Excuses excuses

At 1.30am this morning, I thought I was being stabbed by a rather sharp set of chopsticks through my navel. Appendicitis?
I staggered to the bathroom, falling over a very surprised and sleepy cat as I groped my way to the ensuite door.
As I have been nauseous for three days and have had back pain (I claim it was the decorating that finished me off), I thought I’d better get checked out with the doctor. He has run blood tests for a whole range of nasties, but suspects a kidney infection.
So, a kitty is my hot water bottle substitute, and I have taken to the sofa. Notes of sympathy very gratefully received. I feel terrible. I now feel totally justified at not attempting the second coat of paint in the kitchen.

Splashing vanilla paint

My better half and I don’t have a lot in common, but one exception is our hatred of decorating.

Our wonderful “new” kitchen was completed nearly nine months ago, and I only bought the paint for the walls three weeks ago. This morning I woke up and decided to bite a bullet.

I’d already sugar soaped the walls and ceiling in April (dragging out the agony). This morning I started at 9.30am with the undercoat. I had finished the first coat by 2.30pm and had time to replace all the furniture and bits by the time my favourite late afternoon TV started.

Now of course, there should be two coats of paint, but after running up and down the ladder for 5 hours, I wasn’t about to restart after a four hour break. The second coat can wait.

Check with me in another nine months.

Wasted trees

Yesterday, in a rare moment on my own (hubby was meeting a friend for lunch), I explored a new development in the city. It is mostly million $ flats, but has a small lane running between adjacent buildings containing million $ coffee shops.

I decided to try one (just for a sandwich). It is modelled on a sophisticated NYC cafe and I was rather impressed by the service and the food. HOWEVER, they had gone a little too far on being accurate on one item of NYC etiquette – the serviettes. Why do I need 4 to eat a sandwich? I am not ham fisted, I am not a clutz. I can manage to eat without dripping bits down my bib! I was suddenly reminded of a diary item I wrote in New York in 2002.

There are more nail bars (manicure parlours) on the Upper West Side than grocery shops. I counted 26 on Broadway alone.

When you buy a take away coffee you are given lots of serviettes. I'm not sure what they are all for.

It is difficult to find a travel agent in New York (I tried for 2 days and gave up - I eventually reconfirmed my flights on a toll- free number).

Ergo (With apologies to all my friends who studied Logic at University).

Americans generally get 2 weeks paid holiday per year. Hence the dearth of travel agents. As they are tired 50 weeks of the year and therefore
stressed, they bite their nails, and have them manicured to "Dangerous Weapon" classification. In order to cope with long hours and shorter holidays, they drink gallons of coffee to keep awake and sane. In order to consume such quantities they have to run in and out of Deli's during the day for takeaway coffees. These are mostly served in foam cups. Sharp nails penetrate these cups and therefore purchaser requires lots of serviettes, to mop up designer shirt/subway seat/Imac computer.

Conclusion. If there were more Travel Agents in New York, fewer serviettes would be required for takeaway coffees.

Pound for Pound

An indignant stamping of the foot has just taken place in the kitchen. I have just realised, two items of food in my pantry cost the same, and they really shouldn’t. They are:

1) 500g Israeli made Halwa (sesame and honey sweet), imported from Israel
2) 500g New Zealand produced butter, made locally.

Go figure! Since moving to NZ four years ago, a 500g block of butter has doubled in price! We pay the same price as export, and our salaries are approximately one third those of someone in the UK.

It’s no wonder my housekeeping money goes NOWHERE. Oh, and lest my northern European friends start telling me I should be using a cheap substitute for butter, trust me, their ain’t such a thing here. Grrrrr

A short biography

Your illiterate father died just before you were born. Your mother who was barely literate remarried quickly and gave birth to three more children and you were sent to be raised by a grandparent. You were withdrawn from school to help run the family’s farm. When you did make it to University, you had no money to support yourself, so you had to work as a domestic servant to other students. Hardly an easy start. Pushed from pillar to post. Not wanted and not supported.

You would think this child would grow into a difficult delinquent, perhaps even drop out of University and generally fail at life.

He grew up to be Sir Isaac Newton.

Makes you think doesn’t it? I wonder what chances a 21st century social worker would have given this lad on their case load?

Kosher cats

Ever so humble

Kiwis are a pretty understated lot. You won’t see them dressing up to go out shopping. Often they don’t dress up to go the theatre or out to dinner.

They aren’t showy either. How is this for modesty? I work next to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade. They have three car parking spaces for the Diplomats.

And today, when I went to dispose of a pile of crushed cardboard in the MFAT basement car park I noticed seven MFAT bicycle parks………………………