Back to the Old Grind

This Monday morning, the fellow from Jackson’s Flooring arrived, packed out his gear and set to work for the major part of the day grinding the floors onto which he will lay vinyl planking, being the kitchen, dining room, entrance and passage and the bathroom areas.

(Above): Although he doesn’t seem to need any breather masks, he is rather insistent on wearing these ear-muffs. The continual din of the grinder and the vacuum attachment at close range is surely enough to make the sanest of us crazy!

(Above): A view of the vacuum unit – quite powerful and effective.

After this, we seal the substrate with a clear acrylic sealer, and then it will be ready to accept the adhesive for the tiles.

Something For Free!

In this monetary world, where every Jack wants his pound of flesh, It’s good to know that there are still some people around who are willing to share their resources. Yesterday my inbox contained this message:

One single phone-call later, and Clayton had collected the 12 pallets, and brought them home on the person’s trailer on loan, into the bargain. Such generosity goes a long way to building good neighbourliness.

(Above): There are a couple of planks which are slightly damaged, but, truth be told, all these planks are good for use. Certainly an excellent purchase, at the price!

The Color Run

It’s Sunday 30 March and the day of the Wellington Color Run dawns for Clayton, Tyler and Brynn (and quite a few other Wellingtonians). No, my spelling is correct…

The Color Run ^TM 5k is the official name of the event in major cities all over the world, hence the US spelling rule.

(Above): As to be expected, Brynn was up and ready to go bright and early, fully equipped with her head-band, wrist-band and angel wings! All in pristine white.

(Above): A while later, she was joined by brother Tyler and dad Clayton. Tyler had an easy-to-remember number, and dads phone number was indelibly inscribed in red and Brynn’s arm in big numbers, just in case she became detached and lost in the multitudes.

 
(Above): A group photo, with Bennie and Sophie (Captain Collar) looking on in admiration (or perhaps curiosity?).

Then off, for the 35 minute drive to Upper Hutt and the 5k run dodging colour (sorry, color) bombs of various colour powder pigments which are hurled at the runners. Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Orange, to name a few. What a mess they eventually looked like at the homecoming. Tyler really looked as if he had been beaten up by thugs with what really looked like Hollywood-style bruised and bloodied eyes! All purple and pink-red.

There are three rules for the run, namely:

Rule #1 All participants are welcome… fast, slow, runner, walker, old, and young.
Rule #2 White shirt dress code at the official start line and ready to roll!
Rule #3 Get completely covered in crazy coloured goodness at the finish festival.

Villa

Whilst in a Bathrooms-R-Us type of showroom shop in Paraparaumu yesterday browsing the sanitary ware to find out what is available for Project Strawberry Lane, I noticed something on the price tags which puzzled me. No, not the actual prices, which seemed astronomical (from my old-fashioned and insular point of view), but the fact that there were three different prices on each item:

For example, something like this:  R.R.P $756.00  TRADE $382.00 and ZIPS $369.00

Now, I am modern enough to recognise Recommended Retail Price, and I guessed that Trade refers to the sort of price you might pay at competitors’ shops. But the third option, which is the lowest on all the price tags, had me totally flummoxed. I racked my brain trying to guess the “Z” – not many words starting with “Z” to do with the cost of a bog and basin.

“Hi, mate. Excuse me, man, but would you mind helping me with a little problem.”

I immediately realised that I’d made a mistake and now he would know that I’m not a local (as if my jersey on a “warm” New Zealand day didn’t already shout “Effrikken”): No real pucker New Zealander would say “little” – it’s always “wee”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not from here,” probably not the best start to a sentence, “I understand the Recommended Retail Price,” pointing at one of the price tags, “but what does this ZIPS price mean?”

“That’s our price, yeah?” he explained, pointing at the door.

Gulp. (blush ever so slightly)

Sometimes there is a simple explanation to a seemingly difficult problem.

Something I have been asked once, which has prompted this blog in the first place. Why do you use the pseudonym Villa instead of your orthonym in the blog ‘How Green is Our Valley?’

Quite simply, I haven’t done it consciously. To use an old clichè, it’s the computer’s fault. Whilst gainfully employed in 2013, I authored a blog for one of our clients, a cluster housing scheme development as an electronic notice board for use by the 400 residents for information regarding tuning into the various TV channels and similar subjects, called Villa 30

Whilst I wrote it under the Gmail account ‘Bloke On The Bus’, but I was requested to supply as user name for Villa 30, for some reason. I naturally chose “Villa.” Now, since writing this blog instead of ‘Bloke On The Bus’, it appears that I’m stuck with the name Villa.

I can’t say that I hate it, as I have no personal preference – it gives me a bit of an Italian flair, don’t you think?

Mastercard

New Barbie Doll …. $300

New Doll’s House…. $500

New bicycle ….. $900

New do-it-yourself box-car… Priceless!

There are some things that money can’t buy. For all else there is Mastercard!

Ode to Ageing

It stands to reason that we are all one day older to-day than we were yesterday. And the same truth will apply to-morrow. And the day thereafter. And so on.

It is a law of biological physics and perhaps other branches of science that no-one can escape the process of ageing. However very few of us pay much attention to the tiny daily changes because they are relatively unnoticeable. Just as the impact and degree of change in other similar processes of decay, like rust in ferrous metal or soil erosion in the landscape, are more appreciable over longer periods of elapsed time, so, too, do we as humans become more aware of our physical frailties as we start losing the attributes that we once possessed as middle-agers.

As far as I know, very few parents or teachers educate us in preparation for older age, probably because those very parents themselves were never properly prepared for this eventuality.

No, I have not just suddenly discovered that I’m getting older – I became aware of the decay gradually over the past 15 years. However, being aware is not adequate enough. You need to know how to adapt your lifestyle and what precautions to take to ensure that you cope with the changing circumstances under which you find yourself having to survive.

Shortly after arriving in New Zealand, the doctor advised that I have a booster anti-Tetanus injection. It had never crossed my mind that I would need something like that – the last time I cut myself was… well, it was… a long time ago, I think. Now, fooling around with the dogs, or walking between bushes, I’ve noticed a couple of scratches here and there.

And they start to bleed! Quite profusely, at that.

Where are my educators? Should they not have warned me against doing silly things, to avoid bumping and scratching my skin, because it has lost a lot of its resilience and elasticity!  And don’t pick up very heavy objects, and don’t pick up in a stupid fashion.

As we age, I guess that we learn more and more things to avoid. Usually once it’s too late.

Project Strawberry Lane

Every project should have a name. The construction of the extension wing of Chartwell, consisting of our bedroom/sitting room and bathroom, with a workroom/ laundry for general use, should also have a name. The entry passageway to this ‘North Wing’ was called “Strawberry Lane” because of the potted strawberries which have been growing there.

Therefore, I would reckon that this building project could aptly be known as  Project Strawberry Lane.

Like Col. John ‘Hannibal’ Smith would like a plan to come together, Barry, our architect, called earlier in the week to deliver the ‘final’ preliminary plans for the extension, for us to check over, with the news that he will now start on writing the specifications on which the prospective builders, electricians, etc will be able to base their quotations.

Our job at this stage is to shop around for bathroom sanitaryware, light fittings and those sort of items for which the builder will simply allow pc amounts.

Earlier, we met one of Clayton’s contacts (a Saffer) who has set up a electrical contracting business in Waikanae. If possible, we will naturally appoint him to do the electrical work. He will also put forward the names of a couple of guys who might be interested in quoting for the building work.

Whilst the project progress of Strawberry Lane has been rather slow (just on two months since our initial enquiries), I think that the work completed has been done thoroughly, and hopefully the rest of the project will proceed in the same manner (that is thoroughly and not slowly!)

When Barry has completed the specifications, we will have the required application forms completed, with the final proposed plans and specifications, submitted to the KCDC (Kapiti Coast District Council) in Waikanae for planning permission to commence construction, a process which is supposed to take about 20 working days (give them a month). Whilst waiting for this, we can get the prospective contractors to work out their tender prices for us to make a final decision.

Driving Miss Daisy

So many South Africans will tell you what a nanny state Australia is, and how the New Zealanders all drive around like doddering old fools.

Right.

I have never been in favour of breaking any laws, because my upbringing probably put the fear of death in the possible repercussions, and taught me that “the policeman will catch you” – obviously  stressing the moral and legal obligations involved.

Right.

So, during most of my adult driving life, I have been reasonably careful to ensure that I complied with the traffic laws, although I cannot deny that I certainly drove at speeds exceeding the limits. Of course, I relied on the South African excuse that everyone else was speeding as well.

Which clearly made it all right.

After three months in New Zealand, I have forgotten what a policeman looks like. I have never (and I can honestly attest to this) seen my speedo exceed 100 kph. I say this with a feeling of pleasure, in that I have (hopefully) mended my decadent road habits. And, as a bonus, I have a driver’s licence, which is respected as a valid form of photo-identity.

Anywhere at any time.

When driving out of Waikanae along Elizabeth Street, which becomes Reikorangi Road at the Water Treatment Plant, I have only once exceeded the 54 kph mark, but checked myself and slowed down from 60 when I noticed it. Now 50 does not seem to be walking pace anymore. It has become second-nature.

(Above): Elizabeth Street, the main road out of Waikanae. The speed restriction changes from 50 to 70 at the signposts in line with the red car.

Driving has become more of a pleasure and is quite relaxing. When two lanes merge into one, there is not jostling to see who can get ahead of whom, who can be first: here it is against  if you don’t give way for the guy who is slightly ahead of you. A simple solution, which makes you feel good.

(Above): At a typical T-junction, notice there is no “Stop” sign. This would suit most South Africans, who treat their Stop Streets, as we do these T-junctions. Obviously oncoming traffic from both directions have right of way. We do not race off from the side street in front of these oncoming vehicles (as you would, in South Africa).

(Above) Part of the Woolworths (now called “Countdown”) shopping parking area in Waikanae. Notice the trundler park with the green sign bottom left. The enclosure where you should return your shopping trolley – this is a D-I-Y society -- “trolley attendants” are really few and far between.

(Above): How to keep pedestrians and cyclists off the railway tracks at crossings. If you are not discouraged by a $10,000 fine, then … well, then…

NZ Transport Agency Factsheet 55 lists the following penalties: Alcohol and drug affected driving are serious offences and carry tough penalties, especially for repeat offenders. If you are convicted of a third or subsequent offence, you will be disqualified from driving for more than 1 year and either fined up to $6,000 or imprisoned for up to 2 years.
If you cause injury or death when driving carelessly while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, you will be disqualified and either fined up to $10,000 or sentenced to prison. Where a breath or blood test shows you were over the legal limit or shows evidence of the use of a controlled drug, you will be disqualified and either fined up to $20,000 or imprisoned for up to 5 years.

Speeding fines increase progressively from $30 for speeds less than 10km/h over the limit, to $630 for speeds up to 50km/h over the limit. In addition to a fine, you will also incur demerit points. See the Demerit points section for more information.
If your speed is more than 40km/h above the speed limit you can get a 28-day licence suspension, and at more than 50km/h over the limit you can also be charged with careless, dangerous or reckless driving.

Infringement fees range from $12 for parking offences to $10,000 for overloading offences. The infringement fee for not wearing a seat belt is $150.
Court imposed maximum fines for general driving offences range from $2000 for driving an unsafe vehicle, to up to $20,000 for reckless or dangerous driving causing injury or death to another person, or for failing to stop after a crash where someone is killed.

If you’re caught committing a serious driving offence that puts the lives of other road  users at risk, the police can suspend your licence, on the spot, for 28 days. This is called roadside licence suspension, but can happen anywhere. The police can apply to the court to extend the original 28-day suspension for a further 28 days, up to 3 times.

Holy hedgehogs

Being kind to animals is one thing. But, when animals take advantage of kindness and make a nuisance of themselves, that’s where one has to draw the line. One such animal is the common hedge-hog.

Far from being cute and cuddly (except for their pups /piglets /hoglets), the local Reikorangi hedgehogs are persistent, with carelessness as their second name, when being in close proximity to anything resembling Bennie’s turf.

Bennie is unable to resist picking up these little critters whenever he encounters one in the shrubbery. He carefully picks them up in his huge jaw, with just sufficient jaw pressure to restrain the creature and not causing any damage to the inside of his mouth. He then brings the prize inside and places it on the floor in a prominent position for all to see. Once he is praised for his prowess as a hunter, Bennie’s interest in the prickly beings immediately wanes.

Our task then is to dispose of the surviving hedgehog in a spot where he will be safe from re-capture. When the hedgehog in question is captured in a dead/dying state, there is no problem with disposal – fling him over the fence into the neighbour’s grazing paddock. But, the live and mobile ones present much more of a problem: their intelligence is of such a level that they do not understand that re-entry to the Chartwell ground might involve a certain demise. 

The policy is to carefully place the living ones in the undergrowth about 4 kilometres away, near St Andrew’s Anglican Church, which is on the way to the station, the shops and the rest of the outside world from Reikorangi Valley, roughly half the distance from Kents Road to the Waikanae town centre.

(Above): The dotted red line indicates the route from Kents Road to a patch of gardens and shrubbery opposite St Andrew’s, via Ngatiawa Road to Reikorangi Road.

There must have now been close on to a dozen hogs which have been transported from Kents Road to opposite the church for re-cycling.  I can only say Holy hedgehogs!

Third Mensiversary

Today is Tuesday 25 March 2013

Wow! How time flies. It has been a full three months since we arrived in Wellington at midnight on Christmas 2013.

What has happened here since 25 February?

Family-wise, it was Clayton’s 42nd on 8 March, and our 44th wedding anniversary on 21 March. These events make one feel old.

And I can remember a few other “events”: the arrival of Our Stuff on the vessel Gloria was probably the biggest single event. We became acquainted with the G-Men Jacko and Beebs, the dawning of our first New Zealand autumn, and a tropical storm (Lusi) which blew itself out before she could arrive in Reikorangi.

Sophie’s Choice

She’s not really a Meryl Streep, in fact she’s a bit of a dog. Dare I say, she’s one whole lot of dog. Pure dog, but full of affection and emotions, second to none.

(Above): The eyes of Sophie’s Choice.

Some days ago, we noticed that Sophie was limping a bit on her back right-foot side. We suspected a thorn or bee sting at first, but after a day or so, it became evident that the cause was quite a bit more serious, and that the skill of the vet would be needed.

(Above): The WellPet Veterinary Centre is conveniently located in central Waikanae in Omahi Street.

Sophie was admitted early morning after nil per mouth since the previous evening. That afternoon Bianca collected a totally whoosy, drowsy and sleepy Sophie, with a tightly bandaged paw.

This morning the vet removed the bandages to expose the tender and pink nail foundation flesh, from which a new nail may/not grow again. Apparently, the canine nail consists of a central bundle of blood vessels and nerves that are informally known as the “quick,” which is surrounded by a layer of horny material called keratin.  The central quick is living tissue, while the brittle keratin is not.  Normally, there are five nails on each front foot, and four nails on each rear foot.  The front nails that are found slightly higher up the foot are called dew claws.

(Above): Clearly the outer toenail is missing, with a tiny toenail lump just visible in the pink flesh.

(Above): To discourage excessive licking and chewing of the foot and toe area, Sophie now wears a fashionable white sports sock. Not sure how effective this will be, but we will wait and see…

G-Sweep

Yesterday was spring-clean day at the home of the G-Men.

This involves a periodic cleaning out the goat-house, airing the premises in the warm air and then re-furnishing the bed and carpet to the tenants’ satisfaction. You will understand that this is probably over-personifying the animals slightly -- they do not really have carpet and a bed.

Clayton donned the regulation Health and Safety apparel, being gardening gloves and a painter’s dust mask. Special tools include the old kitchen broom, the dustpan and the 30 litre garden barrow. Then a deep breath and down on all fours (like a goat!).

Interested parties may want to know that this deep breath technique trick does not really work, but it is probably consolatory to the G-sweeper for the first 30 seconds or so. After that, he is faced with the full wrath of the ammonia urine stench. I am reliably informed that goat urine is excellent for opening the sinuses, but I’m sure that the average person will rather prefer a blocked nose!

The boarded floor of the G-house has 5mm slits which allows the bulk of the urine to leak through, but the straw quite obviously absorbs and retains quite a bit. This gives the place a pleasant “goat-y” smell. Pleasant, that is, if you are a goat.

I used two very valid excuses to send Clayton into battle in the straw, rather than doing it myself. (a) the fine dust particles are not good for my post-surgery recovering sinuses, and  (b) well…, actually there was only one good reason.

Ten minutes later, Clayton had fully loaded the wagon with smelly spent straw and the floor scraped clean and dry of traces of G-presence. I was watching from a safe breathing distance. Justin “Beebs” wasted no time and immediately clambered inside and stomped around on the wooden floor checking and smelling. It’s amazing how inquisitive he is – he needs to know what you’re doing and needs to smell absolutely everything!

The compound was left to air, while the straw was taken to the composting area and covered, in line with our cunning plan for this waste product. I am hopeful and positive that the vegetarian goat-poo should do wonders in the veggie garden.

Then back to the feed-store to collect sufficient straw for re-furnishing the G-house. I took the liberty of taking a small bag of hay as a treat for the boys as well. Nothing like an inauguration meal once in a while.

Back at Goat-hill, Clayton kitted up once more and spread the straw all over the floor of the G-house. It was good and clean and fresh. And soft, like new straw. I fully expected him to lie prone on the soft new mattress to “test it out”, but Jacko Jackson butted his way in, in his official capacity of Quality Control Inspector.

(Above): Michael “Jacko” Jackson

Jacko checked out the floor in a zig-zag pattern, finally showing his approval by actually eating some of their mattress/carpet, indicating that, if its good enough to eat, then it must be good enough to sleep and pee on as well! That’s goat psychology for you.

There was no need to panic about him eating himself out of house and home, as he was easily distracted from this bedtime snacking by the offer of handfuls of yummy hay.

Clayton, too, was a happier G-servant, ready for the next spring-clean in a fortnight. Off to the shower and deodorant!

All Greek to Me

Whilst I have never really been much of a successful gardener, nor have I gained much knowledge about plant propagation, seed and bulb types, or ideas about the proper care and maintenance of pot plants or flower beds, I am able to recognise attractive displays, both in formal gardens as well as in natural surroundings.

In the kitchen garden (more properly the jardin potager, as my French friends would say) there was a fairly dense border of low-growing leafy things. And that’s what they were for the months of December and January. I don’t know who planted them there, or whether they are a legacy from the previous owners.

At one point I tried to tidy the pathway bordering the j.potager, and I hacked the parts of these plants which overhung the cement walkway and dropped their rotten debris on the hard surface. The main plants apparently suffered no harm by the hacking process.

Then, in February, the plants started becoming more dense, and little buds started appearing in March. By the middle of March, we started seeing these purplish blooms appearing.

 

The interesting thing about this en masse display is that we did not water them at any time – natural rainfall has been their only supply of moisture. So, water-wise is good, even though they may be invasive and alien.

According to the garden handbook, they are probably something like Grecia Windflowers, or Greek Anenomes, known to the Latins as Anemone blanda.

I understand that we let them die down after flowering, cut the dry stems and dig up the tuberous material for re-planting? Any readers with good advice, please comment below, so that we can get them going next season.

Family Trees

Brynn spends quite a bit of time in self-imposed, self-regulated creativity tasks from face painting to dressing up dogs, to training dogs for gymkhanas (!) . After dark, indoor creativity includes drawing and colouring-in of a wide variety of subjects.

Last night, whilst everyone else was watching a Macbeth video (one of Tyler’s set works for this year), she busied herself in a corner with her pack of crayons and papers. This morning, our family tree appeared on the fridge door as a new art creation.

Quite apparently the dogs took pride of place in this line-up, although we should possibly not read too much into the sequence in which she displayed the individual pages.

Interestingly, the cats and dogs get to sit outside on the lawn, with Sophie in the sunshine. Clearly, females have curly (squiggly) hair and the boys get straight, mine quite obviously thinning.

 
If you look closely at the family tree display, you will see that Sophie’s left rear paw has her name inscribed on it. This is factually correct, as Brynn previously wrote all over her plaster cast on her foot. The bandages are due to be removed in three or four days time.

Saturday Stuff

Saturday turned out to be a pleasant sunny introduction to the weekend. While the girls busied themselves with processing a batch of Chartwell peaches, Clayton and Tyler tackled the much-dreaded clean-up of pine branches on the verge in Kents Road.

(Above) Peeling, slicing and dicing was step one. The peels and off-cuts served as a juicy refreshment for the G-Men of Goat Hill, with peach juice and saliva running down their chins.

(Above): The stages of peach processing, with the pots steaming up a peach storm

 
(Above): The smaller off-cuts were used in an aromatic spicy Peach jam on the left, while the larger slices were destined to become peach preserve. Canned peaches in jars, if you will. Nice and soft and juicy, fresh from the tree.

 
(Above): Canned and sealed hot in the jars: Four pots of peach preserve, and (front) one jar of peach jam.

While all this cutting and processing was going on in the kitchen, cutting of a very different sort was happening outside on the pavement verge. Readers will recall that the pine trees along the perimeter of the S-bend in Kents Road have been trimmed of the overhanging branches and stray low-level shoots. They remained on the ground as and where they were cut and fell to rest.

It was now a task of cutting the branches into handleable sized pieces for burning once the wood is dry enough. It must also be transported off the public property and inside the Chartwell grounds for temporary storage.

(Above): The ride-on mower with off-road trailer being loaded with branch trimmings, to be transported inside the property for storage. Its a huge job, seemingly never-ending.

(Above): A load entering the driveway, destined for the area just north of the veggie patch.

(Above): Brynn enjoying a ride with Dad.

(Above) The boys also helped the neighbour across the way, who was busy moving their (residential) bus from one paddock to a location closer to their house. Moving six tons of furnished bus with flat tyres is certainly no easy feat. The gang of bulls stand watching with amazement and great interest.

(Above): Tyler accompanies yet another load of cut branches to the storage depot.