This coming weekend’s “Spring Fever” concert with the Christchurch City Choir and organist Jeremy Woodside looms large, – only two rehearsals away in fact, but apart from that, there’s not really been much to write home about lately. Try telling that to my small but demanding readership, some of whom have taken to emailing me the hurry-up! So, in the absence of any bandy hard-news, I’ve added a new category to the blog, NNAB (Not Necessarily About Bands), under which this post is written. I’ve actually been considering doing this since the blog’s inception as I could foresee times when there wouldn’t be much doing band-wise, – what with post-contest recesses, summer holidays and other such lulls being part and parcel of a bander’s life. Right then, you’ve been warned, what follows is domestic, whimsical, reflective banter, so stop reading now if your interest is strictly bandy.
It’s school/university holidays here right now. It’s also spring time, though you’d never know it to look out the window, which is the way those of us with a double-glazed option have been viewing the world lately, as to venture outdoors is to risk freezing or drowning. Other hazards include being swept away by a tidal wave, apparently. An earthquake centred near Vanuatu sent a tsunami our way last Thursday. This new threat was deflating for those of us who were starting to feel slightly cocky after having just dodged the swine flu pandemic. Undaunted, I played golf in the intermittent rain with Steve Thomas (AKA The Bard of Christchurch). Rawhiti Domain offers an OK golf course and it only costs $15 a round, but it is right on the city’s shoreline and not a good place to be in a tsunami. This fact weighed heavily on our minds and undoubtedly effected our play. I shot 126 to his 128. Pretty dire, but enough decent shots to keep me interested. I’m sure there’s a golfer in me somewhere. Steve and I did devise a somewhat elaborate contingency plan in case a wall of water came rushing up the fairway at us. Our strategy was too complicated to explain fully here, but it did involve the two of us getting naked, as we figured this would facilitate better buoyancy and easier swimming. I’ll leave you with that mind-picture.
My 16 year old nephew Tane has been staying with us during the term break. He can shift more grub than anyone I know. We tried supplementing his diet with copious quantities of potatoes and loaves of white bread to no avail. Not that he’s contributing in any way to our country’s supposed obesity epidemic, for he’s a bean-pole with not a spare ounce on him. When he’s not eating, he’s either watching NBA or shooting baskets of his own down at the park. I watched a few games on sky with him and he tried hard to convert me, but I just can’t stand the game, – at least I can’t stand the American television coverage of it. Sure, underneath all that noise and visual junk, there is a really great game, full of athleticism, grace and skill, but it’s completely buried under the excesses of a interminably inane, yapping, commentary duo (yes, two motor-mouths), more visual bling than Vegas on steroids and, most odious of all, some crank on a Wurlitzer playing nursery rhymes! Never one to hold back, I let Tane know my opinions loud and long. He was very patient and deserves credit for suffering me.
Grown-up Daughter Julia was home briefly from her university studies in Dunedin. With Tane in mind, she made a huge macaroni cheese (with bacon, onions and mushrooms). It was a revelation to me to see her go about it so competently as the last time she cooked in our kitchen she was just a high school lass! What a difference four years away from home makes.
I own a little sail boat. I’m having its unnecessarily wide trailer narrowed as I’ve never been happy towing it on the slim secondary roads between here and nearly every local sailing venue. It’s been at the engineering shop for a couple of weeks, but they’ve made a start now. I was summoned by Andrew the welder to check on progress. He has tattoos and burn-holes in his boiler suit that were familiar to me. His steel toe-caps shone like chrome through the worn leather of his boots. I inspected the welds and ran my fingers over them. He seemed to sense that I appreciated his skill and that I liked being in his workshop. I told him my Dad was a welder.
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