Posts by Rob Hosking
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one should never be disturbed by listening to lots of Harry Nilsson. He is fucking great.
Best Friend?
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I know someone who only goes out with guys called Phil for that very reason.
Ah.
Philphilia
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I'm quite happy not to spend all my time looking to the simple pleasure of the past with L&P-tinted spectacles, but to enjoy the complex pleasures of adulthood, such as Martinis, sex, bespoke suits, coffee, dancing until dawn and wearing really, really elegant shoes.
Yeah, but one of the complex pleasures of adulthood is looking at the past with L & P tinted specs (love the metaphor, btw).
In moderation, of course, like those things you mention.
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Possibly a case of sustained substance use/abuse coming home to roost?
I blame several things in my own case, but not that (strongest thing I've ever taken was No Doz. The times on Wombat Weed I can count on...OK I'd probably get to the second set of toes but only just).
Plain tiredness is a big part of it. Martin Amis comments in one of his essays that everyone over the age of about 32 is just tired all the time. Rang a bell with me.
Allied to this: parenthood. I rang my oldest mate a few months after my daughter was born, we've known each other since before we could talk: his partner answered the phone and I'm having to say 'Is...umm... there?' Total brain freeze.
I'm usually OK with faces: not so much with names. And it bugs the hell out of me because I used to be damn good at this stuff.
Still good on dates. Elections, Wars, Battles, even Wedding Anniversiaries. I think some of thsi comes from being generally historically minded. As a kid I used to always bug my dad and grandpa with questions about when this shed or fence was built on the farm. Often just after a heifer had kicked one of them. Big on historical awareness, less so on social awareness.
Oh, and songs. They tend to stick in the mind like biddybids.
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I can see why people venerate Margaret Thatcher, even though I drank two bottles of champagne the glorious day she was bundled out of office.
I have some friends who did similar, although beer was more their style. While I admired Thatcher a lot of the time, a few things about her grated.
She tended to remind me of the sort of girl I used to set off stink bombs behind in school. And not because I secretly fancied them, either.
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I'll endorse what Jackie just said about peer learning.
My daughter is special needs - delayed physical development and what seems to be a form of autism.
She loves buttons, especially buttons on video/DVD players. A year or so ago she deprogrammed my parents' machine during a visit.
Next visit she goes over to the machine to do the same thing: her cousin (who was the same age - four) hauled her off it and said firmly 'We don't do that'.
My daughter hasn't done it since. And she had been told, many many many times, by adults not to do it. It took a kid her own age to do the trick.
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There is one big difference with all of these. They don't involve making up damaging rumours about an innocent third party.
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In particular, to me its at least prima facie evidence of how those who like to spread whispering hate campaigns against (in particular) Helen Clark use people like Slater to launder their filthy rumours out via the likes of David Farrar, Matthew Hooten and Bridget Saunders
Can't speak about the other two, but DPF didn't touch this rumour with a bargepole.
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By the way she did a post about how high your heels should be based on your height
I used to know a woman the same height as me - just over six foot - but who insisted on wearing huge high heels (and large buckles on those shoes).
She resembled a power pylon with sex appeal, if such a thing can be imagined. Used sway in a heavy gale.
She's probably some orthopedic specialist's pension plan by now.
my partner went out one night in her new high heels. She danced and danced and came home with shoes full of blood and crushed nerves. And she would totally do it again.
I think there's a Hans Christian Anderson story about that sort of thing...
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I like nothing better than feeling the grass under my feet & the sand between my toes. Supermarket vinyl is lovely & cool on barefeet in summer, after walking there on th ehot pavement.
Beach 4 Square Shops. The refridgerator on permanent hum. Feet flopping in across the worn lino floor, the odd grain of migrated beach sand under foot. Ice cream cone, already melting. Catching the edge of the doorstep as you go out and ripping the big toenail half off.
Ahh, Kiwi summers...