THIS WOULD APPEAR TO BE TYPICAL
of self-interested money grubbers anywhere: back-stabbing public smilers interested only in themselves and what they can legally
steal get for free—
A couple say they face going broke after the council told them to remove all but 12 chairs inside their cafe – or stop operating.
Jimmy Fairweather, 34, and Katie Funnell, 28, bought the Black Rabbit Kitchen & Bar in Bannockburn, on the outskirts of Cromwell in Central Otago, a year ago.
Fairweather said their dream had turned into a nightmare …
for source: CLICK HERE
—and this is one of the many reasons I detest elected ‘public servants’. Face it: WHY do people ‘run’ for office? They love you and wish to serve YOU?
“The council have discretion in their enforcement. Why can’t CODC give them a few months to fix the consent, have their baby and give them a fighting chance a keeping the business alive?”
“What do you think will happen after the Council bankrupts ’em?”
“Who will buy the lock, stock, and barrel at fire-sale price—and then change the Law, hmmmm?”
“Ooops … let’s not go there, officials have many friends in high places.”
Hey, Argie! Cool it! Them’s my most productive recruiting grounds!
Yet the sun still rises …
or wotever, I love ’em. Way out and whacky—not quite in the same bin as the Flat Earth (and all who sail on her) but getting there; and who can’t do with a tiny bit of wonder-based levity now and then?
SO, JUST AS THEY SAY
on labels on objects capable of mixed purposes:
“FOR AMUSEMENT ONLY”
—(as if it gets ’em off the hook) I offer this webbie:
(or not). Once again this is an offering neither to be taken seriously nor dismissed out of hand; I offer it with the most simple codicil:
“Yes, little abandoned Knitted Doll Person?”
“—I can see your house from down here …”
Yeah, right … but we keep on trying …
—never was, never would be, never could be. Buddhists have it spot on (but we shan’t go down that track lest we do the can o’ worms thing. Again.)
A church was closed recently in New Zealand’s Invercargill.
St Johns. In Tay Street. (Oodles of bricks.)
I stroll through the grounds often—some gorgeous old oaks and lovely brickwork, stained glass windows and all the traditionals. I love it; a big bronzey bell atop a bellery and even a wee memorial kerbing with little bronze plaques marking the Last Resting Place for the last final ashes of various revered former citizens …
… now all having to up-hooks and ship out to greener perpetual eternal pastures, ‘cos God is vacating the premises (in as much as an omnipresent can) and soon the Southern Institute of Technology will be herding its hordes of students through.
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world …” —Tennyson
If I may, as a rabid foaming-at-the-mouth Agnostic Atheist (first class with hons) make a brief observation here:
TENNYSON GOT IT IN ONE
But that’s only my opinion. (Anyone care to differ?)
Here, whilst pondering have thee a nice bell and consider how much the ol’ chaplain might have got for it (and how many points he’d have scored with God had he donated the proceeds of said sale* to the sick, lame, and/or leperised). Ain’t gonna happen now, I guess …
Wee thing is a lot bigger than it looks here …
But regardless …
* Yeah, right …
OR, TO BE PC,
WHEN I WAS BUT A
young pup; bright-eyed, bushy tailed, fresh in the navy … they took us down to the ranges and stuck various weapons in our paws with instructions to hit the wee dots shimmering far far off in the dizzying distance.
At the ranges Gunnery Instructors were God (God does exist~!) and regardless of age or mileage everyone was in obeisance (you know what gods are like).
So there I was happily banging away when the salty old guy alongside (a real ancient mariner) laid down his rifle and with a look of all sweet accord asked very nicely; at what target was I so enthusiastically discharging my weapon?
Let us draw a veil of consideration over the rest of this scene—Ed)
Anyway, moving on … I pulled this in this morning and thought if those numbers are well researched and accurate, it says a lot about someone’s marksmanship and the trainings involved—
But let us not lose track of the fact that the insalubrious conditions under which these hits were scored were a wee bit removed from cheerfully banging away on the ranges.
So no wonder everyone’s gone missile mad these days, even if a single round does cost a bit more.
Chart above from—
But the good news today is, who needs hit anything if you can just obliterate the whole arena it is in? (Aaaaahhhh … progress, she can’t be beat!)
on crossing the Oreti Bridge
out of Winton
by vehicle (there’s no accommodating pedestrians) (although I did briefly try it once by doing the spider thing along the guardrails; which wasn’t a good idea …) yer average punter would have no idea that there’s a whole world down below. Morlocks? Trogs? Who knows … or simply vandals.
graffiti is considered ‘art’. Street art, spontaneous art, wotever—and sometimes, whether wanted or not; it actually is. Art.
ABOUT A YEAR AGO
I posted variants of this shot—
—from beneath the bridge. Every day hundreds of folks drive overhead with nary a notion … but, dammit—I liked it!
I ONCE HELD THE ROMANTIC
notion that graffiti artists don’t vandalise each others’ efforts. Then today I discovered that another folklore goes the way of all dinners—I went back to see if any more good stuff had been added and discovered that no, not; but the stuffs I did like have been palimpsestisised.
So vandals vandalise vandals’ vandalisms too? (I never knew that.)
Anyway, as best I can tell, here’s some of this year’s edition—
—atop the previous. I think …
These shots gave me the best clue:
Next time I’m out that way I’ll look from the other side. And if there’s an observation to be made of the social commentary that is graffiti: after seventy-odd years the ‘artists’ still don’t know wot way the flaming swastika rotates (I imagine they’re attempting the Nazi swastika rather than the other kinds?)
TO MY DELIGHT
this guy was still there~
~and looking much as he did last summer. Hadn’t even changed his socks … must’ve watched quite a few stars and stuff passing overhead in that time (probably even noticed me passing over the bridge with The Spouse on occasion).
for purchases made from
YOUR NEAREST OFFICIAL
intercessionary equipment Suppliers.
Dealers to the sanctified, saints, God-grovellers, prayer peddling padres, and the nice men-wearing-dresses who know all about these things and will indulge you for a small gift. Donation. Fee … confess now and get the very best in absolute absolution! (Discount rates for the
Whilst refreshing myself as to the exact wording of the ‘Hail Mary’ (an equivalent to the once holy sieg heil?) I fell into an online Christ-Supplies merchandising outlet. Far be it for me to suggest that someone is on a good thing …
There’s oodles, but here’s just a couple more …
… and lest I be accused of trying to score free advertising for them care of WordPress I shall let you do your own searching for the source.
BUT HANG ON,
try to leave their site…
… and this pops up—
—suggesting that someone will go to lengthy lengths to ensure you a place on the next ship to Heaven. I imagine that had I been a real prospect on their site I may have scored a few genuine blessings too …
“Oh no … subtle, I told ’em, keep it low key!”