going to be a hairdresser," she announced confidently.

"Margaret?"

"I want to be a hairdresser."

"Julia?"

"Hairdresser."

"What about you, Valerie?"

"I'm going to be a model."  Valerie was topping out at 4ft 11 inches.  The class doubted her modelling dream would happen.  But daphne's declaration had jogged a few other third form minds.

"I want to be a model, too," said another girl.

And another.

The rest all wanted to be hairdressers.

Noone mentioned typing as a profession, even though we were all in a Commercial class.

Me?  I stood out.  "I'm going to be a librarian," I said.  Goodness, I loved reading.  

In the end, I only knew one young lady from my class who took up hairdressing.  She lasted four months as an apprentice but was caught sleeping in the breakroom and fired instantly.

No-one ended up a model.

I became a typist.  (read this blog for periodic episodes about my "Typist in Charge" career).  I figured most of us, if not all, ended up as typists.

However, as a sideline, I did manage to get dozens of plays, poems, and stories accepted by The School Journal, and plays, stories and a romcom series broadcast over Radio New Zealand.  I wrote articles and stories for magazines, newspapers, and anthologies.

All thanks to Mrs Heely, my fourth form english teacher who had asked every individual class member to write a play about The Pied Piper of Hamelin.  She loved my rendition.  She sparked a love in me for writing.

Later on, in my thirties, I worked in Government Buildings.  I met Mrs Heely in the lift and told her about my work for The School Journal. She was tickled pink over my success.  She was working up the road at The Correspondence School, and we kept in touch...

above:  this design was on the pocket of our dark blue school blazers. In my day, we also had the school motto inscribed there, in Latin:  "lumen accipe et imperti"  It translates as "take the light and pass it on".  A good motto but not, I feel, as good as my one from Manukau Intermediate in Auckland's Royal Oak which was "Learn By Doing".  

The WEGC above design was on the Old Girls' Association metal badge, which for some obscure reason I still have. 

 

 

Those Quiz Shows

HI there

above: "The Chase UK" .  Goodness, who doesn't love this programme? 

Just after I retired I was determined to try out all new things -  my friend and I auditioned for tv quiz shows, and we were chosen for several.

Very few people realise that in some quiz shows there is (or was?) an audition to first get through. Quiz questions are asked by the production people, forms filled in, people are graded.  The tv people know how clever, or not-all-that-clever, are the  participants. .  Me, I probably fitted into the not-all-that-clever category.  

So, because  the tv people know the quiz intelligence level of all candidates, they know how to get a mixture of different intelligence types to sit on the one panel. "Ah," we think from watching on our sofas at home, "that one guy is really clever, he out-ranks the others by miles.  What a pity, he's being held back by them."

I used to wonder why the losing participants always vehemently thank a host for a totally fantastic day.  I mean ...  they lost the game.  All they did was sit or stand there and answer a few questions.  Most of them wrong.  How could the day be so fantastic?  It should be terrifying and embarrassing, surely?

But the fantastic-ness comes from behind the scenes.  Many tv shows keep the participants around for most of the day. Often the applicant gets a nice hotel stay included (twice I was flown return to Auckland).  

A good meal or two is included, a tour of the studio, meeting  tv personalities. Perhaps there's a silly game so that you can memorise your fellow quizzers' names and backgrounds.  The lovely production people can make the time enjoyable.

On 3 different shows, I won $800, a music system, and another music system.  On another, I flunked out miserably.  On yet another, I was a panel contestant for an end-of-season show where the whole of the New Zealand viewing public was batting for the super-intelligent guy who had made it through several weeks already.  He won...

Continuation of "That Was The Worst Week That Was"

 Hi there

Remember my telling you about the storm that hit Wellington and my backyard shed was destroyed.  Luckily I had all my past memories and stuff in plastic bags so everything was salvageable.  But the weirdest thing was how much of that stuff I was now classing as rubbish.  Seven bags-full.

Ten days after the storm, I had finally found a rubbish firm to take the broken remnants of aluminium away.  Thank goodness.  My heart sang as every last bit of my shed disappeared down the street.

And thanks to the Citizens' Advice Bureau who helped me in the hunt to find that rubbish collector.

However ... the hex on me continues.  

After getting rid of the pieces of the old shed on Friday, I went to the beach on Saturday and Sunday.  On arriving home on the Sunday afternoon, I heard what sounded like a waterfall coming from my bathroom.

Somehow, miraculously, the cold water tap over the bath ('tub', if you're American) was gushing out water like it was a branch of the Huka Falls. I couldn't turn off the tap.

I called practically every plumber in both The Yellow Pages and from Google.  They were all out enjoying the only extremely fine day Wellington had been given this summer (okay, okay, I am exaggerating.  But only a little.).  Even one plumber answered me from his luxury hotel in Fiji to tell me he was definitely not available.

In the end, it was my own plumber who answered my call.  He arrived at 5pm that Sunday.  He fiddled around with the outside water outlets, installed a new washer, and  charged me $20.  I was ever-so grateful to see him.

Let's hope that hex on me doesn't continue...

That was the worst week that was

 Hi there

Last week I was on holiday in Nelson, South Island of New Zealand.

I arrived there on Friday 13th.  Yes well...  I didn't believe in that hocus pocus stuff.

On the following Monday there was a HUGE storm in Wellington, maybe the worst on record. Me? - I was swimming and sunbathing at the beautiful Tahunanui Beach.  The air temperature was a balmy 22c, there was no wind and everything was great.  I didn't find out about Wellington's storm until I was watching the news that evening.

I found out through a neighbour at home that my small aluminium-sided garden shed was absolutely crushed, my personal stuff scattered around the yard.  

I wanted to get home as fast as I could.  There was a backlog of travellers waiting to fly to Wellington, as the storm had vetoed all flights into the capital.   Not a hope for a seat until Thursday.  I was due to leave on Friday so it was suggested I stick to my schedule. 

I was a complete and utter nervous anxiety-ridden hopeless tearful wreck the rest of the time I was in Nelson.  What was happening to my stuff?  Unlike most people, I didn't keep garden implements in the shed; I had quite a few personal papers and important textbooks. 

Arriving home devastated me.  I couldn't do anything until I'd got in touch with two insurance companies.  When I'd finally got through to them I was told that sheds weren't included in either policy.  I contacted a young guy who had helped previously tidying up my garden.  He said he'd be there on the next day, Saturday, to help me clean up the yard.

 He never turned up.

Oh, and before I forget to tell you, my four loyal readers, I had visited the doctor within a couple of hours of my arrival home to find I had an infection that required rest and lots of pills. I also arrived home with a broken tooth from chomping into the overly battered fish at the Tahunanui fish and chip shop.

On Sunday I decided I had to tidy up everything by myself.  The first time I bent to the ground to pick up some rubbish, I ricked my back.  From then on, I used one of those tall sticks with claws on the end to pick up stuff.  Thanks, Jean, for that long ago sorry-you've-sprained-your-ankle gift.

It took me four painful hours, and seven big rubbish bags, to tidy up all the scattered stuff in my yard.  Thankfully my precious items had all been encased in plastic and only got slightly damp.  And the gardener young man did finally turn up; yesterday he'd been surfing and partying.  He kindly stacked the shed panels against the fence for me so as I could get to my clothesline.

Then I got in a row with my neighbour who didn't want the aluminium shed panels resting on our shared fence. 

Now I've had another tearful night because I don't know how to get rid of those darn panels

Altogether now, let's blame Friday the 13th..

I was so traumatised in Nelson that I never even thought to take photos.  Sitting around the airport, I took a photo of a plane, similar to the one I would be taking home.  Note the propellers.

Well, what a crappy place Wellington has become?

 Hi there

Its bad enough that the Wellington CBD has become a ghost town with so many empty shops ... and that the hardly-used and hated bicycle lanes are breeding ... and that many of my beloved cafes have closed in the last six months ... and that the Reading picture theatre has been shut down for years, since the earthquake ... and that the road around Hataitai Beach has been surrounded by roadworks for well over a year and probably will be for another year ... and that the weather has been pretty atrocious this summer...

... AND THAT the sewage plant at Moa Point will probably be discharging a huge and varied amount of sewage waste for months to come. Right into the Wellington coastal sea.

Since the catastrophe a week or so ago, when the plant's discharge pipe got blocked and the building flooded, south coast beaches have been closed for swimming:  no scuba diving, no fishing, no seafood gathering, no dogs on beaches ...

The hazardous water hasn't reached the inner harbour and Hataitai Beach yet.

 For daily information about the state of Wellington beach swimming, you can look up LAWA (land air water info).  You can follow the situation through the online news outlet Stuff.co.nz.