Archive for the ‘I’ve been Thinking…’ Category

June 2017



I will always give you an opportunity to placate me, especially when you have displeased me so.


As we commence the pre packing planning and procrastinating that is mandatory when preparing to travel, I am reminded of a situation that was never resolved to my liking and thus helped us to decide not to travel with Emirates airline this time and any time in the near future. We had been told how fantastic they were and there were new planes and shiny knobs and buttons to amuse us, comfy chairs to lounge about in and hot and cold running hostesses to attend to our every want.  Based on that, we booked with them to take us to Great Britain and back including a 3 day stopover in Dubai to drink in the ambience.


And that is when it all turned to shit.


The issues:

We were late taking off and therefore late landing in Sydney, missing our ‘slot’, where we changed planes. Waiting in a line to reboard for over an hour, not able to sit just made us later and us more tired.  Never mind, we had a long-ish stopover in Bangkok which we were both looking forward to even if it was only in an airport.


As we approached Bangkok airport, by now most annoyed at the gaps between the seat in front and mine. My knees were now being skinned by the back of the seat of the fully reclined passenger in front of us. We were so close to the runway, you could see the ground crew ready to service our shiny new plane, we suddenly powered up and headed for the sky again so as to miss a small plane on the ground crossing our path.  The flight had been a good one but we were still running late….apparently.  We were instructed to stay put, awaiting further instructions like we were waiting in the school hall about to be released to our classes. Not allowed to use the toilets even to empty the contents of our pants after that close call on approach.

But no. the plane was refuelled, restocked  and cleaned around us as we stood in the aisle and little people swept and brushed our seats and emptied the seat pockets with our stuff they deemed rubbish. Only to pile it on to the waiting elephants they rode to the plane on. (We couldn’t actually see the elephants but we knew they were out there). Pity we didn’t see this as my book I was reading may have stayed in the pocket for me to continue to enjoy. But we were making up time apparently.


A lovely flight ensued to Dubai where we landed at the airport we were looking forward to spending a couple of hours shit, shaving and shampooing and to buy some duty free for our hosts whom had told us were very thirsty! As we entered the terminal having been shuttled from the plane, we heard our flight being called to move immediately to gate… far as fucking away as it could be.  So now fully x-rayed, the loo beckoned and right now was how my bladder explained it.  So running was in and shopping etc was out.  Arriving at the gate sweating but now bladder issues dealt with we then had to sit for an hour before we could board.  But on the bright side, we had caught up all the time we had lost on the first legs of our journey.


An uneventful flight to London saw us arrive at the terminal eagerly wanting to start our holiday. Let’s go!  As we approached the baggage collection area with its carousel that tempts me to ride every time, we heard our names called out and to immediately proceed to the information counter to the side of the room.  As great as it was that our journey had caught up the lost time, our baggage hadn’t and was now having a wee break in Dubai …without us!  Never mind we were here and the suitcases would be delivered to the apartment tomorrow.  Oh well, never mind.


I had now been in the same clothes especially undies and socks for over 24 hours by now so a quick trip to M&S in the morning saw us topped up with essential attire components. We both changed in the stores changing rooms and stowed our dirty, and I mean dirty stuff into the shopping bags.  My testicles were as happy as they could be, cupped gently in brand new slightly knapped cotton undies and my feet were equally happy with their new mates.


Several phone calls and days passed before we were reunited with our wayward luggage with Emirates fobbing us off because they contract such services to a man in a white van type operation. It was their problem.


The homeward journey the reverse direction and stops with the break in Dubai to get closer to our desert selves. Arriving early in the morning, our pre-ordered chauffeur was there to meet and transport us.  Things were looking up.


Arriving at 5.30 in the morning to catch our ride home, we were advised that the flight had been cancelled even though the day before we had confirmed and chosen our seats. Left for over 2 hours whilst they sorted things out which is Arabic for I’ll forget you two and get on with more important stuff like keeping my uniform curtains that are attached to my hat out of my eyes.  We were eventually allowed to fly on the last 2 seats available to Christchurch…. One of us at the front of the plane and one down the back.  A little bit of ‘outside voice’ came out and suddenly we were sitting beside each other at the very back of the plane.  I also had to be convinced that a connecting flight to Auckland to be reunited with our car had been organised.  The look in her eyes, hiding behind her curtain told me otherwise however.


The whole journey to Christchurch had queues up the isles beside us with people wanting to deal with their own ablution issues and talk loudly. When I checked why they weren’t using the toilets in the middle of the plane, I found them to be full of blankets, pillows and assorted flight paraphernalia.  I know them to be full as when I tried to peek in, a whole lot fell out into the isle. Which is where I left them.


Once we had renegotiated a flight back to Auckland from Christchurch as I knew was going to be the case we praised the Lord that we were now on an airline that knows about customer service. Air New Zealand delivered on all its promises and got us back to Auckland on time …including our somewhat independent luggage.


After weeks and weeks of our travel agent failing to be able to make contact with the airlines’ representative in NZ, I took over and finally after another few weeks made the connection to a woman claiming to be the New Zealand managerwhom was prepared to listen to my concerns.


‘What is your problem? We got you there and back safely, our job was done’. She calmly brushed me aside.  I did manage to wangle a top up of airpoints that made our total enough to redeem for a return trip to Australia.  This small token hardly made it right in our eyes and why did I need to have to ask for some recompense?


And your chance to win me back Mrs Emirates was not taken by you and therefore why my business with you will be only by necessity, not choice. Did you want a second chance?




27 February 2017

I had an eventful night last night which mostly I’m not keen on repeating.

Jumped into bed and apart from a bit of Linen Olympics from time to time, I normally like to go to sleep asap. No faffing about for me. But last night V returns from the kitchen with a story about the cockroach lying on his back but very alive that I ‘should’ remove from this world. Usual method is a free lesson from the Kerry school of Cockroach diving where diving lessons are held in a flushing toilet. Getting back in bed she then notices a spec on the ceiling that she believed to be a baby version of the kitchen cocky…. and I could get out of bed to dispatch it if I like. If I like my arse! I thought ignoring it was the best action but how wrong could I have been…. of course I would love to get out of bed again and dispatch it.

Once back in bed and light off with Linen Olympics even after all those ‘Brownie Point’ earning activities not likely until another day….the familiar sound of a bloody mosquito could be heard. I pretended not to hear it thinking if I did, she might too but from the other side of the bed I was advised that it wouldn’t go away by ignoring it and that I should alight from my bed and obliterate that fucker too ….which I kind of did. A quick brush of the headboard as I got back into bed dislodged a bit of fluff which then caused a loud scream from V as she thought some other creature was going to get her, launching a deadly attack from her pillow. I didn’t even comment on how the fluff got there so soon after the housework was supposedly done.

Meanwhile Jeff is in and out of the cat flap doing his Bruce Lee impersonations as he single handedly eradicates all stray cats from the yard. How dare they venture on his turf? Then once all lights are off once again and the obligatory good-nights are completed he starts that horrible cat scaring sound. The one that sounds like a child crying. It sounded awfully close. You guessed it…. I apparently would like to investigate. So once again, the sheets are flung aside and I made my way to the en-suite because that was where the noise was coming from we deduced. Surely another cat had not got inside? Opening the door slowly so I could catch the marauding stray and here Jeff the cat is, .sitting on the sink giving arse hole’s to the ginger tom in the mirror. Removing Jeff from the bathroom quietened him down and miraculously, the cat in the mirror disappeared too!

I am praying for a quieter night tonight or that Linen Olympics are held early.

A Brief Tale

Posted: September 23, 2015 in I've been Thinking...

The Only Undies Worth It

When Undies Let You Down

So how long should a pair of undies last?

I’d had this particular pair of navy blue Jockeys for around 5 years.  Not sure of the exact time I bought them but am confident to say these pair of briefs have supported me and my testicles in particular for at least 1500 days.  There was no twang or suchlike, it was more like a gradual letting go.

Now men’s undies are pocketed by design to cup and support the boys.  I need to know where they are and boxers just let them roam like some free range organic chicken which I find unacceptable and uncomfortable at times.  This might be seen as new age or liberating but in times of urgently needing to pee, I do not usually have time to go on an adventure, looking for where the boys have travelled to.  Rummaging around my underwear is no help to me at all.  The trunks-style garments whilst built and supportive like a brief, I do find myself rolling the hideously short legs back down from their puckered state which seems a waste of the extra material used when the skimpier brief provides the default shape all along.

Now as the day progressed, I noted that the left nut was uncomfortable at times.  This was especially so each time I sat down.  Operating like some Jack-in-the-Box, I would rebound from my attempt to sit, standing upright again where I then ‘adjusted’ myself before attempting another sitting manoeuvre.  The pain emanated from old Lefty partially escaping from the briefs via an ever increasing slackening of the leg elastic previously unnoticed even when slipping into them in the morning when I dressed. It took several ‘adjustments’ to understand what had been happening. Sitting or standing, it mattered not.  It was uncomfortable and Houdini nut reminded me often.

A fully escaped testicle, rendering it a commando nut would have been more tolerable and I know this from experience.  The partially liberated model was not at all pleasant and the increased fresh air it enjoyed, far from a turn on either.  I discovered the extent of the issue when undressing in the evening.  A limp leg on the left of the under garment was clear to see.  When I examined it closer (but not too close as there was a day’s wear with these), the right leg was showing the result of in excess of 1000 days wear.  Not as bad as the left however which surprised me though.

You see, we males have a preferred side when fetching the tackle to use the urinal. I tend to use my left hand to create the opening by pulling on the right leg of the brief so the right hand can extricate the required length to enable a pee without creating a dribble down my shorts (a surprise pea if you remember them) but allow it to stay warm as the cold will almost certainly result in an embarrassing wet patch due to natural shrinkage.  All this extra stretching I would have thought would result in right leg failure, not left leg.

I bet Dan Carter doesn’t have these issues especially as he is left handed too.  Mind you, he must get many pairs thrown at him as payment for his advertising of the said garments thus reducing the average age of his unmentionables. So I was forced to do a check on all briefs of a similar age and to my relief, there were no other suspect elastic found.  It was like completing a Warrant of Fitness usually reserved for a motor vehicle.

You will be pleased to know that both nuts are tucked away safely where I left them, well supported and showing no ‘Shawshank Redemption’ tendencies.  I think they are all good for at least another few years I hope.

indicator I

July 2014

There is a relatively modern addition to the current batch of motor vehicles.  But they appear to be somewhat optional when it comes to their use in New Zealand.  And that pisses me off.

The turn indicator stalk or turn signal lever or just plain old indicator is the control lever which operates the turn signal or indicator lights on the front, sides and rear of the vehicle. It is usually operated by lifting or lowering the lever, the direction being commensurate with the clockwise or anticlockwise direction in which the steering wheel is about to be turned. They are also fantastic for storing rubber bands, spare keys and hooking my GPS chord out of the way when it is not plugged in. On left hand drive vehicles or European designed vehicles, the turn indicator stalks are located on the left of the steering column and that is my excuse for cleaning my windscreen as I round a corner sometimes instead of signalling my intentions as far as directional modifications.

Before Indicators there were Trafficators which were some kind of semaphore signalling device which when operated, protruded from the bodywork of a motor vehicle to indicate its intention to turn in the direction indicated by the pointing signal. Like a soldier raising small flags on either side of the car, signalling that a change of direction is imminent. Trafficators were often located at the door pillar as this makes it easier for the soldier’s flag to be seen… if used.

History tells us that they first appeared in the 1900s, when they were actuated either mechanically or pneumatically. In 1908, Alfredo Barrachini in Rome added electric lights inside the arms that turned on as they extended, but operation was still by a cable system. Compulsion of use is not known unlike in the modern era.  They were common on vehicles (even both my sets of grandparents had them on their respective Morry Minors) until the introduction of the flashing amber, red or white indicators at or near the corners of the vehicle (and often along the sides as well)… which work better if only they were activated.

Many other functions have been added to the turn signal stalk so none of us have an excuse for wondering what the ‘stick’ does. Frequently headlamps and high beam controls are integrated into the turn signal control, the former requiring either a twisting motion or the use of a small switch, and the latter requiring movement of the control fore and aft. Many modern cars have a “one-touch” feature on their stalks. This is primarily based on (motorway) lane-switching and roundabout exiting, where a single flick of the indicator will cause it to flash between two and six times… if only motorists would use the bloody things.

So the road rules in New Zealand or Road Code as we all know them is quite clear on the requirements of the motorist and that ‘fan-dangled lever’ thingee-wotsit on the side of the steering wheel.  They include such ‘suggestions’ as;

You must signal for at least three seconds before you:

  • Activate your steering wheel to turn left or right
  • move lanes (including when you pull back into the left lane after passing another vehicle)
  • move out from a parking space
  • They (Direction indicators as they are known) must be in working condition on each corner of your vehicle
  • Indicate right when entering a roundabout and intending to exit >1800 (further around than straight through). If exiting before travelling 1800 of the roundabout, there is no need to indicate right.
  • Indicate left when exiting at any point of the roundabout
  • These are not optional rules, they are mandatory.
  • It’s bloody courteous if nothing else.

So why are we as a nation so averse to using our indicators?  It is not as if they will wear out.  Why don’t we see it as a great way of letting all around us know what and where we are going and thus showing courtesy and awareness?  At great expense, car companies have installed devices that will do that all for you ….if you would just use that bloody lever. And you can still leave the rubber bands where they are.

How dreadful are the curses which Mohammedanism lays on its votaries!

Is it just me or are we becoming as intolerant of Islam as they of the West?  Who are we to force western ways upon others and become annoyed and increasingly paranoid when our ‘good deed’ is rejected in favour of what they have already?  Who says what we have is better than what others have?

And is it just me or are we becoming as one eyed and biased as a Ford fan when they finally win something?  I’m receiving more and more communication deriding all things Mohammed and Islam on an almost daily basis which is starting to worry me.  We are whipping up a frenzy of hate and insensitivity towards those that choose to dress in different style of clothing and abide by different rules and customs.

This is not new either.  The attached short speech from Winston Churchill, was delivered by him in 1899 when he was a young soldier and journalist.  It probably sets out the current views of many bigots, but expresses in the wonderful Churchillian turn of phrase and use  of the English language, of which he was a past master. This novel way of speech supposedly makes it ok.  Sir Winston Churchill was, without doubt, one of the greatest men of the late 19th and 20th centuries and possibly why so many today, are as ill-informed and grossly arrogant whilst we have supposedly matured as a race.

“How dreadful are the curses which Mohammedanism lays on its votaries!


Besides the fanatical frenzy, which is as dangerous in a man as hydrophobia in a dog, there is this fearful fatalistic apathy. The effects are apparent in many countries, improvident habits, slovenly systems of agriculture, sluggish methods of commerce, and insecurity of property exist wherever the followers of the Prophet rule or live.

A degraded sensualism deprives this life of its grace and refinement, the next of its dignity and sanctity.  The fact that in Mohammedan law every woman must belong to some man as his absolute property, either as a child, a wife, or a concubine, must delay the final extinction of slavery until the faith of Islam has ceased to be a great power among men.

Individual Muslims may show splendid qualities, but the influence of the religion paralyses the social development of those who follow it.
No stronger retrograde force exists in the world.  Far from being moribund, Mohammedanism is a militant and proselytizing faith. It has already spread throughout Central Africa, raising fearless warriors at every step; and were it not that Christianity is sheltered in the strong arms of science, the science against which it had vainly struggled, the civilization of modern Europe might fall, as fell the civilization of ancient Rome …”

Source: The River War, first edition, Vol II, pages 248-250 London

Unbelievable, but the speech was written in 1899. He was a brave young soldier, a brilliant journalist, an extraordinary politician and statesman, a great war leader and British Prime Minister, to whom the Western world must be forever in his debt.  He was a prophet in his own time apparently.

So the west is indebted to a man that made an observation, articulated it and we are now supposed to idolise, revere and follow like a messiah.  No wonder we anger those that are not from the west.  The fact that we circulate such observations over 100 years later makes me believe our faith is as blind as we believe those that follow a different path.

Yes 9-11 was horrific.  So were the multitude of invasions, attempted conversions to Christianity and democracy and torture sessions on American soil committed by the West.  Let’s not be that arrogant to think we have it right or that our ways are suited to all.  Sheep dipping the world will not make this world a better place.  A totally democratic world is not the answer either.  Spend our money developing the poor, uneducated and the meek in our own backyards and leave others alone unless they ask for help.  And stop sending me anti Islam antagonistic propaganda when most of my correspondents only comprehend the issues that beset our world through what they have gleaned through a biased media.

Churchill saw it coming…… I wish he’d kept it to himself

Things happen for a reason



And doesn’t that sound familiar? Doesn’t that hit too close to home?

Doesn’t that make you shiver; the way things could have gone?

And doesn’t it feel peculiar when everyone wants a little more?

And so that I do remember to never go that far,

Could you leave me with a scar?

I was speaking to a lovely and wise woman today and she is a firm believer in fate and the reasoning behind fate.  I’ve toyed with the idea in the past but often popped that thinking in to the too hard basket and got on with the stuff I do know about like sport and work and stuff.  She has had a bit of ‘life’ to deal with in the last four years and has come to the conclusion that what hasn’t killed her, has actually taught her something.

So I got the research hat on again and got to thinking that maybe positive thinkers or fatalists might just be human versions on the ostrich with their collective heads buried so as to escape the reality of their fate.  Fatalism is a belief that events are determined by fate and that that we have to accept the outcome of events … that we cannot do anything that will change the outcome, because events are determined by something over which we have no control.

Fatalism may apply to all events, or may take a more restricted form. It may be consistent with determinism, the belief that every event, including everything we do, is caused by something other than itself. I’m sure arse coverers subscribe exclusively to this! On the other hand, it may be consistent with indeterminism, the belief that not every event has a cause, and that some events cannot be explained by universal laws or principles.  So you can see where the ostrich thing is coming from.

It may take the view that, if all our actions are caused by forces beyond our control, then we are not responsible for our actions. If we are placed in situations beyond our control, then we may not be free to choose how to respond.  I tend to have an appetite for this theory, having empathy for those that do things out of character bought on by things of the heart.

Fate as an excuse is in conflict with the theory of free will though if it asserts that we are not free to choose our own actions. If we are free to choose our own actions at any given moment, then the future is not determined simply by fate.  So if you like to have an each way wager, this bit is for you.

Thus, the basic flaw in fatalism is that it can become a form of nihilism. It can become a belief that nothing has meaning, nothing can be known, nothing that we do makes any difference. It can become a belief that nothing is worth fighting for, that nothing is worth living for. It can become a rejection of any personal commitment.  Or is it?

Abdicating blame or reasoning is an innocent form of fatalism that ensures we all come out the other end having grown from the experience.  Whilst not a total believer, God has a lot to answer for in my books if he controls my fate.  It’s a crock of shit to think I have been chosen to go through the turmoils I have because I’m seen to be able to handle it.  So was it just piss poor luck or some other calling? The loss of my first born after I had been able to hold her, talk to her, kiss her and celebrate her, the breakdown of two magnificent relationships, never making a championship winning sports team, only ever topping my class once but working harder than most, losing my dad so early, not having the body all the girls adore, being only ever Mr Average in most things in life or not having a full set of hair have all been my fate.

All for what?  What have I learnt?

Well I’m alive, have a great family that loves me and tolerates me.  I have a wonderful son and daughter that I am so very proud of.  I have some of the nicest people in the world as my friends and they call me their friend. I have a job that challenges me, nurtures me and pays me well. I have a cat that tolerates me so long as I feed him. My house is mine.  I have seen the world, I love the different cultures and embrace the diversity.  I am able to help others not so fortunate as myself.  I am a nice person that deals in positives. I don’t hate anyone (especially not my ex’s). I try to refrain from looking back as that is not the direction I am going.  I love life. So why is life so hard when I should be so bloody clever from all my lessons?

Maybe that is what fate has in store for me.  I am me because of fate.

Having passed a half century, I have compiled my list of my top ten life lessons in no particular order.  I heartily recommend them to you.

  1. Being an adult can be fun when you are acting like a child but never the other way around.
  2. Love has nothing to do with looks, but everything to do with time, trust, and interest.
  3. Laughing, crying, joy and anger… All are a vital.  All make us human.
  4. Bad things do happen to good people.
  5. Time heals all wounds… regardless of how you feel right now.
  6. Take lots of pictures.  Someday you’ll be really glad you did.
  7. Stepping outside of your comfort zone will put things into perspective from an angle you can’t grasp now.
  8. Personal glory lasts forever.
  9. If you never act, you will never know for sure.
  10. Your health is your life.


Cook your own fucking eggs from now on.


It appears that the commonly held opinion that girls like nice boys is actually a crock of shit.

I’ve done some research as is my why want.  Well I have little else on and the housework is done, why not?  From this reading, I’ve discovered that there is an active debate about whether the nice guy personality profile may actually make a man less desirable to women romantically or sexually. That’s it!  A typical nice guy like I am told frequently that I am, believes in putting the needs of others before his own, avoids confrontations, does favours, gives emotional support, and generally acts nicely towards women because I was brought up in a society that said that is how it is.


Nice guy is a term I’m lead to believe, by the general public and in popular culture describing an adult or teenage male with friendly yet unassertive personality traits in the context of a relationship with a woman. I am not in agreement with the unassertive bit by the way. Part of this debate includes speculation about hypocrisy among women in the dating world: that women may say they want a nice guy but won’t date him or have sex with him, and rather subconsciously prefer men who are more confident and assertive but less considerate. Think “Cook me some eggs”.  The “nice guys finish last” view is that there is a discrepancy between women’s stated preferences and their actual choices in men. In other words, women say that they want nice guys, but really go for men who are “jerks” or “bad boys” in the end.

Now I have always said I didn’t get the woman ‘think’ and here is another scientifically proven example of it.

Then I read about a glorious bunch of women that don’t seem to mince their words be they spoken or written.  I like these people.  Known as the Heartless Bitches International (HBI), they employ irony as a strategy to offer humorous explorations of contemporary gender relations.  They have published several short essays (which they labelled “rants”) on the concept of the Nice Guy. Central to the theme of these essays is that a genuinely nice male is desirable, but that many Nice Guys are insecure men unwilling to articulate their romantic or sexual feelings directly, which Instead they choose present themselves as their paramour’s “friend”, and hang around doing nice things for her in hopes that she will telepathically pick up on their desire for her (they sound just Gay to me). When she inevitably fails to divine their secret feelings, Nice Guys become embittered and blame her for “taking advantage” of them and their “niceness”. So here am trying to be a nice person because the world just needs people to be nice and they are seeing me being as weak!  Telling a partner that you want a relationship to develop as well as happily willing to be helpful around the home is weak? Telling them you love them?  No wonder Jake the Muss was so popular with the girls. The essays are particularly critical of what HBI sees as hypocrisy and manipulation on the part of self-professed Nice Guys.  No wonder I am alone again.

The terms Nice Guy and nice guy syndrome are used in feminist circles to describe men who view themselves as prototypical “nice guys,” but whose “nice deeds” are in reality only motivated by manipulating women into a relationship and/or sex … and if you read more research you find that woman are using this to manipulate in the same way.  I’m screwed!


A character by the name of Barclay found that when all other factors are held constant, guys who perform generous acts are rated as being more desirable for dates and long-term relationships than non-generous guys. This study used a series of matched descriptions where each male was presented in a generous or a control version which differed only whether the man tended to help others. Barclay suggests that niceness itself is desirable to women, but tends to be used by men who are less attractive in other domains, and this is what creates the appearance of “nice guys finish last”.  And here I was thinking that woman liked the idea of men coming after them.

So now, I am manipulative, unattractive, somewhat desirable in the eyes of their mothers only and confused on the order in which we should orgasm.  How do other guys learn this stuff?  When did they get ‘nice’ beaten out of them?  Was I away from school on those days perhaps?

I will always be a nice person because it is the right thing to do.  But from now on, you cook the bloody eggs, I’ll do the vacuuming if I want to and I’ll orgasm when I’m ready! Even if that means I’m single until I die.

I’m nasty already.