Life moves fast at the Commission of Commissions. Just last week a special meeting was convened to standardise stationary. When I pointed out that stationery is well, pretty standard, I was chastised for being a "resister to step change". That's the problem with being the FNG (f*cking new guy), no-one takes you seriously for at least 6 months.
Later that night. I was walking our small horse around Island Bay. As some of you might recall, we own a lethargic retired greyhound. She spends most of her time in a state of near slumber, curled up on cheap blankets we bought at the Warehouse. A life to envy.
Having completed her emissions on the front lawn of a chardonnay swilling Island Bayer, we headed for home via the dark alley which connects Clyde Street with the The Parade. At this point the mutt and myself were confronted by 4 unruly teens dressed like Jay-Z from the hood. Three things occurred to me:
(1) The dog must be furious at me. Being a bit chilly, I dressed her in a dog coat which was red with cute white paw prints all over it. She had lost all credibility as a noble beast. Her contempt was palpable.
(2) I am listening to Adele on the iPod - clearly I had lost credibility sometime ago.
(3) The dog might be able to run pretty fast, but I can't.
I needn't have worried. Here is what happened;
Jay Dog Gangster 1: "Choice dog bro"
Me: "Cheers"
Jay Dog Gangster 2: "He is massive - can we pat him?"
Me: "Sure"
The boys proceeded to fuss over the chuffed mutt and eventually said their goodbyes. The moral of the story - never listen to Adele on your iPod.
Tuesday 23 July 2013
Tuesday 9 July 2013
Day 3.3 - A technicality on the buses
Travelling on Wellington's buses from the South Coast to the city is pure misery. Gavin from the Hutt once travelled with me - it was a rare excursion south of the Basin Reserve. Never again he proclaimed as he quickly scuttled back to the relative safety of car yards and fried chicken outlets.
Do people from the Hutt ever venture to the South Coast? Well, not unless they have too. If they do, I've never seen them. And you would see them for Hutt natives are instantly recognisable. With a slightly dishevelled air, the Huttonian never quite believes they have made it to the bright lights across the harbour. The Huttonian never shakes the belief that the men in dark suits will one day banish their bogan butt back to the low lights of the Petone Pak n Save or Bob's Burger bar on High Street.
But I digress. As I boarded a full bus, I noted that at least half of the bus seats were taken by bleary eyed high school students. I noted with some amusement as the adults on the bus tried to reconcile the situation. The introverted middle class policy wonks (is there another kind?) suspected that the students are supposed to offer their seats to adults. Unfortunately, their fear of making a scene and confronting a pack of surly teenagers prevented anyone from pointing out the possible breach.
Nowadays, I am stickler for the rules. Being a process and framework adviser at the Commission of Commissions my day consists of frustrating most everyone at every turn. Accordingly, I looked up the Wellington Bus Fare Rules on student fares. Rule 3.3 states "Any Passenger travelling on a child fare must stand if an adult requires a seat". Now the key word here is "requires". This means the manky high school seat hoggers were in the right. No adult actually asked them for a seat so they were not obliged to move.
Nevertheless, some sort of social etiquette might dictate that the students should stand up regardless. I wouldn't entirely agree.Most of the grumpy adults on the bus will be siting at a desk checking their facebook, sipping instant coffee and sometimes undertaking policy analysis. Frankly they could stand to, well, stand up, for a while.
Do people from the Hutt ever venture to the South Coast? Well, not unless they have too. If they do, I've never seen them. And you would see them for Hutt natives are instantly recognisable. With a slightly dishevelled air, the Huttonian never quite believes they have made it to the bright lights across the harbour. The Huttonian never shakes the belief that the men in dark suits will one day banish their bogan butt back to the low lights of the Petone Pak n Save or Bob's Burger bar on High Street.
But I digress. As I boarded a full bus, I noted that at least half of the bus seats were taken by bleary eyed high school students. I noted with some amusement as the adults on the bus tried to reconcile the situation. The introverted middle class policy wonks (is there another kind?) suspected that the students are supposed to offer their seats to adults. Unfortunately, their fear of making a scene and confronting a pack of surly teenagers prevented anyone from pointing out the possible breach.
Nowadays, I am stickler for the rules. Being a process and framework adviser at the Commission of Commissions my day consists of frustrating most everyone at every turn. Accordingly, I looked up the Wellington Bus Fare Rules on student fares. Rule 3.3 states "Any Passenger travelling on a child fare must stand if an adult requires a seat". Now the key word here is "requires". This means the manky high school seat hoggers were in the right. No adult actually asked them for a seat so they were not obliged to move.
Nevertheless, some sort of social etiquette might dictate that the students should stand up regardless. I wouldn't entirely agree.Most of the grumpy adults on the bus will be siting at a desk checking their facebook, sipping instant coffee and sometimes undertaking policy analysis. Frankly they could stand to, well, stand up, for a while.
Thursday 4 July 2013
Day -1 Back by some demand
Hamish of Featherston, sock entrepreneur, shadowy beer manufacturer and part time economist demanded the return of my sometimes self-indulgent, occasionally amusing, but always mildly offensive rants. Given that I have moved to the Commission of Commissions (an entity set up in a panic to regulate the multitude of Commissions set up in the early 2000s by a well meaning but ultimately madcap Minister) I can happily oblige.
Island Bay has remained much the same. Champagne socialists abound. They are only occasionally troubled by loony’s who have strayed too far from the spiritual home of fruitcakes, Newtown. The other day I saw a bloke in Newtown with a tee-shirt proclaiming "Newtown is shit". I had to agree. The tee-shirt could have been improved with a message on the back saying "but at least I don't live in Karori".
As always, there is much fun to be had in the Island Bay New World supermarket. Just last week a well meaning old crone stopped to admire my 1.5 year daughter. Her exact words "She is gorgeous, you must have a very beautiful wife". This could be construed as implying that I am physically unappealing leading to surprise at the relative and very surprising attractiveness of my daughter. While the aforementioned old crone might have lost all ability to filter socially inappropriate comments, she had the defence of truth. I smiled politely and indicated that the adult diapers were in aisle 3. She was momentarily alarmed, but slowly made her way to aisle 3. I love old people.
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