Musings

Today I did something different. I pushed my straggling locks behind my ears, moistened my lips with lipstick a shade darker than I wear around the house, squirted a puff of the very expensive perfume on the decollage and went out in the car. After weeks of walking and biking round and round the block, it was extremely weird  to be seated in luxury and going so fast. And I was taken aback by an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the internal combustion engine and the luxurious heated seat.  Here I was travelling at 50kph and I was not expending one single jot of energy! No wonder we’re all fat. But to be fair, I am trying to maintain the weight status quo by chowing down as many Sultana Malt biscuits as possible – before they go off. Hahahahaha. I went to the Fruit and Vege shop and drove straight into one of those parks you never get – you know the ones where there’s no decapitated tree or little concrete ledge to stop you driving directly into the opposite park. I had such a good time I still don’t know how much I spent.

I have no profound insights into week 4 of our total Lockdown. I am in no position to exhort anyone to stay calm because every night I crank up when I hear that sports dude on TV1 rabbiting on about the NRL. I don’t care if or when they play. I don’t care if they never play and what’s more, I don’t think anyone else cares either. All that poor man is doing is reporting on the only game in town offering him the slightest bit of job security.  But there are two very cool things about the TV1 sports news I do care about. One is that the NRL titting around has replaced the nightly fawning hommage paid to that creepy-looking basketball player playing in the US who’s related to Valerie Adams and two, that after we’ve heard the NRL’s latest drama, we get the sports clips of ordinary New Zealanders slaying themselves in their home-made go-karts and bikes and doing cool shit like skateboarding down roofs and putting golf balls, basket balls, net balls, tennis balls and even human balls, into impossibly small and faraway hoops – or even better still, through great big windows. Now that’s what I call sport.

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