Latest Status Update

I retired three years ago and moved to rural New Zealand. About two years ago my old boss offered two days work a week on a series of six month contracts. To be honest, the commute has been gruelling, entailing three hours of travel by public transport- O deep joy. My current contract runs out in November and I had already decided that this was going to be the end of my employment. For the past two weeks I have been off work due to the latest COVID lockdown infesting NZ.  

On Monday evening, whilst contemplating my fate, I had an epiphany. I seriously asked myself the following question: do I need to work at this stage of my life? Of course not. I'm getting too old for 16 hour Mondays and sitting on cramped trains for hours next to an accountant from Carterton. 

As if on cue my boss phoned to discuss my status. I explained that I don't want to continue regardless of contractual obligations. I'm done. Work no more. My boss is an old friend from way back when we both worked together in England. He is sympathetic and understands my current medical status. And so after discussing the situation with the family and explaining my intention to the section leader, I irrevocably decided to resign and hand in my resignation without notice. 

As for the future. As my regulars know, I set up an archery business with my son (Saxon Archery). I envisaged the enterprise as an extension of my passion without any pretence of turning a profit. Obviously I didn't take into account my son's drive and business acumen. Although he has a demanding full time job he has managed to market the brand with deft ability. His effort and hard work have paid dividends  and orders have started to flood in. We have reached the break even stage and with further determination, and effort, we are on course to earn a modest profit. 

My break from the daily grind will allow me to devote quality time for the business. At the moment I deal with selection, packaging and despatch. With more time on the my hands I hope to takeover some of the technical and marketing aspects of the business. The aim is shift some of the burden from my overworked but highly talented son.

I'm going to leave it there. There are several posts in the pipeline and September will prove to be a time of bounty. My intuitive creativity is bursting through the dura pouring forth unto an unsuspecting blank tableau. Arse.                          

What's in a Name?

                                                                  Go whiteys! 

I've commented many times on this blog concerning the toxicity of society's emerging 'woke culture' driven by a few left wing-nuts obsessing over censoring/cauterising the best we have in our Western culture. Time and time again, the 'wokey pokey' brigade are shown to be divorced from reality and the aspirations and opinions of the reasonable majority. The masses are starting to revolt and are expressing disaffection with forced attempts of societal engineering by 'voting with their feet'. In other words, withholding their endorsement (gelt) and expressing frank disdain. Just look at instances where companies think they are tapping into the buying population's minds (read=pockets) by producing excruciating and cringe worthy adverts supposedly pandering unto the 'woke mindset'. Ill thought out campaigns of this ilk have seriously backfired in nearly all occasions resulting in a serious loss in revenue. Check out the debacle at Gillette after airing a series of bewildering 'woke ads' for the Gillette razor. The ads were blatantly insulting to men, particularly white men, and strayed into other world lands. Who can forget where the father is teaching his trans son how to shave. The backlash was swift and severe ultimately costing the company 12 billion dollars in lost revenue, overall. Advertising execs with their lattes and pony tails are so blinkered, arrogant and out of touch with the population they are trying, so unsuccessfully, to influence it borders on the insane. 

The main narrative of today's post concentrates on New Zealand's sports governing body decision to seriously consider 'removing' the informal, unofficial name for the nation's football team, 'The All Whites'. This affectionate moniker is long standing and is in accord with Kiwi tradition where national sport teams have been colourised and branded with the likes of: 'Black Sticks' (Hockey); 'Black Caps' (Cricket); 'Silver Ferns' (Netball); 'All Blacks' (Rugby); and of course, the infamous and irrepressible/irascible 'Taupe Ferrets' (National Ferret wobbling Team).  

The NZ Football Chief, Andrew Pregnell, stated that discussions were ongoing with a view to change the name of the nation's footy team. He was quoted as saying: "we are on a journey around cultural inclusivity."  The implication, of course, is that the current name can be seen as excluding non-white ethnic groups. What a sensitive bunch of snowflakes we have become. When the name 'All Whites' was first introduced forty years ago it was seen as a slight whimsy to contrast with the more popular and more famous 'All Black' rugby team. Only a moron, or more to the point someone with a political agenda, could seriously impute racist connotations to this rather bland nickname.  

But let us expand the nature of the debate for the sake of consistency and inclusivity. Notable for its absence from the discussion is the mention or inclusion (what happened to inclusivity?) of the iconic, NZ rugby team, 'All Blacks'. Surely, this is racist, highly inflammatory and deeply offensive to melanin depleted folk. Mayhap we should raise a petition demanding a change in the derogatory appellation? I'm sure the good folk of New Zealand will prove highly receptive to a proposed name change.  After all, what's in a name?  

Let me know in the comments your suggested alternative designations. To get the ball rolling, I'll add a couple of suggestions of my own: 'The Fluffy Pink Bunny Rabbits'; 'The 18 decillion varieties of colours'. You can see the fans in the stands, shouting- "Go 18 followed by 33 zeros". And my personal favourite. 'The frolicking ferrets of indeterminate hue'. Go ferrets.    

    

 

Bugger!

O bugger. And so New Zealand joins the 'Merry Go Round' that is COVID. A single individual from Aus is responsible for the whole country being forced into lockdown with all its implications. For the past week we have wallowed at level 4 and the Auckland region will remain thusly for the next 7 days while the remainder of the country is so blessed until Friday, with the option for an extension.

This is NZ's second COVID wave after the prompt implementation of control measures (level 4 implemented 25th May 2020) which effectively eradicated the virus, give or take a couple of cases. This all changed just over week ago after a visitor from Australia was shown to be positive for the highly contagious delta variant. COVID started to disseminate in the Auckland community and to date (24th August) 148 people have tested positive. With alarmist predictions suggesting that this outbreak might culminate with a 1000 cases, the country, once again, is in the grip of draconian measures. It appears that the majority of Kiwis are in accord with the swift government action however, there have been dissenting opinions. Many business owners and in particular, restaurants/cafes, are struggling with this second lockdown with the attendant loss in revenue. And of course, the average New Zealander, denied work, and in spite of government subsidies, will experience varying degrees of hardship.      

The main criticism levelled at the government concerns the 'open borders' policy with Australia, especially after the recent outbreak of the delta variant in New South Wales. Of course, economic factors determined our exchange with our closest neighbour. This has to be balanced against current losses within the economy estimated to run into billions of groats, er dollars. To be fair, hindsight is a delightful distraction of absolutely no help in our current dilemma. 

On a sobering note, it appears that supermarkets are starting to run out of beer. What a cruel virus, indeed. It robs us of our health and the best anodyne for treatment. How can folk believe in a benevolent deity under such heinous restraints? Makes my heart bleed.   

Oscar Wild

 

Let's be honest, the Oscars this year were a travesty and completely pointless. And yes, I'm well aware that I'm a little late in my critical appraisal, as the Oscars were screened in April- did anyone notice?

Not only the Oscars, but other 'Entertainment Extravaganzas', such as the Golden Globes, are starting to merge into a political rally for the far left. Privileged, often white actors, seize their opportunity onstage to rail against the establishment and white male societal dominance. What formally used to be light entertainment has now become a rallying event for the 'Woke Brigade'. The only glimmer of hope was last year's Golden Globe awards hosted by the irrepressible Ricky Gervaise. He pulled no punches and gave the self absorbed, self important celebs, a right royal roasting. His caustic invective caused verbal ripples and consternation among the stars. They were none too pleased to have their egos viciously pricked; he was relentless and totally merciless. And the viewing public loved it. Sadly, as Mr Gervoise predicted, it is unlikely that he will be allowed to run rampant at an awards ceremony, ever again, which is a bloody shame.

Gone are the days when award ceremonies were perceived as entertainment watched by the masses. Over recent years the 'events' have become an arena for highly paid, so called stars, to berate the audience for a host of perceived ills in society. Folks at home are not impressed and expressed their disenchantment by tuning out. They argue: what right have a bunch of 'lovies' to lecture the public? Why should we listen to a gaggle/rabble of millionaires who have found fame and fortune on the basis of good looks and luck. How are they qualified to berate the populous concerning complex issues of which they have absolutely no understanding? As Mr Gervoise so wisely expostulated: “why don't you shut the fuck up and get pissed”. Wise words indeed.

Disaffection with this year's Oscars was palpable. In 2015, the Oscars pulled in over 37 million viewing punters. This in itself was a major decline from the 1990s, when the Oscars were watched by 58 million. This year not so much. Only 9.5 million folk could be bothered to tune in. Some of the smarter celebs are seeing the 'way of the wind' and express disdain with the proceedings by not showing up to the debacle. Sir Anthony Hopkins, although receiving the Oscar for, 'Actor in a Leading Role' category, for his performance in 'The Father' couldn't be arsed to show up. Apparently, Sir Anthony's agent stated that his esteemed client was fast asleep at home.

The ceremonies have trailed away from their prime directive and are no more than a sounding board and a finger wagging exercise for a bunch of twats totally out of tune with the viewing public that they are supposed to serve. Award events have become increasingly irrelevant over recent years and deserve to wither away as befits their futile status. Will anyone notice? Gone are the days when celebs could command public awe and unjustified adoration. Our critical age has revealed their true worth. No one gives a shit. So called celebs and screen stars need to adapt to their new found, lowly status and take on board a good dose of well deserved humility, if they can. Arse.

O Dear, Auntie Beeb is Donald Ducked,

 O How The Mighty Have Fallen! And Woe To The Woke

The BBC, the once mighty bastion of Britain's televisual greatness is sadly no more. The deplorable decline has occurred over a relatively short time span, and no longer is the BBC the byword, or the benchmark, for superb and quality telecasting.

A recent BBC report has noted a decline in the number of British households willing to relinquish the princely sum of £159 per year for the mandatory license fee. Apparently, 700,000 disillusioned viewers, have decided to withdraw their 'paid membership' this year. As the license fee is mandated in law, could it be that non-paying miscreants are at risk of  falling foul of the law? This is not an easy question to answer in our wondrous, modern technological age. In times past the tele was the sole (visual) entertainment medium to be enjoyed from the comfort of home. These days the choice is staggering and no longer are we a slave to flaccid terrestrial tele. Therefore, the licencing legislation has changed to reflect this nonchalant, non-dependence on analogue tele and has embraced the digital world with alacrity and gusto. Thus, if you livestream a Netflix programme and watch during the process you require a licence, but if you record and watch later, no licence is required. It matters not a jot whether you have a tele, any electronic device is deemed sufficient to incur the fee. 

This introductive preamble is but a prelude for the main thrust of this post: 'The Sad Decline of this Once Mighty Monolith.'  Historically, BBC programming was the envy of the world. Lavishly funded, and independent from advertising revenue, the BBC could concentrate on expensive but superlative productions. In 'The Golden Age' a whole slew of top quality series, documentaries, drama and comedy held the British viewing population, enthralled. How can we forget such masterpieces, as: Monty Python; Planet Earth; I Claudius; Yes Minister and Doctor Who. Quality programming is never going to come cheap and in theory, every household in the UK, is required to own a licence, paid annually and in perpetuity.  

Of course, public disillusionment in the BBC does not have a single cause and there are undoubtedly several factors involved. In this post I will comment on the two key components, that in my opinion, have played a major part in the BBC's precipitous decline in popularity. Most obviously, choice. There are a slew of digital services available, for a fee. Netflix, is one of the most popular streaming services and in the UK, the Standard Plan works out as £10 per month- a saving of £39 per year in comparison to the good old, Beeb. Now this might not be a huge saving and let's be honest, there's a lot of shit on Netflix. But at least there is no element of coercion to subscribe and you get to choose what you want to watch.

We live in an increasingly, cynical and weary/wary world. The internet makes 'bamboozlement' of the public by the controlling elites a fraught endeavour, indeed. The British Brainwashing Corporation is living in some sort of alternative universe and seems to think that its major role is to control and influence how the British public thinks and acts. We see 'repurposing' of classics, such as A Christmas Carol, where the Cratchit family is mixed race. Viewers find this sort of manipulative 'wokeness', irritating, jarring and frankly sinister. There are many such examples of the 'woke agenda' being rammed down the viewing public's throat. Humour is many things, but at least it ought to be genuinely funny. The BBC's repeated attempt at so-called woke humour illustrates the problem with stark abandon. A whole comedy genre based on the premise: 'White middle-class males, bad' is not only unfunny to its core (canned laughter notwithstanding), it is also deeply offensive to a huge swathe of viewing public and dare I say, racist. It is seen for what it is: a toxic vehicle for the dissemination of extreme, left wing ideology.   

The majority of the British public don't want to be subjected to 'woke madness' and certainly don't want to be exposed to Marxist ideology, differently wrapped. You might be asking: but Flaxen, of the flowing mane, of spun gold, with a hint of silver thread, what care you? You buggered off 20 years ago to live the life of idle/idyll, in Nuzzyland. This is all true. However, I lived my formative years in the UK when the BBC was at its peak, producing programmes, such as, Monty Python; Planet Earth; I Claudius; Yes Minister and Doctor Who....... Sadly, the like of which, will never be seen, again.

                                                            Flaxen rests his case. Arse. 

Waiting for the Pharmacy to Open

 Tis time for a little, light hearted, chortling. My recent outpourings have become a little serious. And what better way to unwind and relax the chuckle muscles than indulging in a rollicking good and humorous read.....  

The following books are part of the new 'Ladybird Book' series with an emphasis on real life problems impinging on the denizens of this woeful affliction/affectation, called life. The Editors felt that the series had grown old, dated and stale and deemed it necessary to inject a modern perspective in order to ensure that the famed collection remained relevant in a chaotic and uncertain social milieu/melee. Read on and weep.

It would have to happen, eventually. Looting, or as it termed in our wonderful, New Age, 'Undocumented Shopping Without Remuneration', has arrived. Indeed, if there is an element of 'burning stuff', mayhap, the appellation, 'Combustion Enthusiast' could be added, without prejudice? Thus it seems, Looting has become mainstream and Middle Class. Arse, double, Arse.

Unfortunately, this has turned out to be a rather thick book with many inclusions. Too many Cunts, not enough time. Should be called the thick book of thick cunts.

I'm sure most folk have their favourite hangover stories. 

The only one that really stands out was the time, I woke, at 4am in the morning, totally naked, lying on a park bench with a Chinaman sucking my toes.......Of course, this story might be apocryphal depending on status sobrietus (not a real word). Are we allowed to call Orientals, Chinamen, these days? Are we allowed to call Chinamen, Chinamen, these days? Gets confusing: so many words in the English language that we can no longer use. I remember what my old dad used to call them and it wasn't pesky and wily. Nuff said.

 

When I were a lad of about 11, the 'one girl' in our class was called by the unassuming name, Leslie Green. She was very smart and precocious and as positive traits seem to associate, was very pretty. She was always the first to put her hand up in class and as evidenced by the number of gold stars awarded, she was also the smartest. I'm sure you can't do this sort of thing these days, but back in 1966 my class had a board prominently displaying pupil's names and next to the names a series of gold stars were accrued, indicating individual acts of scholarly excellence. I remember, very distinctly, seeing a total of 37 stars next to her name. If you are wondering: the flaxen haired one was exalted with 2. This might appear to be a conundrum to my readership who have come to see myself as an intellectual giant amongst men (more god than man, mayhap?). All I can say is, that intellectually, I took a little time to mature. In retrospect I like to call this period in my life as, 'getting covered in the mud, blood and snot resurgence'. However, there was one pupil deemed even less promising- David Manning. Poor, 'one star' David (no pun intended). I often wonder what became of him. Let me say this: if there was ever a profession requiring extreme proficiency in the stuffing of plastic gonks up nostrils, then David would no doubt be the top exponent of the craft. 

And finally, and somewhat inevitably..........

Twirlies

Today, I received the New Zealand, 'Gold Card'. Therefore, I'm officially a pensioner, senior citizen, golden ager, super annuitant, retired gentleman, and old fartus maximus. Delete according to temperament. With 'Gold Card' in hand I'm entitled to travel the by-ways of the realm for nowt/free/gratis.   

To be honest, I prefer the term, 'Twirley'. Apparently, in the UK, pensioners have earned the name because they have a tendency to appear at bus stops outside their allotted time for free travel. It seems the old and befuddled get confused and conflate time, according to their wont. 

To prevent commuters being inconvenienced by hordes of rheumy eyed incontinent folk, there is an injunction that defers their free bus travel to none peak commuter hours. A sound policy, no doubt. No one wants to sit next to some old twat smelling of piss and rubbing liniment. Therefore, those Oldsters who are unable to follow temporal rules, are justly rebuked with the injunction: "You are too early" (Twirley), and consequently are forced to wait a more propitious time. Hordes of confused grampas are doomed to roam the streets bemoaning/bewailing the fact that in their day you could buy a brace of ferrets for tuppence a pound, etc. We certainly live in strange times.