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Posts tagged ‘the rock’

Tagging: a national crisis

I love the news in this country, where tagging (graffiti) is considered a national crisis. Yes, yes, of COURSE I might feel differently had I ever had ‘scank’ scrawled across my living room window in a neon pink barely legible hand and spent days trying to scrub it off with an abrasive cleaner.

But you know New Zealand is a wonderful place to live when front-page news is: ‘Woman mauled by pet cat’, or – my personal favourite – ‘Man kicks hedgehog’.

Most days, the first thing I do is throw an eyeball at Stuff. Boy, was I glad I took that extra ten minutes this morning. What a treat! Had I been successful in tuning in The Rock, it would have been the perfect start to the weekend.

First up, Auckland’s annual Boobs on Bikes parade. Can I just state upfront that I have every respect for any woman taking her top off at this time of year. I’m sure Queen Street was a tit bit nipply yesterday.

The organizer of the event, arc-welder Steve Crow – oh, sorry, no, my mistake; that would be PORNOGRAPHER Steve Crow – pledged to distribute 12,500 vouchers for a full-length hard-core porn film worth $20.

“There is a lot of evidence,” said Steve, “that ready access to porn actually reduces the incidence of rape and other sexual offences in society so I thought why not get behind this evidence and help do something to try and reduce the shocking levels of sexual and violent crime in our country.”

Go Steve the porn humanitarian! I can’t wait to hear how he proposes to combat tagging.

Next, Man drove off in ambulance as friend treated. The 22 year old Dunedin man – he’s gotta be a scarfie – called paramedics when his buddy fell four metres over a concrete wall and fractured his skull and vertebrae. After they arrived, he drove off in the ambulance, no doubt giggling insanely. He can’t have been going very fast, because the flashing lights didn’t come on and one of the paramedics caught up with him 50 metres down the road.

Senior Sergeant Steve Aitken, demonstrating a commendable gift for understatement, said, “Alcohol could be a significant factor.”

His ex-friend was taken to Dunedin Hospital.

And finally, The Vatican rejects the resignations of two Irish auxiliary bishops following their reported involvement in the Roman Catholic Church’s cover-up of child abuse.

I don’t understand The Vatican, these servants of . . . God, is it? The Vat’s ongoing response to the child abuse scandal continues to confound, although if the Roman Catholic Church condoned it in the first place – which it undoubtedly did by suppressing and denying reports of abuse in the first instance – then denying it is a minor offence in comparison. But surely denying a crime on this scale is like attempting to conceal a corpse with a hanky covered in holes?

If The Vat refuses to account for its involvement and cover-up of sex abuse scandals for moral, ethical and – what’s that word again? – oh yes, CHRISTIAN reasons, it should probably do so for the PR.

Fuzzy radio

For the last week, we’ve enjoyed being together, at home, getting some routine back into our lives. The routine bit might sound mundane, but that’s the sort of people we are when we’re not living on the edge dicing with death and/or staring down danger.

You haven’t heard much from me in the last while because my daily quotient of creative energy has been directed elsewhere, in order of priority: my third novel, and thinking up insulting yet affectionate pet names for my dog.

You haven’t missed much. The highlight of my week was joining Marlborough District Libraries and checking out fifteen books. I was so over-excited I had to lie down on the sofa for a while. About four hours.

Bit of bad news: recently, the only radio station we can tune is The Breeze. Listening to this oestrogen-centric confection of Dionne Warwick; Shania Twain; The Creepy One what’s her name again? Celine Dion; Eric Carmen in his shiny leopard-print big-shoulder phase; and The Back Street Boys; it’s like being bludgeoned to death with a lavender scented pillow.

If I die under mysterious circumstances, the only clue being the blood coming out my ears – and, of course, the whiff of lavender – you’ll know The Rock or Radio Hauraki is still fuzzy tomorrow morning.

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