Never Fuck With a Dentist.

This morning I was having one of those terrible semi-muffled conversations with my dentist.

You know the one. He's talking away merrily while you're making vague grunts through a mouthful of medieval torture implements.

Anyway ...

He was apologising for the lateness of my appointment. Apparently the early morning downpour had caused traffic chaos and his efforts had not been helped by a small incident that occurred upon his arrival at work. Apparently some charming individual had cut him off in traffic, nipped into the practice carpark, and stolen his reserved carpark. Furthermore, said individual was less than polite when the dentist remonstrated with him about his lack of driving etiquette.

However karmic balance was restored five minutes later when our driver friend found out exactly who was to do his root canal!!

Life. Sometimes it can be a real bitch.

Since It's Christmas

Karma

What follows is, for me, the best story of the 2008 election campaign. Unfortunately I wasn't there to witness the occasion but quite a few people that I know well were there so I can vouch for this tale's authenticity.

In the last moments of the campaign, as matters were reaching their frenetic conclusion, a group of reporters were camped outside National Party Leader John Key's Parnell residence in the hope of catching a quick stand-up interview with him. A semi-functioning member of society driving by felt the need to wind down his window and hurl some abuse at the esteemed members of the aforesaid fourth estate.

Unfortunately for this news critic he made his colourful outburst in full view of a member of the Diplomatic Protection Squad who dutifully took down the registration details of the man's car and made some discreet enquiries.

It turned out the critic was on company time and driving his company car when he was expounding his opinions on the media. It also turned out his boss was less than impressed with his behaviour and not at all happy about finding out about via the agency tasked with protecting the Prime Minister and the man aspiring to her job.

So a little later that same morning our hero had did walk of shame, returned to the scene of his verbiage, and made a humble apology to the assembled reporters.

As a reporter I like the way it all panned out. In this job abuse is frequent, praise is rare, and apologies nigh well unheard of.

So big ups to the DPS, and the lesson to be learned: don't f**k with them.

Sudden Impact

So there I am having a quiet moment at home after a frantic week of chasing politicians and 15 hour days and all of a sudden there's this almighty crash from outside.

I look out the window and, lo and behold, the demon intersection has struck again.



It's kind of a regular occurrence. People trying to get onto the motorway are forever running the lights and coming of second best. As this businessman has now learnt.



Still it keeps the local panel beaters and emergency services gainfully employed.



For what it's worth no-one was seriously hurt.

And You Thought You Were Having a Bad Day...

No sound - it really doesn't need any

Ultimate Nut Bust | Viral | SPIKE.com

A Question of Sport.

What happens when a bunch of media and communication types, along with other assorted malcontents, decide to give an account of their sporting efforts?

Here's the answer.

(Disclaimer: the author of this blog may be involved with aforementioned malcontents.)

Oh and if you're feeling a little frustrated with your job/career/immediate supervisor then I heartily recommend that you go here to vent.

One of Those Days.

It seems there is a God and he appears to be a jealous one. At least so far as my loyalties (or lack of) to the All Blacks are concerned.

Today began with the discovery that my car battery is flat/kaput/finis. That meant my much needed run to the supermarket had to be by foot and I had to lug the bloody things back by hand. While at the supermarket I got a call from the landlord who informed me he is selling our property and we'll have to move out.

The move date? 12 days before Christmas. There's some festive bloody cheer for you.

I suspect it's divine retribution for me betting on the French.

Bollocks!