Posts by Jackie Clark
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well said, Don - lots of Kiwis live outside the country for various reasons. My brother, for example, lived in the UK for 20 years. He went there for one reason, and ended up eventually marrying a Pom, and having my delightful nieces, and stayed much longer than he had anticipated he would, because his wife wasn't ready to leave the bright lights of Twickenham. They ended up moving back to Auckland 2 1/2 years ago. Should Latimer's passport have been taken off him? I don't think so. My other brother, a musician, has lived out of the country for years at a time. Should he be penalised for choosing to be where he can make a living doing what he loves? I don't think so. But I do wish he would come home...........
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What a telling discussion, and interesting too.On the second anniversary of my Dad's death, and reading this thread, I think about how passionate he was about the America's Cup, how much he wanted NZ to be involved in it, how seminal he was to that happening, and how he finally got to see them win it twice. He was initially in San Diego in an advisory capacity to Michael Fay, then on the Board of Trustees when Blake was the head of the syndicate. He was devastated when Butterworth and Coutts "defected", and totally gutted when Team NZ lost their defence. And I think of how elated he would be, now, to know that it's in their grasp again. I have no doubt that my father loved being involved closely with the America's Cup because he loved it when Kiwis came out on top. Some of his ashes are going to be scattered from the NZ boat in Valencia (don't ask how they got there, best not) - so if nothing more than for the reasons above, yes, I want them to win.
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I'm always bemused how people can travel half way around the world and then still end up with a Kiwi
You mean, I assume, NI, people who go Over the Oceans, and meet one of their own, who has also gone Over the Oceans? One would imagine, nay one knows, that love is found in the familiar, and the strange. I remember my mother expressly warned me, before I set off my adventures, not to marry a "foreigner". Never met a marryable one anyway but I did come home, and almost immediately met the man I'm married to now, and have been for 15 years.
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What is all the pissing and moaning about? You want to know what happens in the world every day you have the telly, the papers, the radio, the internet - all complementary surely? I know people carry on about the fact that we have hardly any world news on our TVs. I, for one, think there's too much, quite frankly. It's a big old bleak world out there, and I, for one, like living in a little cocoon of ignorance.
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I don't know if I'm qualified to really argue the America's Cup point, except that my Dad was a big part of it happening at all here. He had been to every America's Cup regatta since the war (that would be the second world one), and started NZ off in international sailing competition in a big way with Peter Blake and Ceramco (my dad's company), and the Whitbread races that ensued. And then, the America's Cup. I'm very proud of my Dad, and what he achieved in his long life. Like I said before, I'm not a great fan of yachting anymore (when I was a child, Auckland really was the City of Sails, and most pakeha in this little city had a boat of some sort to run around in) but I would just hate for us not to be properly organised if we win it this time. Just because I don't like to sail anymore, doesn't mean it's not still in my blood somewhere.
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Why the hell are you still here!
Is it really 25%? Silly people. I'm here because my heart would not have me be elsewhere. Anyway, hairy OE stories.I was a barmaid for most of the three years I lived in the UK. First year in London, working in the Ship and Shovel behind Charing Cross. A couple of incidents there, come to mind. The first was meeting a bunch of scousers - " come back to ours for a wee drink" they say, so I do. Up, up some stairs in their lodgings we go, to the tiny attic room where there are quite a few sleeping forms. Tiptoe in there, only to hear the sound of the door locking. Yelling the F word and C word at them until they unlock the door. I'm told I'm scary - that was the first time I knew I must be. And then after a few months, deciding I didn't want to work in the shithole anymore - last night, not working, next day being docked 20 quid from my final pay because..........well, just because, I guess. Met a few dodgy landlord pubby types in my time, including Frank the Irishman, but that's another story. Moving away from the UK, and to Switzerland. I was there illegally, working for an old lady. She freaked out one day, so I had to go down to the Bureau des Habitants - the Swiss equivalent of MI5 but overt - and organise to leave the country for a week. The lovely man at Vevey train station told me what I should do - go to Geneva, get the train to France and so on. Which I did. Got to the teeny tiny train station in Geneva where you get trains to France. " Can you stamp my passport" says I in wondrous French (praise be for the educative qualities of French telly). " Mais non" says he, and explained that I should have had the passport stamped at the MAIN train station. " De rien" says he. Get on that train over there. Don't worry, he says. So I don't, and have a lovely week in Evian, and Thonon, thinking I can get the passport stamped on the boat back across the lake from France to Vevey. But no..........so you see, I have never been chased by the police in a foreign country, but I have been an illegal!
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I like it when we win the America's Cup. I just don't watch it. I did see Dick Hubbard on the telly, was it last night?, talking about waiting until they find out about whether or not we win the America's Cup before starting to upgrade the waterfront. Miserable bastards. We need a waterfront like Wellington's with fabulous sculpture and other arty wonderful things. That's what makes a city on the edge - not more bloody motorways. Harrumph.
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speechless
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Oh hurray. Welcome back, BusyMummy. You have been sorely missed. On the cheering front, there really is nothing more uplifting for me at the moment than a husband getting around to doing long overdue tax paperwork. Oh, and hearing that BusyBoy is five and a half already, and you're reading wonderful books to him. A few years ago, I had the terrible job of trying to shepherd Margaret Mahy around the Storylines childrens' book festival at the Aotea Centre. Absolute living legend, absolutely lovely lady, absolute bugger when it came time for moving to the next venue. Anyway, one thing she said to me, and I pass this on to all the parents of the children I teach, is that you should read to your kids till they are 12. Simply because you are able to read them books well past their reading age, which will take them on adventures they would not to get to go on themselves until much later. Beautiful, I thought. And reading the Famous Five to BusyBoy is a wonderful example. Can't wait for the next instalment of BusyLife!
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Sorry David! And you, chickie, and you.