Cracker by Damian Christie

All the leaves are brown

Well, she’s been a cracker couple of weeks. I was halfway through a post last week complaining about the Summer that Never Was. I’d planned a weekend of cricket, drive-in movies and diving at the Poor Knights. It rained and everything was postponed. As March ticked over and Autumn fell upon us it became pretty clear that this was Little Summer that Just Wouldn’t.

I don’t want to sound all Season Obsessed or anything, but it’s becoming important to the inner gardener in me. My tree fern clippings aren’t taking, and my lilies, which had only just opened, took a hammering in the storms.

Everything I wrote about in the last week of November has failed to materialise. My gym membership has been and gone, and while I’m slightly trimmer than I was four months ago, I’m no Peter Andre.

Actually, can I just digress for a second to ask – what the HELL is up with Peter Andre having pole position on Top of the Pops with a re-release of the same song that annoyed us all in 1996? Does this open the door for all mediocre 90s artists (and really, the 90s were about as bad as it gets for pop music) to churn out the same old crap once again: MC Hammer? Bobby Brown? Who’s buying into this?

The car I was hoping would be ready for Summer isn’t quite there either. To recap, I dropped my old Austin Healey into the mechanic in October sometime to get a new gearbox. I wanted it ready for Summer. It’s now March. Anyone get the feeling they’re taking the piss? I called them up the other day.

“I kinda wanted it for Summer… it’s now Autumn.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t miss much, Summer was crap.”

“Thanks for that.”

It’s not all bad news however. There are huge piles of the crunchiest of crunchy leaves just begging to be jumped on in Albert Park. I was walking through said park the other day (you will have worked out by now it’s a bit of a fave of mine) when I came upon something I’d never seen before. It was a well. A big, brick well. I’ve walked through that park so many times before and never seen it.

“It must be new”, my brain suggested, not entirely helpfully.

The plaque (“reconstructed in 1979…”) and general old scuffed brickness of it suggested it was anything but. It might seem like a small thing, noticing something for the first time, but it really threw me. Glitch in the Matrix kinda styles.

Anyway, if anyone has any information backing up my particularly paranoid Someone’s Out to Mess with my Head conspiracy theory, feel free to let me know. Similarly, if anyone knows why there’s a huge letter D in Albert Park, send me feedback. I have my theory, but again I fear it’s unlikely and perhaps slightly egocentric.

I haven’t posted for a wee while, I know, and thanks for the concerned feedback. Yes, the pills are working, cheers. The real reason is that I’ve changed jobs (yes, again) and have made the big move up to that monolith on Hobson Street, Television New Zealand. And I'm having a great time. Still planning to do something on the mighty b, just not sure exactly what at the moment.

Issues wise, weather aside, I’ve been mulling over a few bits and pieces, but this is a Friday post, and I’d rather not weigh you down with my half-arsed theories on this that or the other when Russell’s been so prolific this week and nicely covered just about everything I was going to talk about. Ain’t he a champ.

Oh oh, try and check out the latest issue of Staple Magazine. Not only is it a great little read, but there's an interview in there I did with John Tamihere a month ago, which since the time I wrote it, has become even more relevant, given the talk of a new Maori party, etc.

Finally I'll provide you with a Waste Time on a Friday link – for you film buffs, here’s The Exorcist in 30 seconds as performed by some rabbits.

Enjoy the weekend. See you at the Garden Centre.