It’s day time right now.

I knew that.

So of course the southern aurora isn’t/won’t be/wouldn’t be visible right now. I knew that too.


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—here’s a starting point.

If you go there you can fine-tune it for your own part of the world, if relevant and/or interested.


by the variances from day to day—and why do them Awestralians in Tasmania get better viewings than us, even though we are more further souther?

And now to go back to enjoying the heat wave they so generously sent over to us (you can go off Ozzies) …


“Cool it, Dog! Them’s my Chosen People!”




(Exits stage right, muttering dire mutters…)

Oh dear, I really MUST stop


1abby stray thoughts. On showmanship.

Or not. Try this observation—

Mark 16:16-18 says:

“Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”

—uplifted from a webbie (clicketh hereth).

One has one’s dubious doubts … I mean, The Holy Church spends fortunes preaching to the unconverted—the propaganda mills grind 24/7 yet just about break even. Why?

Why indeed, when all they ever need do is provide a simple public demonstration.

Okay, I attended ‘Jesus 78′ (Reverend Clark Taylor of Australia) in Auckland because a ‘charismatic’ (fruitcake) workmate at the time insisted that my attendance would guarantee my enlightenment.

Quite a show—but all that Taylor actually needed do would have been gobble down some poisons of my choice and let God save him. How hard was that?

OR he could have driven out some of my demons—I have plenty. But did he do that? No~! (So missed a great opportunity…) NZ being a snake-free-zone he was off the hook there; but I would have personally taxied Taylor to the local hospitals for him to cure the sick. Win/win.

I guess he was just too busy signing up all the new recruits—

especially after the spotlight had fallen on the absolutely stunning divine long-haired slender blonde damsel in the free-flowing form-clinging filmy white robe, who led the two little angelic cherubs by the hand to the dais …

When he called for volunteers to “Come forth and be saved” there was a stampede of drooling optimists. Well done, top marks.

I don’t know if this is the same guy— down there

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—but the methodology looks familiar. Good to see him still out there saving souls (ah, souls!)

Audience is smaller … show needs more snakes, no?



  • Your sick
  • your tired
  • Your weary
  • Your huddled masses yearning for relief—

Or much better: skull & bones


“Church don’t work for nothin’, you know!” (Maurice Moulterd in the Brit sitcom ‘Grace and Favour’.)

In the meantime, here’s a hug for anyone who reads this far but is still puzzled:

down there

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This is where Christian dollars go. Ya gotta spend (sow) to reap …

To read from source:   CLICK HERE

Bigger than Rio’s Redeemer?

Do I sense a gauntlet being thrown? Could this be the beginning of a Christ Race? (Obviously, with Christians size does matter.)


fashion sense—those yellow pointy hats are just soooooo yesterday! But I’m fascinated more by the wee acupuncture needles sticking out of the stony guy’s thumbs … (God has rheumatism? Naaah …). Couldn’t be connected to a grounding system … God surely wouldn’t be goat enough to smite Himself with a lightning, not even in effigy?

But they are a bit weird, them Gods … ya never know.

In the meantime if you go there for a wee admire, don’t forget to leave a few shekels in the Peter’s Pence jars for the poor.

Or more effective than any food-clothing-shelter-medicines etc—

Pray for the buggers!

Sit ye at Jesus’s massive feet and let your voice rise like a fountain for them (the poor, that is, not the holey feet), night and day.

After buying the modest wee statue that’s about all they’re gonna get …




Bop 2when I moved down to Invercargill from Auckland—and well you might. “It’s cold down there,” you chortled. “Nothing on their horrible beaches but frosty penguins, icebergs, icicles, ice, and the occasional stranded whale!”

Yeah, sure.

You thought we’d goofed, The Spouse and I. And to a degree, we had.

Yes, I know, civilisation ends at the Bombay Hills and primitivity-in-extremis begins the other side of Cook Strait and gets steadily more worser as you go further souther—and on the Mainland there ain’t no further souther than Invergiggle. The butt stops here.

But sometimes—

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—just sometimes, us bumpkin yokels have the better of the deal.


our hearts go out to the afflicted in Australia right now.

I imagine that more than a few will be thinking of migrating to Tasmania—or coming to Invercargill (and thus raising the average IQ level in both places) …



in the course

of my wwwebbing explorations I happened across this—

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—and without yet following up thought how very much it looked a bit like the sunken enigma off the coast of Japan known to the cognoscenti as Yonaguni.

But then, I always did like coincidences …

And anyway, the above is referred to as a man-made ancient city; while Yonaguni (as everyone knows) is nothing more than a submerged coincidence. A clever coincidence, true—but the God of historical coincidences is an active wee bugger.






last week my eyes were drawn to a beam of unusually coloured light in the local golf course as I was hoofing cheerily by along the road—

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—and alert to the possibility that the flying sorcerer people may be visiting, or perhaps Big G had finally had enough of us and was lining up to sink the pink I scored the shot myself. And from the road, boom boom!


and deeper into the evening when ploughmen homeward wend their weary ways etc etc, this—

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—which was beginning to really intrigue. I ambled on, as ever alert to the possibility that celestial trumpets may blast (or old dogs are going colour-challenged in their dotage) …

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… as I almost cleared the native flax bushes I scored the above. Those poddy looking things are pods. For seeds. I think … moving more further along down there


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AND after a couple more k‘s of dedicated hoofing I decided that enough was enough and it was about time to about turn; and there in a field a cattle was making the most of his now waning munching hours; and a truck lay basking in the rays of the setting sun.

Still pink, I noted, and no—I haven’t tweaked these images, much.

After which the fading sun sank below his ordained horizons, but not before I scored this using the Executive Make-’em-bigger attachment—

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—but I must admit I’ve edited out the farmhouse and power poles. (Most of ’em, that is …)

It was a fun walk and when I got home The Spouse was watching some Spousian rubbish on TV and hadn’t noticed the quality of the outside illuminations at all (she loves that UK show set in London where everyone is shrieking and yelling and screaming at each other all the time) (it takes all sorts).

Me? I’d watch ‘Peter Rabbit’ 24/7 if I had to* —what the animators have achieved there goes waaaay beyond any story line. (And nary a naughty word in sight nowhere,)


* —if I could ...


screen shot 2019-01-06 at 01.14.21 And the advent of Easter means symbolism. Indeed, everything from traditional buns, crosses (some with little model men stuck on them) and choccie eggies.

But are the symbols of modern Easter sacrosanct? Duuuuhhhhh—


Not when the Ozzies get hold of them—


—but this is what commerce is all about, isn’t it? Supply and demand: and when you can’t sustain it yourself you export your good product to some overseas incompetent who does it his own way and relies on the good name YOU established ….  (bigger bucks speak louder).

But for myself with an undiscerning palette  (hope I got that right~) I gave away the modern Cadbury in kiwiland when they first jiggered around with the recipes and buggered ’em up. I switched over to New Zealand’s Whittakers and haven’t regretted in the least.

down there

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Cadbury, may the Aussies and their acquisitions be very happy together—a marriage of an inferior product with a qualified appreciative audience (just keep that garbage away from me~!).

This is the essence of a Free Market: competition drives out the inferior. In practise it often actually means the rise of an inferior driven by Big Bucks and undiscriminating masses. Especially when the inferior has the bigger wallet …

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