Saturday, 17 August 2019

3 more from my(poetry) pen.

Am in the process of editing my poetry for publishing.  Thought these three would be cool.  Enjoy.


I see
the Beijing Olympics,
a political hot potato

I see
Iran claiming Iraq

I see
the US hamstrung

I see
the Arabian Sea
drowning in Arabic blood

I see
a US recession
dragging all behind it

I see
the European Parliament
taking a stronger hand

I see
Japan’s industries dying
to the sound of no petroleum

I see
my mother and father,
both long dead, crying

I see
a new me, a new hope,
an old way of changing times

I see
my children’s future,
still plenty of good

I see
the wars of an errant world,
capitulation a buzz word

I see
from my window to the trees
life’s mysteries still playing

I see
the news on TV no more,
the sound of the radio comforting

I see
that the downhill slide
will happen this year, 50!

I see
what a momentous occasion that will be.
So many times I could have joined my parents.

What has Dying Got to do with It?

I champion euthanasia,
the right to choose,
the right to die
in one’s own time.

I see the elderly marking time
and wonder,
“Do they think about it?”
Yes, an interesting thought.

Today, a daughter was jailed
for helping her cancer-ridden mother
move on from this cruel planet,
her fate in the hands of Justice.

But there is no justice
in suffering pain daily,
in being a frail shade
of your former self.

There is not dignity
in letting friends and family
worry about when, not if.
No dignity in dying publicly.

I fought the urge to berate folks.
If they don’t understand
they’ll never be capable of knowing.
Yes, count the elderly.

I have this pact with God
should he inflict cancer upon me;
I shall have the right to shorten
the blow that will affect most.

I champion euthanasia
because I know there is a chance
I too will get cancer. It runs
in a family not capable of caring.

How Education Isn’t the Key to Life

I promised my daughter
I’d do something to make her proud.
She smiled,
Said, “Dad, I’m already proud.”
I smiled too and left it at that.

Tuesday, 13 August 2019

NZ Wicketkeepers Stats.

Wicketkeeper stats for our best 4.

Wicketkeeper  Matches  Centuries  Average  Catches  Stumpings    Matches      per Century   Catches      per Matches       Stumpings per matches
Ken Wadsworth 33 0 21.48 92 4 0.0 2.8 0.1
Ian Smith 63 2 25.56 168 8 31.5 2.7 0.1
Brendan McCullum 101 12 38.64 198 11 8.4 2.0 0.1
BJ Watling 61 6 37.3 209 7 10.2 3.4 0.1

Friday, 2 August 2019

In a Perfect World

In a perfect world

1.  Babies would not smacked at birth (no other Mammal does so I am told.)

2.  Either Menstruation/Menopause is abolished or Men go through it too.

3.  Couples do not Drink alcohol/do drugs if they have children.  Couples need to be responsible during Pregnancy.  If  the prospective mother stops smoking and drinking so shall the Father.  Too many relationships falter when not the case.

4.  Couples need to talk through the issues surrounding care for children.  Broken marriages lead to broken souls, especially with children. Two parents means balanced upbringing

5.  Children should NOT go to early learning facilities until they are 6.  Those First six years will serve as relationship training with whanau.

In a perfect world everything is perfect.

In a perfect world life is cherished

In a perfect world  Children have no need to cry.

In a perfect world Parents will work one job with the state assisted funding.  Fence at the top of the Cliff. If a child is brought up well and with love and care, they stand to be in better shape in teen and early adult stages (Reduced MH care and Medical issues.)

In a perfect world I would unequivocally  decree Nirvana for all.

In a perfect world  Wars and conflicts will pass us all by.

In a perfect world you would agree with this??

In the Real world I stand to be corrected

Thursday, 1 August 2019

A Day in the Life - Hearing Voices Seminars.

In the year of our lord 2000 I was diagnosed with BiPolar Disorder and Schizophrenia.  I had lost my mind and my life.  I was faced with a very uncertain future.  After 27 years of Navy life, I found I was prepared to deal with this new adventure.  Self Determination, Self Disciplined and utterly Selfish (and selflessness)

After 5 hospitalisations I found myself in a position to Pay It Forward and was urged to join a panel of panelists working on Hearing Voices, Stigma and Discrimination and Compassion Fatigue in the Work Place.  That was in 2007.  The NGO was called Like Minds Like Mine (LMLM), a national initiative dealing with  all facets of Mental Health issues.  After 4 years  I took the reins of LMLM for Manawatu, Whanganui, Tararua, Horowhenua and Wellington as Coordinator.  Unfortunately the Ministry of Health cut the budget drastically and our group was left high and dry (2011).  At the time our parent unit - Journeys to Wellbeing, a NGO dealing with all facets of Mental Unwellness and covering the same areas above were approached.  I approached our leader about continuing with the LMLM programme under a new name of Pono (Truth)

We were at a loss as to why we got cut but one door closes and another one opens.  Previously we had catered to core assets of University (Massey) Tech Training (UCOL) MASH (Intellectual and Physically carewotkers,) Probation staff, and WINZ staff. Originally most workshops were budgeted as free to clients, but with no funding we had to charge (to cover training presenters and course material).  In 2012 I went back to full time work, ironically with MASH.  I lost track of the workshops until last year when I was headhunted to do Hearing Voices again, which I accepted.  The team leader is a former Psych Nurse and runs a Ear Clinic.

Today I did another 3 workshops.  We left Palmy at 5am with my Team Leader - Ruth Cooley and my co-presenter Jodi to travel to Wellington.  Our first of three seminars (0830) was with 2nd Year Massey University nursing students.  We finished at 1600 hours.  We all told our stories about our journey with Mental Health issues, and included a simulation where each student had a MP3 player each with headphones and voices that are disturbing, where they are required to undertake a series of tests to understand how Voice Hearers deal with their lives.

Each group numbered around 14 so we had plenty to do.  At the end of the seminar was a Q&A session where some real good feedback derived.

I love my Job

(OOOOHHHHH was surprised by the numbers that bowed their head in prayer)

Saturday, 27 July 2019

All that TV Shit!!

My beefy thoughts.

Newsreaders.  Ladies young and well - very sexy.  Men are older and in suits.

Reporters - 95% are voluptuous and blonde.

Adverts - All WASP ((ok maybe 99%)

News "go- to" experts:

Medical matters - American (about 85%)

Science matters - European and UK and American.

Weather, either voluptuous (ladies) or Foreign (UK)

So the burning question??  Are there any young well educated Kiwi's left?

Wednesday, 17 July 2019

HMNZS Neptune - a Navy Base in the nations capitol.

My dream sheet for the closing of HMNZ Philomel and setting up a deepwater base in the Nation's Capitol city.  The base will maintain a strategic presence in the centre of the country.


Centrally located for ease of deployment  to either north or south.  With south seas deployments to the Southern Ocean being the norm rather than the exception it is vital our ships and crews have a quicker trip.

The major assets our Army has is based at Waiouru, Linton and and Trentham.  The majority of these are based at Linton, 3 - 4 hours by road and straight onto new wharves at base of Ngauranga Gorge and on to Canterbury.

Seasprite (and NH90's) will be moving from Whenuapai to Ohakea also a short trip to Wellington for deploying to helo-capable vessels.

Wellington, as a deep water port will take any sized ship (draught average at 20m.).  Currently I have all ships of the RNZN based in Port Nicholson (Whanganui a tara) except the IPV's which will retain  a presence in the Auckland area. 

Access to harbour tugs.

There is room for one more structure - a floating dock big enough to house Aotearoa if required.  Thinking Wellington back in the day.  This would be a civvy run affair with all Navy ships taking precedence over civvy requirements.  My guess that will  be slightly northeast from the proposed wharves.

So why HMNZS Neptune??  In WWII the greatest casualty for NZ ships was the sinking of HMS Neptune in the Med with 230 Kiwi's losing their lives.  Stands to reason this base bear that name as a testament to them.

Here is my (very rough) drawing.  Not to scale but for effect.

If you want to have your say - there is a Reply box at end of this blog.

Tuesday, 16 July 2019

My "retirement" wish list??

First a road warrior, 2013 Toyota Landcruiser Prado. 80km on clock.

  Needed for Golf Clubs, a big dog, and to tow this:

So I could live on this:

Sri Lanka tour by Black Caps - Aug/Sep 2019.

Seems the tour of Sri Lanka by our Black Caps cricket team is a goer with nothing but  positive words coming out from the Island State.  New Zealand  tour from 14th August to September 6th with 2 tests and 3 T20's.

Not sure how competitive in tests Sri Lanka will be as they set their cricketing standard by ODI success.  I'm guessing they will be there for the T20's and a 2 match test series sweep by us in Red Ball cricket.
In the past 2 years Sri Lanka at home have won 2 from 8 tests (beat SA lost to England and India.)  A quick look at their other form and not too shabby!!

It is widely acknowledged that the Black Caps are up to the task in Whites.  A steady team and success are well and truly evident.  So with that  in mind who will be in the 1st XV to take on the Lankans?  My thoughts are as follow's:


Tom Latham
Jeet Raval
Henry Nicholls (Reserve)


Kane Williamson
Henry Nicholls (Reserve)


Ross Taylor
Henry Nicholls (Reserve)


Henry Nicholls (If Reserve in Top Order - Will Young slots in)

6.   BJ Watling (Tom Latham reserve)

7.  Jimmy Neesham (or Colin de Grandhomme)

8. Spin - Mitchell Santner

9.  Depends on tracks. Taking Spin Ish Sodhi, favouring seam - Lockie Ferguson

10. Neil Wagner

11. Trent Boult

12.  Will Young (Middle/Top replacements)

13.  Colin de Grandhomme (Replacement All Rounder)

14.  Tim Southee (mainly in the team for seniority and leadership)

15.  Either Ish Sodhi  or Lockie Ferguson.

Saturday, 13 July 2019

The Auckland and Hamilton synopsis

I was searching for information on the next Commonwealth Games and saw that there is no city allocated the 2026 games.  It has been 29 years since we last hosted the Games (Auckland 1990).  I ran a poll on Twitter with four options:

Auckland with a new stadium. 43%

Hamilton with a new stadium.  29%

Wellington with a new stadium. 0%

Christchurch with new stadium.  29%

I was surprised with the Auckland vote and personally happy to see Hamilton in the mix.

My thoughts on why Hamilton?

1.  Very little chance of seismic events and very mild weatherwise.

2.  Government buys into the KiwiBuild programme for Games Villages to help with local council funding.

3  Once games finished housing is allocated to low income earners primarily from Auckland.  Relocating families will ease the congestion in Auckland and boost Hamiltons economy.

4.  In 2020 a new rail link opens for commuters between Auckland and Hamilton.  Those folks getting housing can still keep their Auckland jobs.

It is also still only 96 minutes by road (carpooling maybe??)

The other benefits for Hamilton.

World class velodrome (Cambridge) and cycling roads.

World class rowing facility - Lake Karapiro (if offered)

Equestrian facilities(If required).

Needing to be built/constructed:

One Mega Auditorium complex housing:

Table Tennis

One new Aquatic centre.


Main Athletics stadium (Government and Hamilton City council)

New Games village housing 5000 competitors (including Para-athletes) and as many officials.

One of the biggest pluses.  Not only is Hamilton big enough but with 90 minutes from Auckland fair to say another revenue earner for the local economy with Auckland spectators.  And of course the Rail Link will be operating.

Friday, 12 July 2019

Two Poems with a style I call Prosetry.

I call this style of poetry Prosetry, a combination of alternate Prose and Poetry.  Generally the Prose tells one story and poetry tells an alternative story, with the final Prose/Poetry  verse combining both.

The Magnificent Magnolia Tree

She wrote with her left hand, the right bandaged from the silly fall the night before. Her epistle was a response to her neighbour, Ian, who wanted the tree chopped down in her front yard. They didn't speak, exchanging letters to forgo the hassle of confrontation. She knew she didn't like him, and now even more, her white magnolia was a pride of place in her cared-for section.

The moon on the car park
shone ghostly on trapped cars,
people a usual pink
positively glowed grey.

The whispering signs reflect sense,
the ones people crane their grey necks to read,
the security guard warns children
no skateboarding.

She finished writing, rested her hand, not used to such a task, plucked an envelope and stamp from the bureau, and set them all down, done and sealed, on her white winter coat. The post box was a mile down the road, she dared not place it in his letterbox in case he used that as ammunition against her private life.

The car with the red rear lights
blinking on and off, off and on,
drew the attention of a thief,
the young man realised the security system
was malfunctioning and ripe for picking.

The life in the car park took on a surreal look,
the post box, now the cloud had come
stood dark moody red and grey
in the murkiness of night.

She donned her coat, grabbed her purple handbag (all her fashion accessories were purple, shoes included) and picked up the letter to Ian. She dared not use his surname, he didn't merit that association. She left her palatial suburban home, and headed off down the road, her security system set. She noticed there was no wind, and the clouds had come to shade the moon. She also knew it was dangerous walking the streets at night, but this mercy mission in defence of her tree warranted risk.

He was in the car, 17 seconds
and backing out of the park,
he gunned the Subaru's engine
dropped the clutch and scarpered.

The unlucky owners were moments away,
held up talking to a sausage sizzle lady
collecting donations for a school trip.
They saw their car disappear, maybe for good.

She changed sides of the road, walking under the pale orange street lights. As a habit, she counted lamp posts to and from her home, always sure that the day she didn't get it right, she'd be lost. Reassuringly, the same lights had the same numbers, and she knew that in five minutes, she'd be at the post box.

He crashed into the fourteenth lamp post
the car a total right off, the steering wheel
collapsed from the impact of his chest and head,
the blood flowed quicker than ink on paper.

He'd only gone a short way to glory,
now his glory would be the people
swarming to try and help him, save him,
but they didn't come, his life ebbed.

She saw the car heading straight for her, and suddenly ducked behind the protection of the post. It hit with a mighty bang, and her letter was lost in an attempt to shake off not only the glass from the windscreen, but her own fear, as her life was suddenly at threat. Ian's desire for her magnolia was lost in the action of picking herself up, and to see the draped figure with blood pouring from his face. She got out her cell phone, dialled the emergency number, and walked on. Her sense of responsibility recognised he wasn't wearing a seat belt, and that fact meant he wasn't a responsible driver, and knew the risks.

The car engine thrummed.
He could see the lady in the white coat,
could see her ring on her phone,
what he couldn't understand was
why no one stopped him from dying.

The letter posted, by the mall, she turned and saw a couple looking for their car. She asked what it was, and when she heard the description, she told them about the car around the lamp post. They all then heard the sirens. Her immediate thought returned to her precious tree, and the idiot next door.

A Conspiracy of Blonde and Brunette

She melted my heart, her blonde locks blinding my shallow heart. I could sense in her the means to turn men to molten jelly, the ability to make coherency unutterable. She wears a wedding band on her long ring finger, the rest of her hands suggesting delicacy.  If one such as her could invigorate growth and consistency, she must be a special creature indeed.

Her short hair radiated dense,
the brunette hue confusing.
I tried to look at her hazel eyes,
but they just averted love.

I sensed by her pulsating body
the exercise machine
was honing her sexy drive,
inviting a workout of another variety.

Her hand extended to mine, was she guiding me into her realm, or was she just a paper thin replica of love by extension? We smiled together, the nervousness of us both melting in a gesture of intimacy. Her hair lit my aura, the sparks dancing in delight across eyes glowing with radiance from both. I told her “I don’t prefer blondes, but in your case I lose.”  She laughed and placed her other hand on my shoulder and stroked my long hair.

The label on her tracksuit said Ergo,
therefore I go, I thought,
but her butt bounced on the treadmill,
her very long hair streaming around her,

I took a photo, as I do, you know,
beautiful women fill my life,
just ask my first wife (and second)
yes, I play the field, a romance man.

She drove like a mad woman possessed, belying her angelic look. Her car, not mine, a Mini Clubman, fills any space on the road. She mentioned peroxide and I suddenly needed to be in my own car. I hate fake tans. I ask her to drop me at the next corner, so I could walk back to our meeting place. Her smile died and a fearful banshee howled. What had I got myself into? She drove on past the next corner, and the next, and I suddenly knew I was about to be devoured.

Yes, her hair shone like fire,
a tinge of red, auburn, maybe,
never mind, her butt enticing,
all energy, business-like,

we played eyeball games,
me doing arm curls and squats,
she just running/walking on the spot.
I  knew that look, knew the dangers.

I appeared the next day from 32 Johnson Crescent.  I’d had the ride of my life, and a bottle blonde at that.  She begged me to stay for another round, skip work that day, but I needed to rebuild my reserves. I drove my 1967 Jaguar 4.2 home in automatic mode, my head swimming with a long lost lust and now filled with possibilities. She said her hair was a natural red, and knew blondes have more fun.

Her husband showed up,
his muscles far superior to mine,
I averted from her eyes, a tease,
I showered and dressed,

She was gone, too, no doubt to shower
I pushed my bag in front of me
and daydreamed about a bottle blonde
and the chance encounter.

Wednesday, 10 July 2019

Two "found" poems.

A 5 year old boy and his Nanny

Could be any hospital anywhere,
blue rooms, white sheets,
nurses in and out, busy,
the sounds of the ill and the well,
marching or hobbling
down pristine corridors.

In one room, a small boy
short on years and height,
but long on love and innocence,
holding a frail cancer-scarred hand
of his nanny, his Alma Mater.

Nanny, are you awake?
Can you speak to me, tell me a riddle,
his silent blue eyes searching for life,
the hand moves in affirmation
a croak from an ancient throat,
yes dear, I am here, and no riddles,
it's too late for those.

A tear washes across a blinking cheek,
Nanny, are you dying?
What's dying and does it hurt?
She closes her eyes and smiles
wrinkles like ring barks creasing in age.
Dying is not living anymore, son.
A tear escapes hidden from her eye.

The boy is silent, senses the need to be,
presses her hand tighter,
runs a thumb over the back of it,
a nurse walks in and smiles,
checks the old lady's pulse, her vitals,
the boy oblivious of her ministrations,
sees his Nanny's eyes close in grimace.

Does it hurt to die Nanny?
it looks like it, I know I will never die,
because I know it hurts
and I don't like hurting. He sobs a little,
holds his chest out in a feint manly posture,
sucks in a deep breath,
But Nanny, for you I will hurt too.

Her cracked dry lips smile
a loving knowing reflection of his youth,
she remembers her own nanny then,
when she was his age, and hers was dying,
and she understood, felt a bond.
Son, love cures all hurts,
and your love is curing my pain,
easing my aches, thank you.

The boy smiles, then puts on his grim face,
places both hands over her hand,
and closes his eyes, wishing her well,
hears the sudden gasp, the exhalation
of her final long breath,
is startled, her hand not responding,
he hears the flatline
of the heart monitor,
but doesn't need it's affirmation,
just knows his Nanny is gone,
but not in pain.

An Octogenarian Muses

You dined on my innocence,
took my gullibity with your wiles,
creating the roads making the lines
of my ancient face creep closer,
you saw the smile that corrupts me,
and took your trophy, conqueror.

The plaque at your grave says Death,
yet my memory lives only for you,
for your victories over my defeats.

I see the babes of our babes,
the generations of your efforts,
the walking stick glides then,
my walking gait measured by the kisses
you planted, the scent that mingled.

I drink diet coke and each sip
swims champagne bubbles
in acknowledgement to existence,
to cohabitation in eternity,
my heart beats slower now,
ticking away until we rejoin,
epitaph to epitaph.

Sunday, 30 June 2019

My earliest (and scariest) memories.

I'm not overly sure when it started maybe aged 5 o 6,  I had two recurring dreams.  The first one was of an old steam train chugging steam and hisses (steam) and I was watching an eagle gliding alongside that train.  And that was it, it would just end after a short period.

At other times at same age (and alongside the train visions) I had a dream of me being a huge eagle (Haast maybe) and flying up and down the length and breadth of Te Wai Pounamu and suddenly falling from the skies and about to crash into Lyttelton Harbour and the dream ends after waking up sweating.

The strange thing with both I had no prior history of a train or Lyttelton Harbour. 10 or so years ago I wrote a piece called How Great is the Greatest, a story about the last Hikoioi (Haast Eagle.)

And with the train dream, also about ten years ago, I started singing Locomotive Breath at Karaoke.

Both exclamations did indeed get me to make dreams real, vividly.

What I do when listening to the Cricket.

Below are images from PowerPoint of my "Lighthouse" house.  I need a Sugar Mummy to finance and you get a reward of sharing the building.  There are 5 levels. The images are posted from lower to top.  And yes, it's a functioning lighthouse, located on the beachfront at Foxton Beach.  It will be tall enough in case of Tsunami.

Level One - Garage/workshop/garden tool shed and Laundry.

Level 2 Guest Rooms shared bathroom and Walk in Wardrobes

Level 3 Man Cave

Level 4  Living areas

Level 5 - Rooftop entertaining.

Side View

Monday, 24 June 2019

Picking Holes in Infomercials on NZ TV.

Happen to be seeing two infomercials on Television, the two in particular Fish Harvester and The Renovator Transforma Ladder.

The first is Fish Harvester.  Looks really good but I have 1 issue with it (read false advertising).  It is obvious the beach in the video is a west coast beach (shallow gently sloping.) so what about the anomaly?  There is a shot  of Snapper swimming in the ocean (as they do) but they are swimming in seaweed. There is no rocks or seaweed on west coast beaches. I do not condone the people in that photo holding undersized fish.

The Renovator Transforma Ladder.  In the back of my mind was an article some years gone that if you are working off a ladder the maximum height you can go before requiring scaffold is 3.5 metres  Not sure if this is true (unable to get anything in Google) but they do advertise their ladder to reach 5 metres.

Reply if others I have missed.

Cricket World Cup - Blackcaps going forward.

Yup never change a winning team, and seriously they should keep the same team.


Colin Munro and Matt Henry blotted their claim going forward with dropped catches and giving the Windies a sniff at a win.  Yes Henry still holds a claim with his bowling, but replacing him with the seasoned Tim Southee (who can field and bat when he is in the mood.) is a no brainer.  Bringing Blundell in the middle order means Colin Munro is dropped and Latham can anchor the opening partnership.

My selections

Martin Guptill
Tom Latham
Kane Williamson
Ross Taylor
Colin de Grandhomme
Jimmy Neesham
Tom Blundell
Mitch Santner
Tim Southee
Lockie Ferguson
Trent Boult

Friday, 21 June 2019

Things to do before you hit 100

Things to do before you hit 100

Do not open others birthday cards.
Do not tuck in the older ladies.
Do attend Memorial Day celebrations.
Do not forget you were once a nurse.
Do eat well and drink plenty.
Do not forget your diaper floods.

Play golf on the front lawn, not in bed.
Play with Old Jeffrey, he’s much fun.
Play up to your kids when they come.
Play with the staff, they secretly love it.
Play with your old cock to ensure it still dangles.
Play the spoons badly at Mavis’s Tea Party.
Play the part of a dapper French man.

Remember, Alzheimer’s is for those who have no idea.
Remember last years’ Christmas fondly.
Remember to pass on your false teeth.
Remember that shitting in your diaper irks staff.
Remember the day you turned 99, we do.
Remember your folks, they sucker punched you.
Remember to kiss Mary, she loves you.
Remember to resuscitate Mary afterwards.

In the end, you’re gonna be 100.
In a couple of days you have to see the doctor.
Inspiration comes all the time, acting on it hurts.
Intrigue surrounds your family, they’d hoped for less.
In another room, a secret is being hatched.
In the years since you retired, millions have died.
In a selfish way, you don’t care, it’s good though.

After your birthday they will move Mary.
After your sudden demise, diapers will be handed down.
After your coffin drops in the hole, silence.
After all your life, you will regret nothing

Thursday, 20 June 2019

Dialects - a musing

Just had a shower and was musing how differing countries have differing languages and dialects.  The main muse is English Speaking countries but will muse on other languages later.

USA - origins of language was European, UK and Ireland.  The american English language is very different from others.  And there are many dialects (Californian, Texan, and South Eastern states, etc)

Australia - as above for USA, European, UK and Irish.  Unlike USA there are very few dialects but as for USA, a distinctive twang.

New Zealand  - also like USA and Australia, the origins are European, UK and Irish (with Maori to provide a richness of language).  As with Australia there are very few dialects (except lower South Island or seperate iwi)

The UK is blessed with a long time having their language to bloom but amazingly there are many local dialects (Jordy, Scouser, Cockney et al)  Oddly enough none of those dialects are evident in the colonies.

Now the others.  There are five European countries with languages in colonies around the world. From memory and dealing with people from those countries.  They are French, German, Portuguese, Dutch and Spanish.  All four sound very much like their parent country.

You have to remember most of the above countries have had between 400 to 200 to harness their dialects.

But there is also a burning question raised by this??  How did the above countries  (USA, Australia, and New Zealand) get to have very distinctive dialects from each other?  All had the same birth from mother countries, with same people?  The only real answer is Mother Nature and local environment.  That's my thought!!

Crystal Ball Gazing - CWC19 Table

The first part of the competition is well underway and teams are settling in for Semifinal placings.

Click Here for CWC19 Table as at 20/6/2019.

New Zealand's remaining matches will be interesting.  They needed that South Africa match to cement form in this competition.  So who next for the Blackcaps?

23/6   Versus West Indies at Manchester - This will be a difficult game to pick as the Windies could turn up to play with out warning.  A win nonetheless.  2 points.

26/6  Versus Pakistan at Birmingham.  -  Like the Windies Pakistan could turn up to play.  Pakistan always seemed to be a nemesis team for the Blackcaps.  Nonetheless 2 points.

30/6  Versus  Australia at London - Probably the biggest test for our boys in the competition.  I'm not picking a winner.  Suffice to say if the first two games here (WI/Pak) are wins for us the final two games are a time to tinker with the team (Blundell and Southee in, Henry and Munro both out) as we finish top of pool play.

3/7  Versus England at Chester Le Street  -  England are like Australia as I see it.  Same thoughts too.

Prospective Table at end of Pool Play.

New Zealand  Minimum points 13  Maximum  17

Australia  Minimum points 12 Maximum 16

England Minimum Points 12 Maximum 16

India Minimum  11 Maximum  15

Top Four Teams remaining games.

New Zealand has England, Australia, Pakistan, West Indies.

England have Sri Lanka, Australia, India and New Zealand

Australia have Bangladesh, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa

India has Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, England, Afghanistan and West Indies.

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

Joy of Sex - A Rude Short Story.

I have been proofing all my manuscripts and this afternoon I "found"my manuscript of Quirky Short Stories.  What follows is called a "Found" short, i.e I wrote it years ago. Enjoy The Joy Of Sex.

Joy of Sex

She was blonde. I was me. We looked at one another and felt an instant attraction.

Most men would say she was exotic. Most women had no opinion of my aura. Shame really!!

We smiled. She smiled a self-assured acknowledgement. I smiled a grimace due to a particularly sore canine imbedded in my upper gum.

We got closer. She stayed where she was. I fell forward to the floor nose first. I felt the date was going well.

I picked myself up off the floor. This was difficult, you understand, as both my hands were underneath me pushing my weight off the floor.

We made small talk. She said ‘Hello’. I said, ‘Fuck that hurt’.

We took our clothes off. I took the clothes off the bed I had placed there before her arrival and returned them to the wardrobe. I brushed carpet fluff from the clothes I had on. She took her clothes off, slowly at first, placing each item on the floor beside her. Pretty soon I got to see her…………her………… Moray Wet suit. Obviously, she thought we were going diving. I wasn’t prepared!! Besides, I had been told that guys wore the rubber. Oh well. Never mind.

Now that we were more comfortable with our attire, we hugged. Her face was pure joy. She hugged her Teddy Bear she had brought with her intensely. I hugged myself. I always did when I was afraid of what was to come.

Yes, this was my first date.

The air was electric. Someone had forgotten to re-terminate a socket in the room, and sparks were flying everywhere. Obviously, some of them affected us. We kissed.

She kissed her favourite picture of her pussy, Snuggles. I kissed the deck again, fainting at the sight of what she was doing.

She climbed on top, panting. I lay underneath her, looking up. The exertion of climbing the wardrobe had taken some effort for her.

My fall had taken me under the bed, my head just poking out. Was this what it was like at childbirth, I thought to myself? I mused!

The date was going extremely well. Except for one thing. What was her name?

“What is your name?” I asked.

“My name was Buttfucked, but I changed it to Sue. My last boyfriend was a lawyer, and the one before a politician.” She displayed sinuous movements whilst speaking. I grew hard. It’s a form of organically grown soap I use for washing my clothes.

“What is your name?” she asked me.

“No it’s not,” I said,” It’s actually Penis. My mother couldn’t read nor write when I was born, and D’s were P’s.”

I poured a drink for each of us. I hadn’t actually seen him sitting at the table until now. Each was my flatmate. He drank his drink.

I smiled. The dog in my mouth made me do it. I was back under the bed, feeling horny. So that’s where my pet Toad had got to.

She spread her legs, ready for a good shot. I can’t say I noticed her get down from the wardrobe, take the camera and tripod from her case, and set them up in the room. That must have happened when I was pouring the drinks for Each Ofus.

I crawled out from under the bed. Of a sudden, we found ourselves on the bed together. She was screaming. I was grunting. It was then that I saw the mouse she was pointing at. I was more concerned about nullifying the existence of the big mosquito on the ceiling. In the middle of all the heavy sweat and noise, I marvelled at the thought of how we had been lost!

We fell into each other’s arms. Why he had changed his surname and was now on the bed escaped me.

The date was going really well, I thought. I think she liked me. We had a lot in common. I was so excited. So was she? It was then that I noticed a prick come between us. Yes, I know what you think. First timer. Right!!

Then I recognised that prick. My older brother.

“Hey, what gives?” I yell.

Showtime Folks - The Enigma of Humans (Written 2001)

Showtime, Folks.

3.33 GMT

Reuters Compound,


East Timor.

Seven peacekeepers of the Unifet team stand, heads bowed, hands in pocket, contemplating the corpse laying bent at their feet. A single bullet wound to the back of the neck exudes a dried river of coagulated blood. The ever-present flies, swarm to the smell of fresh decaying meat.
The men are wary. This is the third killing in the past 24 hours, in the same area. The hairs on the back of their necks stand out, their innate sixth sense pricked for any strange sound, as they examine the remains of the priest. The rancid tropical air, still calm after the recent cyclone, carries the sound of life as usual, from the surrounding shanty town.

3.35 GMT

Giza Pyramids

50 miles South West of Cairo.

The excavation site is still, no sign of human endeavour. It is an unusual site. Since the find two days previous, lights have been rigged and digging continuing frenetically, all staff to the grindstone. The archaeologists beavering away without respite, unearthing the grey-black metallic object buried 120 feet below the desert sand. Their efforts and the find kept a closely guarded secret, even to those at the associated supply camp located 15 miles away. But closer inspection reveals a rather disturbing find today. 27 bodies, still adorned in their dirt covered coveralls and protective sun hats, lay peacefully at the bottom of the dig, in a line reminiscent of a mass burial yet to happen. A single bullet hole to the back of the neck the only sign of the cause of their sad demise.

3.37 GMT

Mt Khocongo

Inner Congo


The silver-back raises his head from his meal of freshly stripped shoots, glances up to the sky through the canopy of dense jungle, and sees a familiar object glide noiselessly towards him, coming to a rest directly over his position of dominance amongst the remainder of his society. He raises a gnarled hand to the air, in almost supplicant acknowledgement, and returns to his task. He fails to see the small hatch open on the craft and is blissfully unaware of the massive bolt of irradiated energy that streaks towards his family and obliterates them from the face of the Earth. In fact, his sudden demise is hardly noticed by the other creatures in the area, as all primates are decimated by similar craft at that precise moment in time throughout Africa.

3.38 GMT

Mosque Mohammed el Ahk-bar



The mullah, intoning the prayer to the prophet, looks down on the throng of devotees, with measured pride. The weapons, stacked in an orderly fashion across the back wall of the mosque, signify a good turnout of his fellow fundamentalists today. Allah will surely be pleased. He turns his head to the East, continuing the prayer without missing a single carefully intoned phrase, in time to see the bright light being emitted from the heaven streaking rapidly towards the city centre. Before he can get an utterance of surprise past his lips, the mosque melts into absolute nothingness, consuming all within.

3.38 GMT

St Paul's Cathedral,



Archbishop Michael Johns leans on the table, carefully placing the Anglican meeting papers to one side. He stands, raises his head slowly, and prepares to address the gathered clergy assembled before him. The dome, resplendent in its historical detail above his head, explodes in a billion shards of light as the beam destroys the gathered mass.

3.39 GMT

Science faculties, laboratories, and project buildings world-wide disappear without a trace, including all those who work in them.

In a matter of six precious minutes, all eminent scientists and religious leaders are removed from the Earth! All buildings associated with science or religion are totally obliterated. Any creature that had the capacity to evolve into another intelligent life form, stripped of it’s very existence.
Of the worlds 15 billion peoples, two million remain, the godless, ape less, unscientific residue of human society. The reason for their continued existence? Love for nature. No medical interference have they partaken, no religious credo undertaken, no scientific doctrine imbibed. Pure humans in every sense of the word.

The most shattering revelation, though, is the tools that society has left to continue with. There are no more libraries, storage facilities of mass electronic databases, records of the civilisation of man, temples of worship. Just the Earth in it’s natural glory and the untarnished species required to exist to natures plan. The Garden of Eden.
Stop Press.

6345 years since the holocaust.

Roger Waters is on stage, his bass swinging lazily across his back. The crowd sits in appreciative silence. The crickets chirp their incessant call around the Gorge amphitheatre. The backing singers, resplendent in their jet black evening gowns, sing the words " Ooh Western women, oooh Western girl". The scene is peaceful and surrealistic. The former lead lyricist of Pink Floyd nods to his new lead guitarist for this show, Dave Gilmour and both exchange knowing smiles, as he finishes the show with those immortal words, " This species has amused itself to death."

Two alien anthropologists, sitting in the third row, nod their heads in knowing agreement, stand up, walk the 400 metres to the nearest trees, and disappear in a blinding light. Prior to their departure, a hippy, whacked out on LSD and hallucinating his possible existence as a silver back gorilla, hears them say to each other, "Here we go again, Bjirck. When will they ever learn? Why are all humans so God dam stupid".