Breakfast Surprise

This morning I broke my nightly fast with a couple of Weetbix (tm) in milk as I do most mornings, unlike the other morning when I went to cook my dinner in the microwave, I opened the door and lo, there, staring gormlessly back at me, I beheld two plump Weetbix languishing in day-old milk. Gross!

Xmas-Fuelled Daymare

So there I was fighting for my life, sploiked in the syrupy sweet cookie crumbled intestinal soup of a giant gingerbread man struggling to keep from being dragged further into the amorphous bog of psychedelic sucrose. Then who should turn up (right on cue) but the villainous mob of Christmas wrapping paper coloured (that is to say they were red and green and festively decked with patterns such as: stars, trees, ribbons, bells, snowflakes etc) overgrown amoebae possessing piranha-like teeth. I was doomed. Doomed I say. I was destroyed, completely and utterly. Simultaneously dissolved in the gastric secretions of Mr "you-can't-catch-me-I'm-the-Gingerbread-man" and shredded to pieces by the harmlessly packaged inhabitants of said bowel.

Yes, I must admit, this year I am swamped with cynicism over the commercialism abounding in Christmas. It's got to the point where it's funny, but at the same time it's not. Who will proclaim the true reason for this celebration?

And yes, this was a real dream (that I had whilst I was at work {I only rested [I believe the correct term is: Micro (or in my case, Macro) pause] my head on my arms for ever such a short while, and this is what exploded forth from my unconsciousness}). I strongly suspect we had been discussing Christmas and the multiplicity of attending stresses.

Euromop

I saw an advertisement for the Euromop (billed as "the only mop you'll ever need") in the paper today. At only $48 it's quite a steal, and apparently, according to the title slogan, "It picks up dirt and hair I didn't know was there".

Well, blow me down, but you won't see me forking out 48 bucks to clean something I didn't know was so filth ridden in the first place. In my books: If it looks clean, it is. Oh how blissful ignorance is, yet I persist in practicing foolhardiness in the presence of enlightenment.

AGGED EFFECTS

I read the name of a hair studio as "AGGED EFFECTS" and thought maybe the hoary head look had gone mainstream. I began to imagine what kind of effects they would be; maybe they'll put a blue rinse through and add some silver streaks or for the guys: a bald patch with that wispy little comb-over.

Then I noticed a whomping great jagged letter "J" before the "AGGED" part. It was in a different font. I couldn't see it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, never mind that years pertaining to the elderly is spelled "AGED" not "AGGED". With the addition of that one little (figuratively speaking) letter I realised that said studio was decidedly not as septuagenarian friendly as I was first led to believe.

Dream Quote

I said something rather profound this morning, just before I woke up. I even remembered to write it down, but I have no idea what it means.

"Lack of ambition in ourselves helps us fail to see it as a shortcoming in others."

All Things Agricultural & Pastoral, All Creatures Great & Small

Today I thought it would be nice to take myself along to the Royal Canterbury A&P Show, so that is precisely what I did. I packed a picnic and slathered on the sunscreen, though I really needn't have bothered (I knew I should have packed an umbrella or windbreaker at least).

Highlights: old farm machinery, tractor pull event, wood-chopping, whip-cracking and cows.

What I came across first was some working antiquated farm machinery. It was great because usually this kinda thing just delapidates in a shed or museum somewhere passing itself off for a boring unuseful piece of junk. Most were manufactured during the early part of last century, but there was one at least from 1895. Some ran on oil, others on gas but it was all smelly and great! So many of these ancient beasts congregated in one place attended by their equally aged sapien counterparts. All hissing, slapping, clacketting and spluttering, trying in vain to rattle free of their wooden constraints.

I walked around and got a feel for where everything was. Bumped into Steve all dolled up in a clown costume selling balloons.

Then it was time for the Super-Modified V8 Tractor Pull Competition. Great stuff!! My ears are still pounding. Two tractors drag off towing a massive sled and slabs of concrete. The very earth quaking and the air trembling with as they say "Lots of loud raw noise". Clods of earth flying up. Those vehicles are fast super fast. Oh-so entertaining. Then it started to rain, but somehow that just didn't matter.

For lunch I settled down on a hummock overlooking the Wood-chopping arena to watch the underhand (where the axeman stands on block whist chopping it in half) and standing block chop heats and finals. Also, the jill and jill woodsawing. I always like the wood-chopping events. I was not disappointed.

The sideshows and trade pavillions are pretty much like the Auckland Easter Show -filled with overpriced goods that you'll only use maybe once.

Had a good half hour of whip-cracking entertainment by the Manwaring family, before being lured into the food tent. I, propitiously sucumming at the precise moment when the acceptible ratio of precipitation became unbearably high. There I sampled a whitebait (ah, haven't had those lil' fishys for years, ?decades, maybe even) pattie open sandwich. Kaituna goat cheese from Gruff Junction (in fact I'm fixing to have some right now) and my first sip of Himalayan Goji juice (but at $85 a litre {yes, $85 that's no typo!} that's probably the last time I'll have it). It tasted very berryish, surprise, surprise for that is indeed what it is derived from (the Goji Berry) but with the sweetness and tartness somewhat akin to apple juice and then on the verge of swallowing it became all thick and chilli-like. I approve, yes, it was much to my liking. Such an exoticity my tastebuds have never before encountered.

Then I traipsed round the cattle stalls. It was good to be able to see what different breeds look like in the flesh (as opposed to just reading about them on the net). I love bovine eyes. Saw an alpaca getting shorn/shaved/having a full body hair-cut. At about one-fifth the size of the largest male, some of the banty roosters' crows were so twee. The ducks just wanted outa there.

Then the clouds that had been re-brewing all afternoon cracked open just when I had to find the bus to take me home, but I missed he last bus, much to my dismay, so I resigned myself to trudging along in the gutter, in the rain.

After all that dirt, hay, cows, gas, oil, dampness, my hair now smells really gross, if I may say so myself. And I just did. So I'll probably wash it tomorrow.

Flying Hat

My "random act of kindness" today was well, precisely that: random, but I didn't really have any choice in the matter. One split-second I was walking behind a group of people on this, an inordinately buffetous day (thanks to the infamous Canterbury Nor'wester you understand) the next, my hands shot up to protect my face from a U.F.O. Any thought of actually catching said object, utterly dashed by an appalling track record of eye-brain-hand coordination; yet there it was. Somehow lodged in my grasp, a camel velveteen baseball cap, which I swiftly returned to it's grateful owner.

Do the Bus Driver Stretch

It was early evening.

My stop was the very next one.

The bus driver pulled into a bus stop.

He opened the door.

No one boarded.

He closed the door.

He let the bus idle.

I was the only one on the bus.

He rose to extricate himself from his chair.

I slunk into my seat and smiled politely.

He stood on the chair directly before me.

Then straddled the isle.

I averted my eyes.

He reached for the skies.

I feigned disinterest.

But really, what was this guy doing?!

Click, went the sunroof.

My question was answered.

"Getting cold now isn't it?" he responded to my dubious glancing and went about shutting all the windows.