Saturday 30 June 2018

Things that are hidden

I am constantly surprised at the things that are produced from decay in our garden. The fungi especially. We reluctantly cut down a plum tree because it had self seeded too close to an earlier plum and was getting tangled and blocking light from the main tree. Our cats sit in this area of the garden on a pile of bricks which gives them a great view into the compost area (their ears can be seen wiggling at the slightest mousey noise being emitted from the the debris).

This morning, retrieving kindling from the wood shed, I spotted this, which has grown from the rotting plum stump


Oh the delights of nature's creative box of tricks!

Tuesday 5 June 2018

Fair Warning, "I wish to make a complaint"

Yesterday I was sad. Nothing world shattering or tragic, just personal. I was looking for something warm to buy to wear for work, so I went to a local department store as there was a sale on over the public holiday. I came away about 20 minutes later feeling really low.

Why? Because I was met by a sea of black clothes. Sometimes the black had a splash of colour on it, but I would say 97% of it was black or grey with black. All I wanted was a cardigan. Something to wear to layer for warmth. I found three cardigans in the entire shop that weren't black. One was bottle green (tick) with a large hole the size of a dinner plate in the back (intentional). Great for summer, maybe. The second was apricot paper thin merino (half a tick), with gold spots on it all over (!!). It was also three times more expensive than I could afford, even in a sale. The third was a hot pink cardigan 4 sizes smaller than I admit to.

This is not the first time I have experienced the black tsunami of gloom in the Ladies Fashion department. One retiring French diplomat quipped, on leaving New Zealand, that he thought that Kiwi women dressed as if going to war. A bit harsh perhaps, and lucky he was leaving the country, but I can't help but agree with him. I wish I had a curry for every time I have been told by retail assistants, "Black is fashionable. It is what everyone wants, it is so flattering" Well, I have news for you. Black is occasionally fashionable, but if "designers" for high street stores actually bothered to attend fashion weeks (London, Paris, Milan, NYC), they would note that it only ever makes up a small percentage of collections. Sometimes it doesn't appear at all. It is NOT what everyone wants. It is what everyone gets served up, so it is purchased, for lack of choice. Black only flatters women with olive/Mediterranean complexions or those with porcelain white Celtic ones (ask any colourist). Heck, even my African American / S. African / Caribbean sisters tend to avoid the colour and they COULD wear it. In other news, black doesn't wash well. It fades, and unless the fabric is top quality it doesn't wear well. Also, there are those of us, over 50 who also associate black with mourning.

So, back to my local department store. I genuinely wanted to cry. I asked the assistant at the till "Who is responsible for choosing the clothes in your shop?" I was told head office. I feel a letter coming on to that senior buyer (who is probably dressed in yellow Armani). The national obsession with black has to stop. Not only that, can we please have some affordable items of warmth (not polyester plastic cotton mixy things). New Zealand has sheep for heaven's sake. We have wool in abundance, and I'm told the farmers can't get a good price for it. And now, ironically, we are an entire country in search of a cardigan.

End of Rant



Monday 4 June 2018

Beards, spots and wobbles

A piece of land next to the river was sold recently to a young farming couple. They are planning to build a home on the land, but currently it is occupied by a number of very young calves and a tethered goat. The goat has made friends with the horses in the adjacent field. It isn't uncommon to see the three of them having an early morning chat when we drive past on the way to work.

One of the calves however has given us cause for concern. He was tiny and skinny and in the recent cold weather had a waterproof jacket on. We wondered if he would survive. Today it is much milder and Little Spotty Fella is without his bright orange jacket.

I decided to walk along the road to introduce myself. He and his bigger and stronger pal were some way off, so I started to sing near the fence. Initially LSF trotted forward.


It was then I realised he had a wobbly head. I suspect it was a difficult birth as he was very bony and looked a bit fragile. But he was enjoying my singing so approached a bit closer. His pal came with him to protect him from me (and possibly my singing - the only songs which came to mind were folk songs!) They stared, I sang. When it came time to walk away, LSF trotted along with me for a while. The singing evidently wasn't that bad.


Mr Goatee with a goatee, was less hard to impress and was somewhat preoccupied with a nice circle of weeds.


His mates the horses were impossible to coax, even with two pieces of carrot. It was only as I walked away, tossing the carrot into the field that they came over to introduce themselves. Of course then they were looking for a carrot from my hand. I pointed to where I had thrown it. As I walked away they were walking in smaller and smaller circles looking for a piece of orange amongst the clover.