a good idea?pc

A great idea?

A truly wonderful, scrumptiddelyumtious squashdoodlingly marvellously brilliant idea*?

A total crock?


the theory. But I never (r) never liked the practice. Lousy idea.


farmers don’t like the idea either. Especially those that nurture cattlecows (one of NZ’s biggest income producers, boom boom!) (You’d think the farmers would have more clout—some folks might even consider farming more important than the votes of blasted golfers and occasional duck shooters, but there ya goes …).


when I could get up early and have a beautiful sunny world all to myself. The seasons were evened out more back then, it seems. Now twice a year, every year, we ‘spring forward’ our clocks, and ‘fall back’ the blasted things later. Hardly seems worth all the effort and angst.

Everyone is bleary for weeks, but—


To whom? Hah! Don’t ask me, I’m just an opinionated ol’ Dawg. Go ask (nay, Sir or Madam, GRILL) your local governmental minion. In fact, ask any bugger with his snout in the trough and I guarantee a platitude-filled answer that doesn’t make a great deal of sense to anybody.


unprovoked tirade this time? An article I still haven’t read yet from this morning’s in-mails. I’ll post the link now, and then I’ll go read it (damned scribe may desperately be needing a rebuttal … or not):


Get thee hence and make of it what you will. But don’t forget to fiddle them clocks, now; and always remember: to be good sheeple citizens we never question our superiors


* Yes indeed, I have been watching the BFG. Now my very favourite movie, along with Frozen, Brave, Tangled (I’ve always had a soft spot for long-haired blondes …). So having glanced askance at my favourites you may now run a psychological profile on me—and no-one will blame you if you run screaming from the room.



and dammit, too.


from this morning’s New Zealand Herald (online)

“Technology is making people more relevant than ever to New Zealand businesses. We’re seeing CEOs put people at the centre of their growth plans, then plan technology needs around that.

“Technology is enabling younger people to bring their views to the table sooner. The younger generation are able to embrace changes in technologies quickly and use them effectively. That is essential for companies and gives younger people an opportunity to get them involved at a higher level sooner.”


does this tell us?



‘cos I’m just a dum ol’ dog out to graze, as irrelevant these days as any other


great mind from the past.


or not … is ask yourself “What do all those words mean … for me?” (Me, here, of course being thee, not moi).

Even more better yet—if you have personal downlines (okay, kids) then you might just be tempted to have a rethink. And if you do go to the referenced article it uses a term I’d not met before: > STEM <

—which when I looked it up I discovered means ‘Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics’. Ouch.


that there’s no mention (or even oblique reference) in that definition — of Safe Rooms, Minority Acceptance, Minority Group customs, religious tolerance, gender/sex, warm fuzzies, the moral right to parasitical usurpation etc etc ad nauseam. Why is that, do you think?


they managed to fit in—right at the end of the article—a Snowflake term. Did you spot it? Only a Snowflake could make a virtue of simple good manners …


… common decency, and uncommon sense.

To read article from source: CLICK HERE






not PC 2.png


(verb) to ‘raise awareness’; to expand consciousness, to open (ye gods, ‘modern speak’ ain’t easy, is it?) mentally virginal innocents to the possibility of a ‘bigger world out there’. (Don’t wait up … )

Moving on: sneak thee a peek at the reference here. It won’t take long and you’ll be ever so glad you did. Go on, do it, I’ll wait—


to see what he’s on about this time:  CLICK HERE 


—or not. But the content, as well as being amusing, does raise a few questions. Such as “How can any sanctimonious bot-licking greasy self-righteous pompous smug little sycophantic turd possibly make a real person ‘ashamed’?”

That’s like religious twats dupes turke people trying to shame me for not believing in goblins. It just can’t be done, no matter how many holy books are thrown at me.



subjects of the reference—are they not yet aware that yesterday’s big no-nos are actually legal again, even recommended?

Do you remember the wondrous ‘Food Pyramid’ that originated in America (where else) and was almost made compulsory? The one that ordered (oops) recommended (okay, very very very strongly recommended) that you gobble all the good healthy starchy carbs you could?

Weeell … fats are legal again.

And so are eggs.

As is salt … but now we’re being told to taiho on all the blasted (good, healthy) milk and cow juice products. O tempora, o mores …


I almost wish I had infants to fire off to school* … then again, it’s probably healthier for all concerned that I don’t.


* Concentration camp for bugs, germs, microbes … aka indoctrination centre for programming undefended minds.





after this—

Scientists point out, however, that 60% of modern-day people still lack the enzyme for breaking down lactose and just don’t know it, meaning that they experience a wide range of digestive and allergy problems which they have never had attributed to their milk-drinking.

Another argument that has been recently been debunked is that drinking cow’s milk increases bone strength and prevent osteoporosis. In fact, the skeletons of our Palaeolithic ancestors, who did not drink milk, reflect great strength and muscularity and a total absence of advanced osteoporosis, possibly due to the fact that research has shown we can get as much calcium as we need from grains and vegetables alone.


—whatever you will. I tripped over this topic en passant but feel that it should be shared; milk-intolerance is quite widespread (Spouse has it) but few sufferers actually know that they have it.


Dammit! I still love lattes!


In New Zealand it gets better.

Much better—

Instead, people who are lactose intolerant can’t digest the main sugar —lactose— found in milk. In normal humans, the enzyme that does so —lactase— stops being produced when the person is between two and five years old. The undigested sugars end up in the colon, where they begin to ferment, producing gas that can cause cramping, bloating, nausea, flatulence and diarrhea …

To read from source: CLICK HERE

—because we have ‘free’ milk delivered to schools for the kids to guzzle. (I have no idea if such enguzzlements are compulsory these days—they were decades ago and if a kid didn’t have a note from his parents explaining, and he refused, he got the strap. Not good, but all that lovely milk/strapping made for the world’s best rugby players, no?)

Given that nothing is ever actually ‘free’ I wonder whether this is really an act of kindness by the benign government & charitable donation by the milk-factory people … or simply an acceptable way of disposing of excesses without fouling the waterways?

‘‘New Zealand is the largest exporter of dairy products in the world but at home we’re not drinking as much milk as we used to. We want to be the dairy nutrition capital of the world and this starts with our kids.”

to read more of the ‘for’ :  CLICK HERE

to read of the ‘against’   :  CLICK HERE

And be advised that I’ve only ‘blitzed’ these articles—I just haven’t the time to investigate in any depth.



to keep you in the picture wrt topic:baaabs


is essential. Times change, and those who don’t change with the times risk being relegated to the Great Garbage Bin of history.


across snippets here and there telling me how ineffectual I am. Face it, I am indeed a


—and proud of it.

So before I get carried away waxing lyrical about the obsolete joys of obsolescence, feast your eyes (a dodo cliché) (did you spot it?) on this—


If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—

Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

                                                       — Rudyard Kipling

—and put it into good modern good standard good English. You know what I mean, something that will pass unhindered through the modern education system and emerge unchanged. You’ll have to work at it, and sadly it’s going to always be a ‘work in progress’. (But you might even attract some highly placed official eyes and find yourself heading a modern university, no?)

To help you get started here’s the final line of the above in before-and-after formats:

the Old (disgusting!)

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

the desired target New (yay! Progress!)

And—which is more—you’ll be a person, my child!

Not easy for a purist but we can’t let the blasted dodos stand in the way, can we?


Easy peasey — now go get ’em Tiger!


buitre16.gif  buitre16.gif buitre16.gif                                               buitre16.gif


it IS easy being greenArgus.png

Ye gods … and here I am, still waiting for my one-word suggestion (whimsy) to be accepted.

So, first up let’s be a bit utterly conventional—
green 1.png

—and here’s our green. There, honour satisfied …


that my older camera is a wee Canon. No longer state-of-the-art, it still has an impressive zoom (and let’s face it, with these shaky old paws, a brilliant stabiliser). I was sitting in Mooch café with The Spouse and thought I’d stop blathering on about the zoom and actually show her. I took two shots, one at each end of the zoomal range.

Mooch has big glassy windows that look right out onto the street which is four lanes wide with a centre strip where generations ago trams used to beetle along. I lined up on a poster, and—

Screen Shot 2017-03-25 at 22.39.24.png

—got this. Just to the left of that tree, a young lassie with a half-greenish face peering back.

Then I zoomed as far as it would zoom, and same target got this—


—and of course, entirely as expected, my beloved Spouse was not at all impressed. But she doesn’t have to be, I can do all the “Oooooohs” and “Aaaaaaahs” for both of us.

Lucky for me that she has green eyes (poster girl)(sort of) … so I’m still legal for this week’s challenge. (And before you bleat accusingly; no—I didn’t cheat.)




or wotever. On my favourite blogs some interesting philosophical viewpoints are exchanged. This being WordPress, exchanged in a seemly manner …


touched obliquely on the topic of immortality. I was reminded of a short story I bombed out with in 2003, and after much rabbiting about in the deeper regions of my hard drive tonight eventually I found it.


and anyone who can be bothered (not many make it through to the end, I tells ya) it is. Read it and ponder—



He called me a vindictive witch just once too often.

Vindictive? No … possessed of a well-developed sense of justice, maybe, but hardly vindictive.

All I ever want from life is a fair shake of the dice. Cheats always make my stomach hurt. Seeing a rat like him pervert the system to fleece the innocent made me want to spit. Having him use the system against me was even worse.

The biggest mistake of my life was marrying him.

The second biggest mistake was expecting a fair deal in the divorce, he is a lawyer. Sure, I fought tooth and nail for my rights, and fell completely. There was nothing I could do — the final ruling wrapped me so tight I squeaked and left me with nothing. I had to go to him, cap-in-hand, and beg. It’s hard to be vindictive when you’re humble.

Vindictive? No, definitely no.


Oh, yes.

I’m a witch.

Not your traditional ‘black cat and broomstick’ witch, more your 20th century witch—high tech and hold the eye of newt.

I do have a cat, though. She is my beloved familiar and has been with me since I was a little girl; she is my family, my darling, and now my whole world.

As far as witches go I am successful despite the choice of husband (even witches can be blind sometimes.)

He knew, of course — the slimeball knew I was a witch, right from our wedding night. Some things had to be explained, and of course he wanted proof.

Well, one thing led to another, and his wealth multiplied as a result. Not that I minded. What witch wouldn’t want to be married to a highly successful lawyer, top of his field?

But as time went by his demands grew, and grew, taking over until he was utterly obsessed by his own ambitions. The more he prospered by my efforts the more I saw what he really was, and the more I grew to despise him.

But there was one thing I always denied him, one thing he coveted above all else. There was this one thing he craved, for which he pleaded, threatened, bullied and begged. This I would never grant, no matter how much he groveled or blustered. Sure, it was within my power, and his desperate efforts to force it became the final nails in our marital coffin.

So, just as he’d planned, I went to him on my knees, begging.

He was munificence itself. Sure, I could have access to the house. Sure, I could take my things away—my Book of Shadows, my waxes, my herbs, my robes and iron dagger. Sure, I could even have the house itself, if I wanted. I could have the house and pool, the garages and buildings, the trees and gardens, the stables and fields and woods and beach. Sure, I could have the cars and bank accounts and investments, he would relinquish all claims to everything … if only …  if only I would make him immortal.

Of course I said no.

So he called me a vindictive witch.

Vindictive I have never been. But I, too, have a limit, and can be pushed just so far. He pushed me too far with those words on top of everything else.

So I gave him what he wanted.

He was over the moon with my decision. Overcome with emotion, tears streaming down his face, blabbering with gratitude — gave me everything. Lock, stock, barrel and bolt.

The fool!

Sure, it cleaned him out. But he knew, and I knew, that even if it took a lifetime he would recoup his losses. In three lifetimes he could be the richest man in the world. In four lifetimes he might be ruling the world. We both knew that.

The imbecile!

He’d thought that by withholding immortality I was being vindictive. But vindictive didn’t come into it — not until he pushed me a little bit too far. Vindictive only began once I’d given him what he wanted.

He wanted immortality, “the same as you witches”. 

Immortal? I’m not immortal. No witch is immortal. Sure, we could be, we can choose to live for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years, but no witch would ever be immortal. Given the choice of immortality or instant death, every witch in the world would opt for death at once, without hesitation.

Immortality, that ancient dream of mankind—and this oaf thought I’d withheld it from spite! Hell, I wouldn’t wish that dream on my worst enemy. Not even on him. Not until he threatened to let my cat starve slowly to death, locked in his house … and then I saw red.

So I granted his wish.

Certainly, he will prosper.

He is too clever to fall in love.

He will enjoy thousands of years of affairs and adventures, but will never be fool enough to love. In a hundred years, lonely or otherwise, he will be one of the wealthiest men on earth. His personal accounts will rival those of sovereign nations; and centuries of endless success and adulation will never tire him.

He will be enjoying the fruits of my labours aeons after I am gratefully dust myself. Millennia after I have shuffled off this mortal coil he will be drinking the finest wines and sleeping with the cream of the world’s women. Long after my atoms have dispersed on the winds of time and change he will be fearlessly conquering anything anyone can throw at him. And why not?

He is immortal.

As part of the package I made him invulnerable as well. Nothing in the universe can harm him. He stands at the very peak of development, too, physical and mental. His brain is razor sharp, perceptive, brilliant; and he is the perfect specimen of manhood. He has it all.

The idiot. 

He won’t begin to see the cracks until several million years have passed. By then he won’t even remember my name, but my atoms will be laughing, laughing, laughing.

Laughing as the sun slows down, expanding as it cools. Laughing as our friendly little star becomes a swollen red giant, drying up the waters of this planet, killing off all life.

All life-forms, that is, except one.

The surviving perfect specimen of Homo Sapiens will be able to reach out his lonely arm from the seared surface of our planet and touch the face of the sun itself, so obscenely large will it have grown as it dies.

His agonies will last for billions of years more, then billions of aeons, until in about three trillion trillion years the universe collapses inwards upon itself in a reversal of the Big Bang from whence it sprang.

Eventually it will collapse into a singularity, a dimensionless point of infinite mass. Somewhere in that nowhere will be a demented yet perfectly formed human being, alone and endlessly screaming in the midst of an eternal non-existence.

Vindictive witch, he’d called me.


But vindictive … … ?

— END —

—or not. Your call …


WPC: Atop


the very pinnacle of human ambition—I’ve finally achieved my photographic heart’s desire (almost).


let me state without reservation that I stand in awe of any photographer who can get a decent shot—in situ—of a New Zealand native fantail.

I could have cheated and set the camera to record video, and just taken out one frame (which is what I suspect some of the great geniuses of the past may have done) but no.


my current pinnacle, a fantail atop an old schlogg of loggy twig in the woods.

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 10.00.58.png

You think that’s a pathetic shot, all fuzzy? Hah! I’d like to see anyone do better—damme, Sir/Madame, it was dark in there (with bright patches) and that rotten bird was darting everywhere. People think they’re friendly, and they might even be—that one was certainly close—but you and I both know that these guys eat bugs, and humans clomping about in the detritus of almost-a-summer certainly create bugs.


my personal heap. I took scores of shots and that was the only usable one. The rest were all like these—

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 10.02.00.png

—and be advised, none of them has been tweaked in any way, and none of them are double-exposures. Just handheld with gritted teeth. What you get is what I saw (or however else you spell WYSIWYG).

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 10.01.27.png

I used ‘auto’ with a clear conscience, which on my camera effectively reduces my input to being the organic robot that aligns the camera and presses the ‘go’ button.

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 10.01.45.png

And now, for a change, have a nice—


—bunny. I apologise if I’ve posted him before but too gorgeous a beastie not to. And so’s the rabbit …

To meet the Challenge I must advise that he’s sitting atop some grass. So he’s legal. Luckily for him I don’t think anyone in Invercargill ever looks at my blogs so the chances of word of his presence getting back to the bloodthirsty management here are pretty slim.

Boom boom~!




can make pc


and provide the missing accuracy. So, what are the ‘missing words’ in this snippet?

After the US’s spying on Germany was revealed, Obama apologised and told Merkel that his country would not eavesdrop on her again. The two eventually became close friends.

to read from source:  CLICK HERE 

So—what words do we think are missing?

If it were me, in the interests of accuracy I’d amend by alteration and insertion, such as—

get caught” and “eavesdropping

—apply them how you see fit.