Orange: the return #blogjune

Sandwich for dinner tonight, by request. Orange for after.

I get the orange from the fridge.


“Yes, cold.”

She’s handed the orange to check. It’s cold.

I take it to the bench.

“Daddy orange?”

“Yes, I’m cutting the orange.”


I hold up the partially cut orange.

“Yellow orange, blue orange!”

“Well more like orange orange, really. Here you go.”

The oranges are tipped off the plate. I take it away saying:

“OK, no plate but please eat the orange.”


“You want plate now?”


“OK, but please eat the orange.”

“Of course.”

Let the record reflect no orange was eaten.



What happened yesterday instead of blogging #blogjune 18 make up post


Another Craig one, this time earlier. #blogjune 17

I met Craig at the start of high school. We were kindred spirits, weird and silly. What I liked about him on the first day we sat together in class was that he had a sellotape dispenser he called “Super Snail”.

We got close enough as friends to hang out at each other’s places. There were weird rules at his place. For some reason he wasn’t allowed to be inside the house until his mother or stepfather came home from work. I remember long afternoons sitting in the sun on his back deck, mostly bored. It’s probably where his overactive imagination developed.

Other times, if we had money, we’d go up to the local shops and play videogames. Further afield lay Lynnmall, what we thought of as a big shopping centre in the pre-Westfield era.

We were there one day when Craig had a bright idea for fun. The Farmers there had a set of pick-and-mix bins. If you were quick, you could enter the shop, grab some lollies and be out the door before they could stop you.

The first time was a rush. We got away with a couple of lollies apiece and ate them quickly, proud of our wicked bravery.

The second time, we were followed by a security guard and apprehended outside the door. He asked us if we still had the lollies, which we did. He told us how very serious our behaviour had been and that we had to come back inside the shop with him while they decided whether to call the police or not.

On the way into the shop he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It all depends on whether you’ve been caught shoplifting or not.”

Mum doesn’t get the kids, twice. #blogjune 16

From Mum:

Once I heard [my brother] Edward roaring with laughter in the backyard of Marshall Laing Ave.

I went out to investigate and he told me you were so funny and asked you to tell me the joke you had just made up. It was about a worm or an insect and after you told it you both broke out in fits of laughter while I stood bemused as it wasn’t funny to me.

It had no punchline that I was aware of but you both excitedly looked down on some creature on the path, that was the subject of the joke, and kept laughing.


One of Edward and my favourite stories of Mum is from a family Christmas with my father’s brothers and their families.

She looked around the table and said:

“Why on earth are these kids using this new word, ‘wanker’ all the time?”

There was that one time. #blogjune 15 makeup post

I’m walking to Grey Lynn supermarket on a sunny Saturday morning when along the footpath towards us comes my flatmate, Craig. He’s still dressed in his work clothes and it’s apparent he’s been out all night. Well, well.

“Hi Craig.”

“Hi guys.”

Big smirk on his face.

“Guess where I’ve been?”

“No idea.”

“I’ve been out with a bar girl.”

“What’s that then?”

“It’s something they do at some of the Asian bars* in town. They’re not like prostitutes, but if you buy them drinks over the course of the evening you get to spend the night with them.”

“Oh! Uhhh… good for you then, I guess.”

Well, well.

*At this point in time recent changes in immigration laws had resulted in a very large influx of immigrants from a number of Asian countries as well as businesses that catered specifically to them.

Wake up, Dad. #blogjune 13 catch up post

Róisín is finding it hard to go to sleep, calling out after being put in her cot. As is often the way, it is on me to rectify this situation.

I go to her and lift her up.

“It’s alright, darling, we’ll just cuddle for a bit and then you’ll be ready.”

That tends to be all I’ll say to her most of these nights. I’ll sit on the chair in her room with her on a pillow across my lap. Sometimes there might be short protests or a bit of playing and I’ll soothe or gently play along as needed. Mostly I’ll nap and she’ll fall asleep.

Last night was different. I was woken by a hand whacking me on the chin. Remaining wordless, I decided that she wasn’t quite ready yet, and return to my dozing. A short time later, more whacking. I barely open my eyes before I close them again. Still more whacking and my brain kicks in.

“Do you want to go to bed now?”

Róisín doesn’t make a sound but moves in my arms so that she’s lying flat in the way she would in the cot. I take her over, put her down and that’s that.

Another from Mum. #blogjune 12 makeup post

Another thing I remember about when you were young was driving across the Tauranga causeway, from the Mount (where we were holidaying).
We drew up at a red light and suddenly a chapter of the Mongrel mob in black leathers on motorbikes roared up and surrounded the car.
Much to our horror you looked out the window and shouted delightedly, “Dad the apes! The apes are here!”  It was a time when “Planet of the apes was our serial highlight of the week.
I have never seen your father take off so rapidly on the green light before or since.