Mike and bro' Dick - and is there honey
still for tea?
Pith & Wind -
I really can’t remember what Richard and
I used to have for breakfast at home in Christchurch
as children - and by children I mean under the
age of twelve. Perhaps it was Weet-Bix or Rice
Bubbles with a piece of toast and Marmite. (Vegemite
wasn’t in the New Zealand lexicon then).
It may have been more or less salubrious, but
obviously not memorable. Whatever it was, it pales
into insignificance in comparison to the ritual
of breakfast at our grandparents’ home in
St Leonard’s Rd, Mt Eden.
Mt Eden is a genteel and fairly sedate Auckland
suburb just a matter of minutes from the heart
of the city if you caught one of the lurching
trolley-buses that ran up and down Mt Eden Rd.
Anyway, when Richard and I were flown up to Auckland
by our grandparents in the August school holidays
to spend some time with our estranged father,
to us frostbitten and unworldly little chaps Auckland
seemed to be a tropical paradise.
Our grandparents lived on what I now know is a
battle-axe block, with a long, steep drive winding
up to a breath-taking two storey weatherboard
home. It had a grass tennis court and a small
orchard up the back with a neat lawn out the front
where possibly there had once been a swimming
pool. (I just thought of that – I have no
idea where that idea came from). It was a substantial
The top storey was replete with a verandah that
ran along the front of the house and around the
corner to the front door. From the verandah you..
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Toolbox - I remember it well
It is interesting, as my
brother has observed, that the one thing that
is sure about aging is the slow diminution of
the faculties. Actually it doesn’t seem
slow, in that one day you can see things in front
of your nose and in the far distance and the next
you realise that you need glasses for one or both
disability. Catastrophe theory, the apparently
instantaneous change from one system state to
another, striking again.
I now think that the only thing that doesn’t
fade is the sense of pain. But how do I know?
It might have even lessened, though I think it
hurts just as much at the dentist. By the way,
I have the most wonderful dentist who is even
older than I, now fitted with a pacemaker, but
still at the top of his game. I suspect that the
only reason he keeps practising, apart from the
fact that he enjoys his work, is that he wants
to see if he can outlive his patients. That and
the fact that his wife has threatened to kill
him if he stops work.