What Goes Around Comes Around.

Well I guess if you get in the business of using musical ditties to take the piss out of others it's kind of inevitable someone will return the favour.

Hypocrites and Whining Bitches.

First the hypocrites.

Take a bow Labour you win this award over the so called parody song aimed at National Party Leader John Key. For the moment let us set aside the relative merits (or lack of) in the song itself. Suffice it to say the tonal quality was somewhat reminiscent of hearing a feral cat having its entrails extracted via its nasal passage.

We should be truly thankful backbencher Jill Pettis wasn't part of the group.

Anyway, to get to the point, what annoys me so much about the whole thing is the pious line senior Labour politicians took when politicians tried last year to impose new rules on the way the media were allowed to cover proceedings in the debating chamber.
"Parliament," declaimed Finance Minister Michael Cullen, "is a place for debate, not theatre".

Oh I see.

It's bad when we the media do it, but somehow it's OK when members of your own Cabinet are having a swipe.

A word of advice. Leave the parody and satire to us. We're much better at it.

Now on to the whining bitches section of this post. Naturally I'm giving this tag to National and its leader John Key.

So you got picked on. So what, It's life, it happens, build a bridge and get over it. Or even better - learn from the words of Aussie icon Mark "Chopper" Reid.
"Harden the fuck up John!"



John, trust me the general public didn't need to be told that the song was an insipid piece of shit and those behind it talentless gits. They can actually figure that out for themselves and it's sort of condescending (and patronizing) that you and your caucus colleagues feel the need to jump up and down about it.

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.

Back in Training

Now that the disaster that was the cricket season is over (3 wins, 12 losses) I'm back on the bike again. I had been thinking about doing one of those 100 km events but on the basis of how I feel after today's effort there's no way in hell I could make the distance.

For your edification here is the route.



And here's the height profile.



65 km and I'm absolutely poked.

"ACT"ing Out

When I read this I really couldn't help myself.

So in the interests of bad taste, poor humour, and generally taking the piss I give you this.



Actually while I'm taking the piss I must add this cartoon as well.



Blame these chaps.

Have a great week!

Some Days

You know it's a bad day when you have higher blood pressure than your boss who is 20 years your senior.

You know your day is even worse when a 71 year old's blood pressure is lower than yours.

All I can say right now is "what the fuck?"
(and potentially question the quality of my paternal genes)

Blank

Just to explain it's not a lack of inspiration that keeps me from blogging, it's more a lack of motivation. Currently I have a severe case of can't be arsed syndrome.

Anyways what have I learnt lately:

The resumption of my cricketing career proceeds apace (though it will be curtailed by the end of season next week) and it is now official - I am so shit at this game. The talent of my youth has slipped through my fingers and now is just a blurry memory.

Staying with exercise. If you go to the gym for the better part of a year and then take a break for 6 weeks you're going to find getting back into the routine really hard. Also you lose all your muscle mass and end up even lighter so really, when you think about it, going to the gym is kind of self defeating.

I can prevaricate and prognosticate with the best of them (anything to stay out of the gym)

Late night benders involving scotch, bourbon, and red wine are much harder to get over in your mid-30s than they were when you were in your mid-20's

And,

Sooner or later, if you work in journalism, you're likely to have a bust up with a former colleague and friend who's now in pr.

Enjoy the moment.

Bus Trips From Hell

A word to the wise from one who knows.

If you're about to take a 12 hour bus trip and you're feeling a little peaky then think long and hard about delaying your journey.

Do not do what I did in Turkey last month. While eating dinner an hour before an 800 km trip from Istanbul to Goreme I started feeling slightly nauseous. Not wanting to be a big girls blouse and go through the hassle of rebooking bus tickets I decided I'd tough it out. After all how bad could it be??

As it turned out - very.

An hour into the trip I developed the worst case of food poisoning I have ever had in my entire life. Frantic gesticulation to the bus attendant saw paper towels delivered. Even more frantic miming of being sick finally got what I was after - a bag to be sick in. And only just in time too as I was literally handed said plastic bag at the exact moment my stomach decided it was time to blow the ballast. Thus began the 12 most miserable hours of my life.

Imagine, if you will, sitting in a superheated bus (for some reason Turkish buses are kept at about 30 degrees) while your stomach is tying itself in knots and you feel as if your intestines are trying to crawl up your throat.

Then, as you sit there in abject misery dry retching because there's literally nothing left to come up, you feel a deadly twinge in an area located just below your stomach and grimly realise that you're about to be running at both ends!!

Dear God please kill me now.

All I can say is I'm truly thankful that intercity buses in Turkey do make frequent rest stops. If it were not for them I believe - no know - an already gruesome situation would have been far worse.

And far messier.

I do have an extreme amount of sympathy for my fellow passengers. Especially the poor woman behind me who ended up being sick in sympathy, (the trend of one person chucking setting off others holds true) and the endangered soul in front of me who may have got a bit of carrot splatter from my first outburst. To those who suffered while I spewed I heartily apologise.

Actually there was a weird sort of symmetry to the whole occasion. You see the last time I was really ill from food poisoning prior to this occasion was on a bus, in Turkey, travelling to Goreme, exactly 11 years previously.

Spooky.

Suffice it to say I won't be doing that trip again ... ever.

A Low Down Dirty Shame.

I've learnt a valuable lesson in travelling. Not matter how much you love a place it's probably best not to revisit 10 years down the track. Odds are it'll have changed and potentially for the worst.
That's what I discovered when I was in Turkey last month. Overall it's still a great country but tourism has, and is, harming it.

For example Istanbul is a lot more touristy than it was 11 years ago. In 1996 Sultanahmet had only a bare handful of hostels. Now it has dozens and is becoming very like Khao San Road in Bangkok. The character of the area has changed. What was once a nice slice of urban life is now overrun by bars, cafes, hotels, and tacky markets.

Prices are also much higher than they used to be. The Turkish Lira has stabilised and that's good news for the locals who now have some certainty about the value of their wages. But it's not so good for the budget tourist. A decade ago you could comfortably travel Turkey on about $US25 a day. Beers were 60c, a kebab would set you back 75c, and a 800 km bus trip would probably cost you under $20. Today travelling in Turkey costs about as much as it does to travel in NZ. It's cheap compared to most European countries but it's not the bargain it once was. This is also causing problems for the locals. One businessman I spoke to said the new strength of the currency and the higher prices is resulting in a major downturn in tourism.

On the subject of tourism, Turkey's certainly made a few changes. Sites that used to be free, such as the Yerebatan Cistern (below), now have a flat 10 Euro entry charge.



Some places, and Goreme is a good example of this, haven't been overly harmed by the impact of tourism. It remains a beautiful place to visit and is relatively unaffected by pollution. The cave dwellings and rock formations are as dramatic as ever.





However even here there are problems. The owner of one hostel I stayed at told of how unscrupulous operators, trying to make a quick buck out of tourists, are converting thousand year old cave dwellings into hostels. Historical relics that have been preserved intact for hundreds of years are being destroyed so certain people can make a profit. There are penalties for such activities - seven months in jail to be precise - but that's no deterrence given the amount of money people can make out of tourism.

For me the worst thing I saw in Turkey was Pamukkale. 11 years ago this place was the highlight of my trip and was, potentially, one of the most amazing sights I had ever seen. Below is how it looked then (and incidentally how they are still marketing it today).



But the reality is much different. Because local hotels have drawn off much of the mineral water that created the travertine terraces the mineral formations are now dry and dusty with barely a trickle running over them. Bathing in the mineral spring at the top of the cliff, near the ruins of Hierapolis, was once described as swimming in warm champagne. Alas the myriad carbonate bubbles are now gone and the ruined Roman columns in the pool are now clotted with algae and slime. But what's even worse is the impact industrial pollution in the general area has had on the mineral formations themselves. It's become so bad in the past decade that the terraces, once white and pristine, have become yellow and stained.

This is how they look now.



It's a crying shame that this has happened and the Turkish Government should be kicked soundly for letting a place, that is an international treasure, be defiled in this manner.

Travels and Travails

As a part of my recent overseas trip I spent a week and a half in Turkey. It'd been 11 years since I was last there and I was really looking forward to going back as I'd absolutely loved the place and have spent the last decade urging almost everyone I know to make sure they went there.

Suffice to say it's changed a lot, and not all of it has been for the best. More on this shortly.

Firstly let us muse on the dubious benefits of flying Easyjet. This was a first for me and I can honestly say if I can avoid it in the future I will. I guess the adage pay peanuts get monkeys rings true because there was a lot of monkey business on my flight. This was mainly, no solely, due to a group of Turks and their English girlfriends who were making the most of the inflight bar.

Suffice it to say one gentleman over-indulged and ended up giving one of the stewardesses some aggro. He didn't take kindly to being told to stop being so passionate with object of his affection. As a result of his outburst he was greeted at Sabiha Gokcen airport by the police who informed him of the error of his ways. This didn't do a lot for his temper which was then further inflamed when he learnt his girlfriend and other companions had abandoned him at the airport. Nothing like being spurned like a rabid dog to get the emotions to boiling point.

The next thing you know he storms onto the airport shuttle bus demanding to know where his girlfriend was and who had shopped him to the police. The fact that the airline had done it failed to cross his alcohol addled psyche. Labelling all on board the bus a bunch of racist c**ts he stumbled off the bus, clasping his duty free cigarettes, and disappeared into the night.

Then he came back five minutes later and did it all again.

A couple of policemen duly arrived and hauled him off for another talking too. All in all he was having a bad day.

And that's how I arrived in Turkey.

Pondering International Travel

I just got back this week from a lengthy trip around various parts of Europe. I'll write something more meaningful in due course but for now I'd like to make a few observations.

Britain; why is it, in a nation where cooking shows run 24/7, that no-one cooks and supermarkets are dominated by disgusting frozen heat and eat meals?

Foxes in Marylebone central London?! What the hell?

If ben Nevis wasn't adjacent would anyone ever stay in Fort William?

Why is it that Parisians have a fearsome reputation for dealing with tourists when the reality is they're actually very nice. It's Londoners that are the cantankerous ones.

Frankfurt - why do I always get stuck there?
And what's with the toilet paper at Frankfurt Airport? I know Germans are an austere lot but that bog paper is beyond a joke. It's like sandpapering your colon.

Thank God for Changi Airport in Singapore. The internet is free (as opposed to the 20 Euro/hr you get stung for in Europe), and it even has designated smoking areas in the terminal. Some even have their own bars. It gets my tick of appreciation, all the way from the bottom of my black little lungs.

Oh and another bonus. No barbed wire sandpaper there either.

Haute Cuisine

When the significant other and I were recently discussing my European sojourn (we're catching up after 18 months apart while she does an OE) the subject of Xmas dinner came up. The question was asked as to what would I like for the occasion. I'm sorry to say that I took the piss to a certain degree and rattled off a list that included foodstuffs such as duck and venison. I assumed she would know I was being facetious and would make her purchases appropriately.

Well imagine my surprise when I arrived to find smoked duck, venison, and a host of assorted goodies ready for my delectation. I almost felt guilty.

So I've been paying for my sins and have revisited my culinary days. Yesterday saw an entree of smoked duck, rhubarb and apple relish, and Roquefort cheese on garlic crostini. The mains was thymed potatoes roasted in duck fat topped with caramelised red onion and roasted venison, with fresh asparagus and roasted cherry tomatoes.

Apparently people are coming around for Boxing Day dinner today so I've got a new menu to plan. I'll get onto it just as soon as I finish breakfast - whole grain toast topped with blue cheese, caramelised red onion, and cold venison.

I think it's what they call breakfast of champions.

Trails and Travails

OK so I'm on the road again. It's been 10 years since I was last in Europe and now I'm revisiting some old haunts as well as my love interest. I'll update when and where I can but what follows is a precis of one of the longest trips I've ever taken.

[take note; flying direct to London from NZ is a very bad idea - especially at Christmas]

22/12 2.30 pm Leave flat for Wellington Airport. It turns out there's no such thing as check-through baggage to Heathrow thanks to US Homeland Security. All arrivals to the USA have to go through customs and immigration. Thanks George.

4-5pm Wgtn - Akld. The usual domestic cattle class crap. If you're taller than 5'9'' then legroom isn't something Air NZ redgards as essential.

5-7pm Stuck at Auckland Airport with all the other Xmas travellers. Ick. Who takes 3 year old children on international flights? It's just asking for trouble.

7pm-10am (US WT) Ah the joys of timezones and the international dateline. It means I get to relive the 22nd of December. The flight to San Francisco's taken about 11 and a half hours and my normal habit of not being able to sleep on planes is running true to form. Still it was a good chance to catch up on a lot of films I've missed lately thanks to be an over-worked and anti-social bastard. I've managed to cram in Superbad, The Simpsons, Stardust, Invasion, and the Bourne Supremacy. Big ups to Air NZ for it's individual digital content on demand setup.

10am - Arrived in San Francisco. Was expecting a bit of a rigmarole with security (having the word journalist listed as one's occupation on immigration forms has been known to create all sorts of problems) but it's turned out not too bad. Though dear old Uncle Sam now has my photo and fingerprints on his database - not really too happy about that as I'm hardly a threat to democracy. The homeland security announcements in the airport are a little disturbing too. It's all a bit Orwellian and paranoid for a simple Kiwi lad such as myself.

I've now been up for 27 hours and on the road for about 20 so technically over halfway to London.

23/12 11am Frankfurt. At the risk of sounding like a whining bitch I have to truly say that flying Lufthansa truly bites. Seriously it's like airtravel in the 80s and 90s. The plane is dated, the AV system id a series of crappy blurry monitors in the aisles and don't get me started on the food. Forget about war crimes tribunals for former members of the Nazi regime, the caterers for Lufthansa need to be prosecuted for crimes against humanity such is the state of the food they provide. I know airline food isn't much at the best of times but the slop Lufthansa serves up is a vicious assault on taste, decency, and culinary standards.

Spent the flight stuck next to a very irritating German chap. Despite having acres of legroom on his side he feels the need to co-opt mine as well. Having an overweight middle-aged Kraut trying to play footsie with me in the dark of night is not pleasant. I've now been awake for 38 hours.

12.20pm Frankfurt. Bugger! Fog at Heathrow is causing flight delays. Flights are being cancelled left right and centre but mine is still listed as delayed - phew. No word as to whether we'll make it to Heathrow today but it isn't looking promising.

1.35pm Still stuck. They're talking about leaving at three but nothing definite. Can't leave the gate area in case I miss a boarding announcement.

4.30pm Wishful thinking on my part - Still in bloody Frankfurt. Lots of angry passengers wanting to know what the fuck is going on. The famed German efficiency isn't providing a lot of answers. We're now on the plane but no word on when it might actually leave.
My questions are; Why was this plane nowhere near the departure gate? And, why would you only have one person handling all the ticketing for several hundred frustrated passengers?

5.20pm Finally in the air. The flight into Heathrow is surreal. There's heavy fog, yet clear as a bell above 500 feet. I can see the lights of London glowing and shining beneath the fog -it's a surreal sci-fi sort of sight. Apparently the visibility on the runway is just 100m so they've had to reduce the numebr of flights into the airport for safety reasons. Heathrow's only handling 24 flights an hour which is why so many flights have been bumped/delayed/cancelled. I found out later hundreds ended up being stuck overnight and have had their travel plans turned to shit. Looks like I've had a lucky escape.

6pm London (GMT) Finally arrived and through customs. Been awake for over 48 hours and travelling and in transit for 40 - it's not quite as bad as the 42 hour train trip I once did from Istanbul to Damascus but it's pushing it pretty damn close.

F**k Moving!

If there's one thing in life I hate above all else it's moving house.

So guess how I've been spending my weekend?

This is the state of my bedroom at the moment as I wrestle with my overly large library.



And the living room is not a hell of a lot better.



Seriously it has been bloody awful and I have to say I'm not overwhelmed with felicitous feelings for my former landlord who chose to put our old home on the market and cast us out onto the streets 10 days before Christmas. The only solace in it all is that the property market is now apparently on the slide so the evil bastard is likely to get his comeuppance.

Hah!


Anyway moving in Wellington is a little different top moving anywhere else. The city, while reasonably picturesque, is cursedly hilly so access to properties can be a bit like ascending from base camp at Mt Everest. My new flat is a case in point.

The movers (yes I shelled out for movers as there was no way in hell I was lugging all my crap around), well their faces dropped when they saw what they were faced with.





It was sort of like scaling an alpine pass. This shot shows the little path that they had to wend their way up while staggering under the load of my worldly possessions.

Then there was worse in store ... what every mover fears most.



Stairs. Lots of them with nasty twisty turns. Just what you need when you're lugging a 48" TV. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastards. However the fact I was paying them about 90 bucks an hour did temper that emotion to a slight degree.



Anyway this shot gives you a rough idea of the height difference from my carpark to where my flat actually is.



I figure the movers earned their pay, and so did they. Poor buggers were absolutely shattered at the end of it and not happy that they still had two other jobs to do.

Naturally I was very grateful and promised that I'd use them next time I moved. Their response; thanks but really we'd rather never see this place again if we can help it so consider contracting some other suckers.

A Step in Time

Here's a tentative headline and opening par for what may happen at the next RWC given yesterday's decision by the NZRFU.


RUGBY'S DARKEST DAY.
Auckland, October 14 2011.

New Zealand rugby fans are once again in the depths of despair after the All Blacks were once again bundled out of the Rugby World Cup. After dominating all-comers for the past two years the Graham Henry coached side went into the competition again as raging favourites yet were undone by the man rejected for the All Black coaching job back in 2007. Yes, in one of sport's cruellest ironies, it was a Robbie Deans inspired Australia that has sunk Kiwi pride to levels so low it's hard to see how they may ever rise again.

etc etc

Off the F**king Deep End.

This story's made a headline or two of late. It's a train-wreck all by itself.

But then I discovered the woman at the centre of the story has been blogging about it.

I suggest you read the comments - if you can stomach them.

Un-fucking-believable.

The Perfidy of Wellington's Wind

I've been in Wellington a little over a year and a half now and I'm still getting my head around the wind. Honestly I really should just recall what it was like the last time I've lived here - back when I was in high school two decades ago.

You see there's always wind in Wellington (though today was the exception to the rule) but it tends to come in only two directions; north and south. Most days it's either one way or the other.

Bad luck for me then yesterday when I did this ride.



When I left it was a gentle northerly. A bit of a nuisance but not that hard to push into and there's always the pleasant thought of having it behind you on the way home.

Can you guess when the wind changed to the south?? 5 km short of the Totara Park turn-around.

Bastard!

Age, and Why it Fucks You.

Today, in a fit of mindless optimism with no hope of success whatsoever, I played cricket.



Actually it wasn't completely my idea. I was roped in by a guy I know through work as his team was a few players short and they were desperate for a few ring-ins. The fact he called me shows how desperate they were. You see I haven't actually played the game in about 12 years.

There was a time, when I was youthful and supple, when I played regularly and was actually quite good at it. I played rep' grade at high school and then a bit of club cricket when I was at University. But then a busy lifestyle (and a few broken wrists) saw me pretty much give the game away.

Until today.

I can quite honestly say that I am not the cricketer I was 12 years ago. In fact I suck .... majorly. Warming up I thought I'd bowl a few balls. The first ball was a full toss that flew over the stumps and nearly decapitated the wicketkeeper. No worries thinks I, that's just a loosener, the next one will be better.

It wasn't. It was a half tracker that turned into a wormburner and cracked the poor keeper on the shins.

It was at this point it was decided that fielding was where I was going to spend my time. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I used to be a wicketkeeper for fear I'd bollix that up too - actually given the 7 broken wrists and the now very dodgy knee there was no way in hell I was going near the gloves. It would have been a medical misadventure in the making.

Anyway the fielding wasn't a total disaster. I only made one real flub. You know the one. It's where you go to field the ball and it scoots between your legs and off to the boundary leaving you stranded like a cast sheep. Things were actually going pretty well after that, I made a few saves and didn't have deal with any steepling outfield catches (for which I was truly thankful).

Then things turned to custard a little bit. I was jogging in to collect a gentle block. I bent down, picked up, turned, and POW went my knee, Buggeration. So there I ma hobbling like cripple, desperately trying to knock the ligament back to where it was supposed to be, and all the while my erstwhile team-mates are shaking their heads wondering which tit had landed them with the hospital case player.

The rest of the innings was spent limping manfully in areas where I fervently hoped no running or any cricket like activity might occur.

Thank God for deep mid-wicket when the pitch is low and slow!

Now I'd hoped to shine with my batting prowess. And, given my performance in the field, I could have only improved. But alas it was not to be. Being the substitute I was relegated to number 11 in the batting order and our 9th wicket partnership was broken on the last ball of the match leaving muggins here all padded up with no place to go.

For the record we lost. Comfortably.

And how do I feel after attempting to revisit my cricketing youth?

Well, kind of like this.

The March

Should have posted this yesterday but the pic's got lost in the Telecom aether.

Anyway the Tuhoe Hikoi hit town yesterday so I tagged along and got a few shots on the cellphone.



Instead of piling up to Parliament and speechifying, like most protests do, the Hikoi did a quick march down Molesworth St and along Lambton Quay. It kind of took the Police by surprise as it appeared they weren't expecting it.



Now a lot of people have commented on the appearance of some of the marchers. And it is a fair point - if you're pissed off at being represented as terrorists it's probably not that clever to dress like one.

Having said that it was just 30 or 40 people tops that were in the whole Gaza strip militant mode. A fair few of them were activists and not Tuhoe which just goes to show it just takes a few wingnuts to stuff things up.

Anyway the Hikoi made sure it stopped outside the Te Puni Kokiri building so they could give the Maori Affairs Ministry the raspberry.



Then off for a quick bit of a harangue at a nearby park.



The white middle class civil servants were all left a bit bemused. Angry Maori aren't a common occurrence on Lambton Quay (it's just soooo Porirua).

If I had to assess the march I'd say there was a lot of pent up aggression. But their actions by no means came anywhere close to the rhetoric. The language was, in some cases pretty raw, if it had been translated into physicality there's have been mayhem. The fact there wasn't speaks volumes for the vast majority of the marchers.

There were a few numpties behaving like complete plonkers but I couldn't make up my mind as to whether they were doing it for the TV cameras or whether they were complete idiots.

Ballsy call of the day: goes to the white middle aged woman who rolled up with the placard that read "I Support the Police". To front up with that to that crowd took gumption. She got a bit of verbal from some but there were those that actually took the time to go over to talk to her and exchange points of view in a reasonably civil manner.

Dickhead of the day: goes to the civil libertarian that went up to the aforementioned lady and told her she shouldn't be carrying such a placard. Nice to see free-speech only applies when its speech you like eh pal?

Terror Struck

While the wingnuts and basket cases from the left and the right are collectively frothing at the mouth over today's decision by the Solicitor General, albeit in different directions, one does have to wonder about the legislative capacity of our Parliament.

Put aside for a moment for the rights of wrongs of last month's actions by police and focus for a moment on the fact it's probably the law that's up the duff in this instance.

I mean if this doesn't make the point then what does?

In examining the the relevant provisions of the Terrorism Suppression Act I have concluded the legislation is unnecessarily complex, incoherent and as a result almost impossible to apply to the domestic circumstances observed by police in this case.
David Collins - Solicitor General.

In a nut shell - and I'll use simple language for the tinfoil hat brigade out there - it means the law is an ass.

It doesn't necessarily mean the police were wrong. It means the law has been written in such a way that they simply cannot lay terror charges.

Take a close look at the Act. Have a read through and pay attention to the way it deals with domestic terrorism. I think you'll find it pays it only cursory, if not fleeting, attention and the definitions are such that .... well you get my point.

When the powers that be (ie the wallies in Parliament) wrote this law in 2002 the focus back then was ostensibly very 9/11 focussed. Threats were seen as external, not internal and the legislation was written accordingly.

And for those that are lambasting the Police for seeking lay the charges under the Act in the first place. Well you might want to consider this.

It was the only way they could get the interception warrants they needed. There was no other statute, or at least none the Solicitor General can find, that'd let them do it.

And isn't it deliciously ironic that the Government is told one of its main security Statutes is a pile of dross on the very same day MP's are amending that very legislation.

I'm betting the Attorney General isn't smiling.