>Catch 22 reloaded

Posted on 18 March, 2008 by jb

>
This story is just too silly for words, but I’ll write about it anyway.

And it would be quite funny – despite its numbing lack of logic and common sense – if it hadn’t cost me money.

We’re flying around the world in business class.

Except on Air New Zealand.

Air New Zealand doesn’t have Business Class on its regional services, so it’s grin and bear it for 1:20 from Auckland to Nelson.

Business class travel reeks of generosity. Big, wide seats with lots of legroom, decent food, bottomless bottles and plenty of luggage allowance.

We travel fairly light, so we’ve got just over 40kg between the two of us, way below the allowance of 60kg on the way down via Bangkok and the allowance back via Los Angeles is more than I weigh.

So we’re in Auckland and it’s a smallish aircraft to Nelson so I check in the carry-on trolley, too.

7 kg.

49kg all told.

“That’ll be $45” she chirps.

Blank look.

“You’re 9kg overweight and that’s $5 a kilo”

Tell her we’ve just flown in Business Class on Thai, Air NZ’s Star Alliance partner, that Air New Zealand doesn’t even HAVE Business Class on this route, that we’re flying out via Los Angeles with about a 1000kg of allowance and that 7 of the 9kgs is international carry-on.

And that the Air New Zealand people in Nelson apply common sense and don’t charge if you’re connecting internationally to the States.

“Well, they might be more flexible in Nelson, but we charge full”

And then we get to Nelson and see this sign that says…yes, 20kg per person EXCEPT if your ticket involves travel to or via the USA.

No, it’s not “flexibility”, dearie.

The people in Nelson just know their product…..

I just wish Rob Fyfe, Air New Zealand’s clued-up CEO would read this.

Maybe he will.

He definitely needs to…..

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>Things are looking up

Posted on 18 March, 2008 by jb

Photo_031708_002

When I was growing up in New Zealand, there were 2 types of cheese

Mild

And Tasty.

Now there’s Colby, too.

If that’s not progress….

Posted in This is Nelson | 1 Comment

>Call me old-fashioned if you will……

Posted on 18 March, 2008 by jb

>

…but is that a piece of chainlink fencing suspended between ear and lip?

Oh.

I thought so…

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>They have big chooks in Thailand

Posted on 14 March, 2008 by jb

>
Crikey, look at the size of their BALLS…!

Seen at the Marriott in Bangkok

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>This I need – for Pi Day

Posted on 10 March, 2008 by jb

>Thinkgeek.com has the ultimate collection of stuff I’m probably too old (but stupid enough) to wear.

Like this Pi T-shirt, made up of the first 4493 digits.

i.e. these

3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974
94459230781640628620899862803482534211706798214808651328230
66470938446095505822317253594081284811174502841027019385211
05559644622948954930381964428810975665933446128475648233786
78316527120190914564856692346034861045432664821339360726024
91412737245870066063155881748815209209628292540917153643678
92590360011330530548820466521384146951941511609433057270365
75959195309218611738193261179310511854807446237996274956735
18857527248912279381830119491298336733624406566430860213949
46395224737190702179860943702770539217176293176752384674818
46766940513200056812714526356082778577134275778960917363717
87214684409012249534301465495853710507922796892589235420199
56112129021960864034418159813629774771309960518707211349999
99837297804995105973173281609631859502445945534690830264252
23082533446850352619311881710100031378387528865875332083814
20617177669147303598253490428755468731159562863882353787593
75195778185778053217122680661300192787661119590921642019

plus another 3493.

Pi Day is this Friday, by the way.

Figure it out for your self

So if you see me wearing the above, or this , or this, or this, or even this, stop me and say

“You silly old fool…”



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>One of these days…..


			

				Posted on 6 March, 2008 by jb			


					

				
>…..I’ll pluck up the nerve to buy this.


Might even listen to it

If I’m feeling robust…


(Sighted at zweitausendeins in Frankfurt)




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>Don’t ask me… (about the sign of the cross)


			

				Posted on 6 March, 2008 by jb			


					

				
>My uncle John – not a religious man – would never leave the house without crossing himself and chanting


“Watch, wallet, spectacles, testicles” 



as he confirmed the existence and correct position of each item.


He’d be in trouble these days.


A judge in Italy has just convicted a man for clutching his genitals in a public place.


Which is a common superstitious practice to ward off impending doom.


Having experienced the place myself, it’s probably something you’d want to do as you crossed the road.


It’s a bugger if you’re a footballer, though.


You’re lined up in the wall for a free kick.


You either protect yourself (and get met by the Carabinieri as you leave the field)


Or start talking in a high-pitched voice.




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>Bankers. Rhymes with…


			

				Posted on 4 March, 2008 by jb			


					

				
>I have 2 banks – one in Germany (as efficient as one would expect) and one in New Zealand.


They’re driving me up the bloody wall.


Forget the fact that they left me without a credit card for a week when I renewed it prior to its expiration date.


(Which is what you do when you’re going to be out of the country when it expires..)


Forget that you tell them to reduce the mortgage principal by $X and they only reduce it by $Y because “the request was misinterpreted”


Forget that you ask them for some investment information and they say they’ll “reply at their convenience”.


Which was a week later.


Forget that they promise to “email me first thing tomorrow” and never do


But this really takes the cake.


Email my consultant to find out why they’ve mysteriously deducted a couple of hundred dollars from my account.


No reply after a full business day, so call up the phone banking people.


Forgotten my phone password, so they ask me the usual questions and then find they can’t tell me anything at all about the mysterious deduction and I should contact my consultant…


While I’m at it, I start asking about how I can reset my phone password.


“Start”, because I only get halfway through the question.


So I start again.


Point out that if I can’t ask the question, it’s unlikely that she’ll know what I want.


Silence.


Deep breath.


Ask the question.


“You can do it online”


Go online, find out that I’m about to change my online banking password.


Call up again, say I want to reset my phone banking password.


Usual questions


Then “And what can I help you with today”


Tell her.


Only get interrupted once


Then she says “Can you give me your online password, please?”


WHAT? OVER THE PHONE? NO! WAY!


This is where I almost give up.


But then I give it one last try.


I get Peter.


Peter doesn’t interrupt, because Peter knows how guys just HATE being interrupted.


Women don’t mind, because they hold parallel conversations anyway and it doesn’t matter to them if no-one’s listening or if someone interrupts.


They just keep talking.


So Peter knows what I want (because he’s been listening), has a solution and in 2 minutes, I’ve got a new phone password.


I wish I could deal with Peter all the time.


Then they’d have a fair chance of keeping my Bag of Money

Which isn’t very high at the moment.




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>Vitello tomato? Eh?


			

				Posted on 29 February, 2008 by jb			


					

				
>
Keming reloaded.


For anyone who’s still not quite sure what kerning‘s all about, here’s a pretty good example of the lack of same.


Vitello tonnato – thinly sliced veal topped with a creamy mayonnaise-based sauce of tuna, anchovies, hardboiled egg yolks and capers. – turns into Vitello tomato.


I don’t think so.


Thanks all the same …. 



							

	
			

													
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>Nine Lives


			

				Posted on 27 February, 2008 by jb			


					

				
>


I’ve almost killed myself on a number of occasions.


Fell into the water trough at my grandparents’ place when I was 3 and to this day I can relate every detail of the event. Must have been veeeery close.
Fell off my bike and almost put the brake lever into my brain via my right eye.
Rode into the back of a truck at full speed on the same bike. (Only tore open my knee on that one)
Drove into the back of another truck on a motorbike. Brakes locked, only dinged the front mudguard.
Electrocuted myself by not understanding the concept of serial switches
Fell off a ladder onto the concrete floor and broke two ribs.
Done a couple of million kilometers in the air which must place me in some statistically very dodgy risk segment


But definitely the most stupid thing I’ve done is this.


I bought a Suzuki 150 in 1967.
It was the first vehicle in our household.
Dad didn’t get around to buying a Mini 850 until a year later.


A caveman discovering fire would rank close to how I felt.


No more buses.  No more going nowhere. No more hoping that someone would come by and pick you up.


I went crazy.


I’d head out to Henderson in West Auckland and buy rough homemade red wine from the Dally farmers.
I’d head out to Muriwai and blast up and down the beach as if it was the Bonneville salt flats.
I’dp otter round up Warkworth way on a Sunday and then decide to go up to
Whangarei – 150 km – to see Isla and Bill and then drive back down next
morning and go straight to work.


And I rode to the very tip of the South Island in early 1969.


Down the west coast of the North Island, across to Picton on the ferry and
then down through Arthur’s Pass to Christchurch, south through
Ashburton and Geraldine and over the Omarama Pass and down to
Invercargil and Bluff.


Back in those days, main roads were sealed.


The rest were metalled – dirt covered with coarse aggregrate.


Keeps  you on your toes (the Fast Learning Curve School of Power Drifts) and hell for the bike.


Spokes started fracturing.


I just cut them out.


Didn’t think.


But like plants, the more you prune the more they grow.


Or fracture.


I knew that I had to get them fixed at some stage, but I figured I’d wait until I was back in Auckland.


Snip, snip.


Snip, snip.


The mechanic’s face turned ghostly white when he saw what was left.


He had no idea how the front wheel was still (sort of) round.


No physical justification for it.


None at all



							

	
			

													
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