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Posts tagged ‘kiwi’

Effluent challenge greater than ever

Cozy Dell

We came down to Oamaru to spend Easter Weekend with the Outlaws. Once we were here, it seemed pointless driving home only to return for the opening of duck shooting. Why not stay and kill two birds with one stone and maybe even an Easter bunny? Or better still, use a rifle.

Ok look, unless you’re vegetarian, I don’t want to hear how cruel hunting is, or how ducks probably don’t think it’s much of a sport (which is hardly surprising not having much in the way of higher intelligence). The living conditions of many domestic animals are appalling and the transfer and processing are crueller than a clean bullet through the head. We can duel if you disagree. (Except I don’t shoot stuff.)

While I’m on the subject, wasn’t the Royal Wedding simply lovely?

The Outlaw’s farm is like our second home. Agent of Death makes a terrific gin and tonic. The tangy aroma of fried fish first thing in the morning. A brown dog multiplied by a factor of three. And I’ve never come across a range of reading material in a bathroom more energising to the lower intestine:

  • New Zealand Fishing News – sample articles: ‘Squid tactics’, ‘Attack of the killer bream’
  • NZ Hunter (with a Deliverance-style picture of a stary dude holding up a set of antlers still attached to the deceased stag) – ‘Pimp your rifle: a new barrel in 7mm SRUM and a dial up scope’
  • Rod & Rifle – ‘Chukar NZ’s toughest gamebird’
  • Country Wide – ‘INSIDE: Special report: Irrigation’
  • Inside Dairy: Your Levy in Action – ‘Managing mastitis’
  • Dairy News – ‘Effluent challenge greater than ever’
  • Farm Trader – ‘Drills, slurry & fertiliser equipment reviewed’
  • Guns & Hunting – ‘Fitting a .223 true-flite barrel with an HCS suppressor’
  • NZ House & Garden – ‘Screenprinting made simple’
  • Country Living – ‘Organic tweeds for today’

My bowels have achieved an efficiency and precision that is, literally, moving.

Sadly, the same cannot be said of our dog. The change in his diet – goats milk, deer tongue, putrid rabbits – has resulted in some terrifying emissions from his butt. Sometimes opening the bedroom door in the morning sends a shock-wave sweeping through the house.

The other evening, Husband and I took Jed down to Cozy Dell, known locally as Nooky Cove, to wash off some of his insulating crust of cow shit. The temperature was perky. However, the light was gorgeous, with the late sun slanting low through the trees.

Husband's builder's bum was a bit camera-shy that day.

'Thank you' is Jed's command to give up whatever's in his mouth. For a dog, he has beautiful manners.

Husband builds cairn. Only because he knocked it over in the first place.

Jed waits for the off.

As a bonus, here’s a couple of vids of Jed diving for his water-logged tennis ball. He hasn’t QUITE figured out how to breathe underwater. Yet.

Jed lets Husband know just how cold the water is:

Deeply disturbing Kiwi advertising /2

Deeply disturbing Kiwi advertising - Rockgas

Deeply disturbing Kiwi advertising /1

Deeply disturbing Kiwi advertising - Icebreaker

Wouldn’t recognise cool if my tongue stuck to it

By now I’m pretty adept at the ‘yehs’ – sometimes I’ve conducted entire conversations utilising only that word and a head-scratch – but I haven’t worked up to calling anyone ‘mate’ yet. I’m not sure whether it is a guy thing. I haven’t heard a Kiwi woman call anyone ‘mate’.

I’ve also picked up some phraseology for everyday use. Pronouncing satisfaction with something or someone: ‘sweet AS’ or ‘suh-WEET!’. When something strikes you as visually appealing, it is ‘stylie’ or, when particularly moved, ‘VERY stylie’. Someone who spends too much time cuddling their inner child is ‘emo (v)’ or ‘an Emo (n)’. For example, Husband is ‘pretty much the diametric opposite of emo (n or v)’.

I picked up much of my lingo from The Bro. My brother in law is cooler than a frostbitten penguin – I think. See, I wouldn’t recognise cool if my tongue stuck to it. I’ve never been cool. At school, I pulled my socks right up to the knee; at college I spent too much time in the library and not enough in the Student Union Bar. Now I’m too old to be cool, but The Bro leaves me in no doubt by frequently verifying I’m ‘waaay uncool, Dude’.

The Bro wears things like pointy cream shoes and pin-striped shorts (thankfully not together). He can wear sunglasses on his forehead and make you wonder why anyone would wear them on their nose. He listens to ‘Yo Bro Yo Momma’s A Ho’ music and never, ever sings along. On a recent night out, he had the shirt ripped off him by a group of hens; after another, he sported a row of hickies up his neck.

One night, The Bro invited me out for a drink with his friends while Husband was in Sydney. It might have had something to do with my offering to drive. Perhaps I should have made more an effort than throwing a sweatshirt on over a pair of jeans. I realised this when The Bro surfed out of his room on a tidal wave of aftershave, wearing a t-shirt with a logo so ironic it nearly gave me anaemia. Regrettably, it was too late to do anything about my attire, apart from bitterly regret not applying a dash of foundation.

The bar in St Helier’s was jammed to the transgressively revivalist rafters with pert, shiny young things. The Bro’s friends fell into this category – some of them literally, since they were all in various stages of advanced inebriation.

“Dude! You’re gay,” The Bro’s best friend, Dan, greeted him.

“No, you’re gay.”

“You’re gay.”

“Dude, you’re SO gay.”

“Maybe you should both deal with your manlove and, you know, move on?” I suggested marmishly.

“Yeah, but he’s gay,” mumbled Dan into a pint of Steinlager.

A couple at the other side of the table were engaged in a heated argument about whether or not he loved her, so I tucked into their mussels in white wine sauce and chips. Beside me, Rosie only looked at me to blow smoke – and she wasn’t even SMOKING. I can’t remember the last time I felt so old, or so way uncool, or so little like a dude – or so darn sober.

After a while, arguing couple left sucking each others face, and Rosie was bodily removed by what I assume was her boyfriend. Dan and The Bro, having thoroughly debated their respective sexualities, abruptly departed to investigate their heterosexuality with a group of girls.

Since it was half an hour past my bedtime, I went home

Bidding on waffle irons for the adrenaline rush

Husband and I have both embraced Trademe, to the extent that I have been known to spend half a day bidding on waffle irons just for the adrenaline rush. What a fabulous site – although I’ve had an item listed for two weeks now and only one bid. Think I need to work on my marketing:

After a week in our new house, I bid for an espresso machine and won a Breville Café Roma Espresso machine for $20 – bargain! (Let’s overlook the fact that I spent about three times that in petrol picking it up.) I emailed the seller informing her that, being freshly arrived in the country, I had no furniture and considered an espresso machine a compulsory appliance even if we had to sit on the floor and drink out of our hands.

Bless her, she threw in two cups.

Everyone has been wonderfully welcome and I am so thankful. Having no friends, I think I project a sort of pathetic neediness that people respond to. Whenever I pick up something I won on Trademe – a dehumidifier, a car, a laundry basket – I have to hold back from inviting myself in: “How about coffee and a scone? If you don’t have scones, just coffee would be fine, or tea or a glass of water. Will you be my friend? I’m very loyal. How about an acquaintance then? PLEASE? All right! I’m letting go of your leg, there’s no need to, you know. Kick it.”

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