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Posts tagged ‘auckland airport’

Sobriety: elusive

We flew to South Island yesterday, which explains the dearth of blog posts – not being in South Island so much as the volume and quantity of Stepfather-In-Law’s G&Ts. It is also the occasion of Sister-In-Law’s 40th birthday. Realistically, I aim to be vaguely sober again by Tuesday.

At Auckland Airport, about to board the airplane:

Husband: What seat numbers are we?

Me: 29 E and F.

Husband: So do we board through the front or rear door?

Me: Well, I suppose there must be no more than forty, forty five rows on the plane. So the back.

Husband: Let’s board at the front.

Me: Why did you ask my opinion if you are just going to ignore it?

Husband: There’s less people boarding at the front.

Me: So what-

Husband: And the check-in attendant said rows one to thirty board through the front door.

Me <doubtfully>: She did?

Husband: Yes, definitely.

So we boarded through the front door, whereupon we spent the next 20 minutes fighting through swarms of passengers to get to the SECOND LAST ROW OF THE PLANE.

Husband <collapsing in seat>: Maybe she said, rows one to THIRTEEN board through front gate-

Me: Gah!

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Still at the airport

“My one true love!” screams Husband, brokenly.

I try to respond, but gag on my tears. Wrenching myself out of the burly policeman’s clichédly vice-like grip, I stumble back into Husband’s waiting arms.

“I can’t live without you!” he whispers.

“Just . . . try your best,” I sob.

*sigh!* The glorious tragedy of it all! I almost regret being granted residency so soon. It was like having two versions of Husband: the real Husband, and an imaginary version tenuously modelled on the Husband template

A bull called Fu Manchu

On our last night in Oamaru, we gathered around the telly for some family bonding. There was some quality TV on show (worth bearing in mind that it’s been a while since I’ve goggled the box). First up was the Chicago auditions for ‘America’s Got Talent’, this episode being about nine months behind America.

The first contender was Consuelo, who ‘sang’ blues gospel in Gregorian chant complete with quotation marks. One of the three judges described her as looking like ‘Hilary Clinton on acid’, which is roughly what she sounded like as well.

Then there was a country singer who sang a song which featured the lyrics ‘I went 2.7 seconds on a bull called Fu Manchu’. Anyone who can air a line like that without snorting his mic gets my vote.

Awesomely, a lardy transvestite performer calling himself ‘Boy Shakira’ took the stage in a tasseled bra and transparent skirt. I have never seen anything so funny. After his performance, his doting mum said: ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted for my son, that he does something that makes him happy’. Have I missed something poignant and heartbreakingly true, or did she fail in her duty to set goals for her son?

If you have never seen it, you should take the time to watch the vid on YouTube:-

www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIr3gaqefXg

If you want more, you should check this out too:-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KiL-cH8ihs

Sharon and Piers voted Boy Shakira through. David Hasselhoff, perhaps feeling that Boy Shakira was not enough to spike the ratings, stormed off set in a hoff. God, it was nailbiting. Would he punch out the cameraman? What if his face fell off? Would he ever return?

He was back in time for the next act after a nip in his dressing room.
There were more histrionics from Hoff when Piers and Sharon refused to vote through a hip hop dance troupe of inner city kids. Unfortunately, their only discernible talent was the leader’s ability to look menacing. He might have done better had he worn a tassled bra and transparent skirt instead of a clown outfit.

Finally, we had Alex Mooney.

“I break miscellaneous objects with my butt,” he announced, before dropping his shorts and, well, breaking miscellaneous objects with his butt. With a seismic flex of his cheeks, he snapped two pencils in half. A ruler met the same summary fate, followed by a fork which he bent almost double.

I can’t help but wonder whether he meticulously trained his arse five hours a day from an early age, or did he discover this skill by chance when he accidentally sat on a pencil? Although Alex had more raw talent than Boy Shakira, the judges unanimously voted him off. In fairness, I’m not sure how he could develop his act; perhaps by crushing beer cans or small cars.

After this, everything else was a tragic anticlimax. ‘Medical Emergency’, despite featuring real live-with-potential-for-death victims and lashings of blood and goo, failed to scale the same glorious heights as ‘America’s Got Talent’. It almost got there with the guy who fell off a roof and broke his back. A doleful voiceover informed us that he might never walk again.

“OH FACK OFF!” roared my Stepfather In Law at the telly.

“Craig,” I admonished. “That poor man may be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Crap. Look! He’s wiggling his toes.”

“But his leg didn’t jump when the doctor hit him with a hammer. And listen – they just said-”

“It’s bollocks.”

“Hey, can you stop leeching my drama?”

Then there was ‘Border Patrol’, where immigration officials were suspicious of a grinder wheel with a large crack in the side of it. They spent a lot of time pulling their chins and pondering the fragility of grinder wheels, before some bright spark noticed it originated in Columbia. They drilled a hole in the wheel and discovered 2kg of cocaine – in Auckland Airport! Or some other airport quite close by! I mean, everything is in New Zealand.

I have embarked on a mission to persuade Husband to get a telly – but it is second on the priority list after the puppy

My dear departed Nana’s bible

This morning we were getting ready for the Ellerslie races, when:-

“Husband,” I said, “where’s the brown bag?”

“What bag?”

“My big, brown leather bag. You know? The one I got in Istanbul with Róisín.”

“Ah-”

“Husband-”

“Yeah, er, ok, look, um, the thing is . . . Was there a brown leather bag?”

“YES! You put it on a trolley in Dubai Airport – remember? It has my dearly departed Nana’s bible in it, and the Oxford English dictionary I’ve had since the age of four.”

“Oh yes- I mean, now that you mention it- but I don’t remember seeing any brown leather bag in baggage reclaim-”

“You didn’t see it, or you weren’t looking for it?”

“There’s a difference?”

“AAAN-DREEEW!”

So we returned to Auckland Airport where I clenched my spleen until customs tracked down the bag

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