Don’t jump to subtweeting I diet by proxy because my wife is a slave waiting on me hand and foot and I can’t cook my own meals; we are equal partners in the kitchen, as we are in business. But Mrs H controls that room during the dieting stints, because I refuse to be the cause of my own unhappiness, I can’t be trusted near the fridge or the pantry at trying times like this, and I don’t know the liturgy of each new diet ‘attempt’. Mrs H’s odd foray into dieting further has nothing to do with any comment I have ever made on weight or appearance, because I never have (never will); Mrs H is as much dieting for perceived health benefits as for self-image, and regarding the latter, to me she’s gorgeous - merely a personal body shape preference, (not a value judgement), I like zaftig figures and find catwalk stick skinny unattractive.
Look, the wowser Big Brother Wairarapa District Health Board bullied this pub over taking down their 'Beer Up Masterton' sign, and unfortunately the pub has succumbed. Even if this health board had any business here, and it doesn't, there is nothing wrong with that sign. Local council, local bureaucrats of all hues, wowsers who've worked themselves into every public position, along with central government, are out of control, staffed by busy-bodies who want to control your life on the micro-level. Don't let them. Tell them to go to hell.
This alcohol hobbyist can't wait for driverless cars - not far away at all - when country pubs can again become the great meeting places and community they once were, and the wowsers have one less excuse to force their dreary lives on mine.
Wind clock forward thirty years.
Unfortunately along with the diet - awful timing - comes hard work. As usual, I've been too slack enjoying life the first half of this financial year, so posts will be slowing down as I catch up with the day job. But watch out for my next post, there's something amiss with our literature, its state funded body of work having lost its subversive gene ... Literary Ramble IV, coming soon.