Top Gear?

It's not often that I stray into the realm of Jeremy Clarkson, what with him being a jingoistic petrol maniac amongst other things, but motoring matters have been somewhat foremost in my mind lately....

After owning two Peugeot hatchbacks for the last few years, I have embraced the world of Ford.
My last French motor, Le 207 GTi en noir, was so unpredictable it had to go ....

Our three year relationship was a fractious one.

"Bonjour" I would politely announce as I started the ignition and gently eased it into gear.

 "Hmmmph" (or more accurately L'hmmmmph).. Tyre Pressure warning...Tyre Pressure Warning...curiously, even though the tyres were at the correct PSI.

Attention! Engine Management System Failure! (There was nothing wrong with it, as the garage deduced, but not before charging me several hundred dollars for the pleasure)

One day the front passenger window decided not to open. I had simply depressed the switch, a simple enough request to action for a reasonable car....

Pah! you stuck up toffee nosed Englishman...(echoing the French Knights in Monty Python's Holy Grail)
You are no good, you cannot even say Ouvre la Fenetre....therefore I refuse to cooperate.

So for 2 years the window remained closed, eventually relying on a local mechanic emailing a UK friend of his, acquainted as he was with a contact who worked for Peugeot in Paris, in order get the unlock code for the car's computer.!!!

Yet at times, I worshipped and adored my little Gti: the style, the interior, the equipment, so Chic, so French.

And therein lies the problem. In New Zealand European cars are deemed expensive and not like the normal run of the mill Japanese marques, the armies of Swifts, Mazda 3's, the ....(Yawn.....!) Corolla.
Not such a problem if you own 2 tons of German Vorsprung durch Technik. But un petit Peugeot GTi? Merde!

Consequently Euro car's services are more expensive, as are the mechanics bills, spares, and labour costs. All of which means the ultimate resell figure, like a descending lift on the Eiffel Tower, plummets.

Therefore it was time to buy a NZ trusted Ford, and whilst my Ecosport  is not the most expensive car in the range, to me it is the top Ghia.

What is boohoo in French?

No, I'm fine really.......

In 1992 Opus III would have us believe that it was going to be a fine night tonight, and a fine day tomorrow, as can be evidenced by the fact that people were opening windows. This British house/techno dance tune encapsulated all that's modest and understated about the British mentality.
When stressed or angry, ill, or emotional (quite rare for Brits to get emotional - unless it's during the X factor finals), or just simply don't walk to talk, we Brits will always try to brush things off with "I'm fine", 

I too espouse the cliched vernacular, reassuring people that I'm fine. For example at the renal clinic this week, after being asked "how are things", I replied that things were just fine, thus bringing the conversation to a shuddering halt. 

For in English the phrase I'm fine often can be read as  "I don't want to talk".
On this occasion the answer was intended to keep the conversation as limited as possible, in order to avoid excessive parking charges!  

This leaning towards duplicity can be further seen in the following explanation of "British speak"...

1. “I'm fine” – I am moments away from a devastating mental collapse, so please leave me alone

2. “I’ll bear it in mind” – Let us never mention this again.

3. “I'm sure it’s my fault” – It’s your fault.

4. “Chuffed” – Experiencing heart-racing euphoria.

5. “Not too bad, actually” – I'm possibly the happiest I have ever been.

6. “A bit miffed” – I've been ripped apart by a tsunami of pain and sorrow.

7. “Down in the dumps” – Severe depressive episode.

8. “Under the weather” – Close to death.

9. “Gutted” – Suicidal.

10. “Peeved” – Consumed with rage.

11. “Can’t complain” – But I'm going to anyway.

12. “Oh dear” – A life-altering catastrophe has just occurred.

My particular favourite is number 10......

Short Fat Fannie

Of course not  a personal reference...., although I am not the tallest of persons. Indeed mine would be spelt "Fanny" and would be called a bottom, since I don't speak American.

No this was a 1957 smash hit for blues singer Larry Williams.  This rock n roll number was one of the first "novelty" records and was featured by many other groups in their touring sets, including The Beatles, who played in their cinematic homage to excellence, 1969's Let it Be.

He was also a firm friend of Little Richard....

Since diminutive seems to be the order of the day, it would be appropriate to mention the amount of time spent at my last transplant clinic.....16 minutes. That includes from the electronic ticket barrier opening, parking, walking to the clinic, sitting and waiting in the "waiting" room for the doctor.

My doctor having quickly reviewed my blood tests,was most pleased, and I was soon sent off on my merry little way. I was back at the ticket machine and out of the car park in a flash.

I know this because the ticket machine told me my length of visit and charged me ....zero. Parking for visits of less than 30 minutes are free! 

Which is gratifying to know. many times I have been short changed by that particular little machine.

The Politics of Dancing

Amongst other things 1984 gave us; a George Orwell revival, more Ronald Reagan, and this little songs by Reflex in which the politicians became DJ's playing hits across the nation. A respectable yet lowly entry at number 27 in the charts....
1984 also saw David Lange win the NZ General Election and turned the country into a land of nuclear free hobbits. 

New Zealand went to the polls again last weekend, and the nation was subjected to a bitter campaign of dirty politics and various sideshows. The nation spoke as one however, and the current party was reinstalled like a vague Apple update....No one really understood the point but it doesn't seem to cause any damage to the status quo...

This was only my second general election here, as for the first four years I was prevented nay prohibited from enrolling. Like Emmeline Pankhurst and her merry band of agitated suffragettes, I was like many tax payers in this country, unable to vote.

The reason? In New Zealand you have to be a New Zealand citizen or Permanent Resident to enrol. Due to the damaging nature of long term diabetes and therefore the likelihood of renal failure I was denied a visa, and therefore the right to stay and the the right to vote. This was due to the cost of  my care on the public health system :(

Four years of fighting immigration and various appeals finally worked and in 2008 I was given official residency. Since then I've received a new kidney, a new pancreas, and regular drugs costing at least $25,000 a year to fund.....

Now that sounds like the sort of manifesto I'd vote for, and no dancing whatsoever.

Imagine.

Arguably the best record in the world ever.....

A stellar recording by an influential rock genius, recorded when I was a wee lad in 1971. The disc shot to prominence after Lennon's untimely death in December 1980, just as I was an easily influenced spotty teen. It was soon number 1, deposing The St Winifred's School Choir with Grandma. 

Inviting the listener to ponder on the nature of the world and mankind….(not Grandma..)

Talking of wild imaginings, picture if you can the crippling pain caused by a double migraine attack following a week of stress.

Imagine then, that it struck on the Saturday of a busy weekend, simultaneously emulsifying with a viscious attack of influenza.

Continue to envisage then the painful swallows of rapid onset laryngitis, together with the coughing and tight constriction of a chest infection.. Painful? You bet.

Now conceive of a sudden deterioration resulting in an urgent need for accident and emergency services late Saturday night. Now at this point insert the words “consumed alcohol and therefore unable to drive” and phone the ambulance. Imagine further if you will, being packed off all alone in the ambulance, with no money, shoes, 'phone, in fact just a jolly old dressing gown.

And conjure up the horror of trying to dial home after being discharged at 7am, only to have your calls go unanswered and being forced to pay $100 for a taxi ride home…still in a dressing gown.

Now visualise that all these nasties had happened to you, how would you feel?

Especially if your partner had had a kidney pancreas operation, had been a diabetic all their life, and had been rushed many times to hospital and probably should be a tad more empathetic....

Ono!