Extreme Gunning*

*For full definition, click here

For about eight years I have had a blue bin that is emptied fortnightly. When I started, the company was called Dimac Bins, but then some clever management sort probably said, "Hey, I've got a cool idea. Lets do absolutely nothing differently than we always have, but change our name to EnviroWaste. It will make us sound cooler and greener." And so they became EnviroWaste.

Then every January we started a little ritual. I would pay 12 months in advance for 26 empties of the bin, fortnightly. I would then ring and say, "I can't remember which week is my week, could you please send me the sticker to go on my bin that gives me all the dates for the year." Then the lady would helpfully say something like, "It's really easy, its every second week." I would then explain that we are not all as lucky as her to be fully immersed in the world of bins and we mere mortals often stupidly quite forget whether the bin was emptied last week or the week before. She would then reluctantly agree to post out the sticker.

I generally would then say how helpful it would be if they would just post out the sticker with the invoice or receipt. She would then say that nobody really wants them. I would say how hard I found that to believe and ask why they printed them if nobody but me wanted them, and we would bid farewell until another year had passed. So this year when the familiar envelope arrived in the post I had no reason to suspect anything would be different. But, alas, it was. That clever management sort had come up with a great new idea.

It went something like this. "Hey, I've got another great idea. Instead of letting people pay 12 months in advance and having all that lovely money in our bank account instead of theirs, lets insist they pay monthly - but only by direct debit. Send them all a form, they'll love it!"

Now, I have never actually seen Dirty Dancing, but I'm familiar with the quote, and I have a similar one myself - Nobody Accesses My Bank Account But Me. So I rang the lady, and asked if they were still happy for me to pay the year ahead as usual, because I wasn't interested in direct debits. I pointed out the advantage of taking a vast amount of money in advance, but she explained that my money in that form just would not be good enough for their company. She very helpfully told when my last bin empty would be, and I didn't even attempt the sticker conversation. Luckily that last date, February 12, has been seared in my brain. So today I did some extreme gunning. For the last time, I have filled that blue bin and bounced and bounced and bounced. I have managed to get in the equivalent of the domestic waste of a small country, plus a tree. I'll miss my bin and the cheery chap who has collected it on the fortnights I remembered to put it out. I won't miss that lady in the office.

Not Even Fair - Rally to the Cause

I am an even person. I was born on an even day, in an even month, in an even year. I am always far happier when my birthday rolls around and takes me to an even age. Odd ages never sound good. 55 sounds old, grey and dull. 56 sounds energetic and full of possibilities. I like even numbers. They are trustworthy, likable, balanced. I live in an even numbered house. Life is good ..... but is it fair?

This evening has been a busy one because it is an even day. I am only allowed to give my parched garden a good watering every second day, on even days of the month. The poor people with odd letter box numbers get the same chance on the odd days. This sounds like a perfectly fair system, taking turn and turn about. A fair system, that is, until the end of the month. Those odd sorts got to water well on Sunday, 31st January and then again on Monday, 1st February! Two consecutive days while my garden stood wilting. I felt irked at the time, but consoled myself that the next time the injustice would occur would be in March when the very worst of summer drought conditions would have passed. But then tonight I recalled that this is a leap year ....

... and we are getting an extra day in February and those jolly oddballs are going to get to double dip again at the February/March changeover. This is not fair! I propose a simple solution - odd numbered letterboxes have odd numbered days, even numbered letterboxes have even numbered days - and here is the trick - then everyone gets the 31st of any month, and once every fourth year the 29th of February, too. Simple solution. Ring your local body politicians, rally the troops, be a part of the change for letterbox parity.

Take the Weather

If you are me, or have been constantly in my vicinity, you have had a glorious run of weather. The Wellington region had clear, sunny days for Christmas and New Year while other parts of NZ had deluges and cyclones. I travelled the length of the North Island and saw it all in warmth, sun and calm. All just another part of the very charmed life I lead.

Today I officially head back to work. Like Richard (Of Richard's Bass Bag) I have already put many hours into getting set up, but these were according to my own timetable, not someone else's. The unrelenting heat has been just lovely, but now it needs to turn down. I won't be able to lie around with hokey pokey ice creams, recline in the shade over a glass of sauvignon blanc or idle away the hours in a cool cafe. Reality is about to bite, and very hot weather is only pleasant when you have all the time in the world to set about achieving absolutely nothing. May we now have cool nights and clear days, about 20 degrees celsius, please.

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See what I did there?

Sporting Terms

I am not in the least bit sporty - well not conventionally sporty. There is however one activity that I excel at and in which I always emerge triumphant. Until now I have always just thought of it as 'wheelie bin bouncing', a clumsy term for jumping into one's bin and reducing the volume of rubbish by considerable compacting through jumping. My bin is only emptied fortnightly and a single miss in sending it kerbside can spell rubbish disaster. By necessity and sheer persistance I have honed my skills to ninja level in this sport. If one actually calculates the cost of each individual empty by the bin company this is another excellent motivation in ensuring it is jam-packed full. So I was particularly saddened to read about Jason Gunn's unfortunate accident while engaged in my sport.

Poor Jason managed to topple over backwards from the bin and sustain several breaks to his back in the landing. I send my sincere best wishes for his speedy recovery, and though he is clearly an amateur at the sport I propose honouring his contribution by officially renaming the activity as 'gunning'. The dictionary definitition will read something like this:

gunn, v.i. & t. Leap into wheelie bin in order to compact contents

In the interests of public safety I must caution new gunners to take care when gunning. When the wheelie bin is ready for gunning ...

... move it to a location where the gunner can have support while gunning. We don't want any more gunners doing a 'Jason' and bringing our sport into disrepute. My technique is to jump from the raised seating and grasp the opposite fence.

Safe and productive gunning can then proceed. Happy gunning everyone .... keep safe out there!

Five Years On

On this day, five short years ago, I was on the move. It was a Tuesday and the long Anniversary Weekend holiday had been spent in a packed up house in Stokes Valley, after two energetic packers had spent the preceding Thursday and Friday putting all my worldly possessions into boxes for the big move. I was leaving the bush for the beach. Five years on I still marvel at how blessed I am to be living here. Here are a few 'before and after' shots. I think it is safe to say my chosen style for home and garden involves a lot more 'stuff' than the the minimalist approach preferred by the previous owners. However, their meticulous approach to tidiness and cleanliness were a major selling point.

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Long may the cluttering continue. 2016 is shaping up to be another stellar year, and so we move on to the much anticipated ....

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The Great Summer Road Trip Comes to an End

Another stopover in Hamilton where I mixed with the local riff raff.

A late night trip to the casino turned $20 into $38 before striking a jackpot of $900!  Thank you, Outback Jack!

Hamilton Gardens were well worth the visit the next morning ...

... then on to Taupo and back to home, where a little black cat was very pleased to see me.

Petone Ponderings looks forward to resuming our Summer Season of postings. 

The Great Summer Road Trip, Day 10

The morning was spent exploring the wee settlement of Kohukohu. This is reached by car ferry from Rawene and it is a busy, frequent service.

Kohukohu is a beautiful, serene town and one I had wanted to visit for a long time.

Continuing the 'we've got the oldest' theme of this trip, I was intrigued by this sign.

The bridge was the first stone span in New Zealand and is the oldest surviving bridge overall. In the old photos it looked to be very pleasing to the eye, but has been allowed to be partially buried and largely unloved today. Come on Kohukohu, sort this out.

At midday it was time to hit the road for the first leg of the return journey. We didn't get far before a stop at Opononi was called for. Northland really does sand dunes very well!

I still have my stamp album from childhood and I recall the issue and collection of a stamp featuring Tane Mahuta. Back then the traveller could touch and lean on the mighty kauri, but we are taking much more care now. You can still get very close, but Tane is given a little personal space and has his own dedicated Department of Conservation officer on hand to keep the fans at bay.