Wednesday, April 23, 2008

See you later

Hello all! I have been terribly slack in writing on my blog - that is because I am writing furiously on my book! For the moment, at least, writing about my characters seems so much more interesting than writing about myself, so shall retire the blog for a wee while.

I shall be back when I have finished the book, or when the realisation that I have written 300 pages of utter crap sets in - which ever comes first.

Shall still be visiting my blog-pals, so do all behave.
Thanks to all my dear, dear readers.
Mrs Smith

Friday, April 11, 2008


Yesterday, I was on my way to Mahadeo's Indian food warehouse (a wonderful source of spicy delights - my only reservation in commending it is that last time I did, I was inundated with emails from people in India wanting to know if I wished to buy bulk-lots of saris and pashminas. 'No' to the the first, a big 'hell-no' to the second. Pashminas are for the elderly and the mentally infirm. I am definitely not the former)... My goodness. That sentence is so long I have lost track of where I am. In any case, I took some photos along the way.

I adore this building:

The entire exterior is studded with these wee cameos - the edifice looks like a giant Wedgewood plate. I wish I had thought to get the street number, so I could find out its history. Perhaps the cameos are likenesses of the Queen, and the building thus decorated to celebrate her coronation? Pure speculation, I will endeavor to find out more.

Nothing much to comment on here; I just thought the mobile death-traps looked very pretty lined up liked this:

An oddly augmented street-sign:

I Spy With My Little Eye

Have you ever heard of a 'Track-Stick' before? I hadn't, and neither had the young wife of a much older and wiser spouse, until she found one hidden in the recesses of her handbag.

The website suggests that these devices are a grand way to keep track of favourite fishing sites, or to see the normal routes of one’s day (snore!); furthermore, "the possibilities are endless and our users are always finding new and interesting uses for the Trackstick." Keeping tabs on a wife’s whereabouts is apparently one of those uses.

Those with clear consciences would have the right to feel indignant upon finding one of these hidden about their person – but those with less spotless scruples (such as the Young Wife) may consider not mentioning their find at all, but instead leaving it with a trusted pal for a few hours while they do their boyfriend errands.

Propositioning your son's friend – somewhat disgusting. Having the son's friend confide this to his girlfriend’s mother (who tells everyone else, and all laugh and laugh at the aged propositioner's expense) – priceless.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008


What beautiful, crisp autumnal mornings are upon us now! I was walking happily, a gay spring in my step, breathing the freshly carbonated traffic fumes, and thinking all was well with the world, when a car drove past at speed.
The passenger bellowed at me.
"You're going the wrong way – K Rd's that way."

For those uninitiated with Auckland's streets, K Rd (as it is casually referred to, Karangahape Road if addressed formally; my foreign readers might like to attempt its pronunciation), is known for little more than its preponderance of night-time prostitutes. Thus, it was clear that, far from being helpful, the bellower was actually being very rude. (One wishes to point out here that my attire - a fetching knee-length trenchcoat, and jeans – didn't merit the comment; the only skin exposed to view were my hands and face, and it's possible I had my hands in my pockets).

It was very odd. I recall another time, when I was a teenaged Miss Smith, when a bus of hooligans drove past, and one shouted out the window, to much laughter from his fellow primates, "Show us where the axe gotcha." The phrase is embedded in my head forever, as I repeated it to myself for some moments, until I fathomed what on earth was meant by it.

Men think women are hard to understand, but really! Shouting vulgar things at strangers who are minding their own business seems singularly odd. Can anyone explain?

Wednesday, April 02, 2008


I heard some interesting advice yesterday. Someone was complaining about a woman in her husband's office; the woman worked under the husband, but it seemed clear she had intentions of wanting to work on top of him as well. And perhaps behind, to the side, on a desk, and whatever else. That's not surprising, or necessarily a problem –these things happen, but the problem was that the husband was flattered by the intention.

Mrs N, much older and wiser, asked, "Does this woman come up in conversation much?"
"All the bloody time!" was the heated reply.
"Good," said Mrs N, "then they haven't slept together yet. Invite her over for dinner."

The suggestion was met with disbelief. Mrs N remained serene.
"She won't be able to resist the invitation – she will want to see what she thinks she's going to get her common little hands on. Be utterly pleasant and charming, but cool. Once your husband sees her in the context of his family and home, he'll see how out of her league he is, and nothing ruins an infatuation like a dose of reality."

The tactic is brilliant, but does require a cool head. Not sure I'd have the guts to do it. My strategy is far more rudimentary – I have told Mr Smith that if he ever strays, I shall set the house on fire.