Weblog of Lois and Dougie - the daily musings of a lady and her cat

Anyone who spent any part of the 1980s in Australia will have heard of Joh Bjelke Petersen, Premier of the State of Queensland who later narrowly escaped conviction for perjury and corruption with the help of a hung jury.  Bjelke-Petersen, the New Zealand-born son of a Danish Lutheran pastor, was one of Australia’s most colourful, but also corrupt, politicians of the the late 20^th century.  Joh’s wife Flo initially styled herself as the quintessential aussie housewife, with prints of her famous pumpkin scones recipes sold as teatowels, though she later went on to become a senator.  For those of us resident in Oz at the time, a frequent catchcry was “Joh must go, and so must Flo”.

 

While his corruption trial threw up evidence of selling land to friends for a cheap price, then changing zoning laws such that the land could be devolped, I recall his introducing controversial laws permitting the questioning and arrest of 8 or more persons together in a public place – an attempt to quash protest action.  Joh had a special branch of the police who took photos of protesters to keep on file.  He also declared Queensland in a state of emergency to circumvent laws that were preventing a tour of rugby from (then) apartheid-ruled South Africa.  But I will always remember Joh Bjelke-Petersen for his actions in response to a conference about to be held at the University of Queensland.  It was about gay and lesbian issues.  Joh stopped it from going ahead, saying that ¡”Gays and lesbians are lower than animals and should all go back to Sydney and Melbourne where they came from”.  I, staying with a (Queensland-born) gay friend, couldn’t help but laugh.

 

Many people have experience of collecting.  Children used to be encourged to collect stamps.  More recently they collected Pokemon cards.  I once met a man who took phots of police cars in all the countries that he visited.

As a traveller myself, I have come across the police in a number of countries.  I hasten to add, that in saying 'come across' I am not referring to being arrested or brought to police attention in any other negative way.  The police in Mexico city, I was aware, were quite happy to take bribes from people - in fact, a boyfriend of mine there once told me, "you can drink and drive in Mexico... if you have $20 pesos with you".  Since police salaries were notoriously low, one could hardly blame them.  President Vicente Fox was aware of this, and put in place a recriutment plan that not only barred applications from previously-employed officers, but included a significant raise in renumeration to help stamp out corrupt practices.

In france, I found the gendarmes seemed pretty content to puff on the Gauloises (cigarettes) while averting their eyes from commuters jumping barriers at Paris metro stations.  I kinda liked that non-chalance.  They were less non-chalant when I nearly missed a connecting flight at Charles de Gaulle Airport (Paris) once - I had heard my name called on the PA, could not understand the French , so asked a ground hostess for help.  She was no help at all, and it was in fact the gendarmes who explained to me that I was trying to get on the wrong flight and there was a plane waiting for me.  They ran with ma and my bags to the plane.

In Miami, Florida, I encountered the police in a different way.  I had noticed they had their own non-chalant modus operandum.  The only thing I ever saw them do was ride around on mountain bikes and stop at cafes for cappucini. Then, I had my passport  stolen.  I went to the South Beach police station to report the theft.  I was not impressed when they made it clear they didn't normally handle such matters, and that they had no reason to believe a passport had ever existed in the first place.  As I had not photocopied the first page, I would have to contact the embassy in Washington DC and ask them to fax a letter to the police.  They did so.

However, the letter had an incorrect date on it, probably a template had been used, and the operator had forgotten to change the date.  My letter was not accepted, I was reminded "we don't normally do this sort of thing", and I had to contact Washington again.  All this was stated to me whilst the officers stood in front of a mission statement on the wall claiming that their aim was to "serve and protect" the people of the South Beach area.

 

Apologies to anyone who may have been waiting to read the rest of this rather long article.

 

The title was a little provocative considering I actually think the police do a hellish job that many of us wouldn’t contemplate.  I had intended, however, to move on to some recent areas of concern with the police here in Aotearoa.  They’ve been hitting the headlines for some time now – first, a  young woman went missing after her distress call to the police was responded to by sending a taxi to Paihia Street in the suburb of Onehunga rather than Piha Road,  a bit like sending a taxi to Broadway, Hoboken, NJ (if there is one) instead of Broadway, New York, NY (so good they named it twice).  Then they told a rape complainant to walk to the nearest police station (in the middle of the night).  The latest transgression pushes the boundaries even further – over 300 police staff are being investigated over downloading and keeping on file pornography.  Public comment ranges from ”As long as it doesn¡’t affect their work” to “They are expected to uphold higher standards than others”  The most sensible in my mind is simply that ”Government computers are for government work, not personal use”.

 

But I do have one good thing to say about the police.  They found my car.  Stolen on Monday, located on Friday, a week from hell for me, and the Commissioner of Police, finally came up with a win-win.

We've probably all been there.  We've given someone the flick, but they still keep trying to win us back.  Or maybe it was you who just couldn't stop feeling attached?  Kylie breezily sang about it ('Can't get you out of my head'), while Robert Palmer went as far as to say, "Might as well face it your addicted to love".  Of course he could have been talking about being addicted to love in general, though he does sing in the same song, "You're mine, you're not your own". 

I was surprised recently to find myself on the receiving end of pleas to come back - but not from an erstwhile paramour, but from a company.  I had to take the tough decision to give up subscribing to digital TV, as money's too tight to mention, and I've been paying a lot of money for the sake of watching a couple of rugby matches each week.  When I rang to organise the disconnection, I was asked for my reasons, and stated quite plainly that  I simply couldn't afford Sky anymore.  About a week later, I got a letter from Sky, saying they were disappointed I had cancelled my subscription, and inviting me to give them a call to discuss having it back.  So far, so normal.  Companies including utilities such as electricity providers often have a department dedicated to 'customer retention' which basically means they try to get customers who have left them to come back.  So I wasn't too fazed when I got their letter.

But then I got another one.  This one was in an envelope with polar bears on it.  It began as follows: 

"Talk about bears with sore heads.

We were hoping to hear from you regarding your disconnections... but sadly we haven't.

Then - after a few consoling hugs - we realised we didn't mention the plethora of educational and informative viewing on our Sky digital Channels."

It went on to tell me all about channels like the Discovery Channel, in which I have never expressed any interest, let alone  subscribed,  After being signed off by the Director of Operations, the 'writer' says "There'll be bear hugs all round when we hear from you".

Who on earth writes this stuff, and why am I expected to fall for this codswallop?  Oh well, I had a good laugh over it.  But then......

Yep, you guessed it, they wrote again.  This time they helpfully included a picture of Sylvester Stallone to support their metaphor in "Well, seems like we're in danger of being K.O'd.  We were really hoping.... blah blah blah... Although time is running out, like Stallone, we'll stick it out 'til the bell."  What bell???  Now I was really feeling like I had a puppy-like ex I couldn't shake off.  Speaking of which, this was the last couple of sentences before the salutation:

"Why not call.......   No hard feelings.  We'll just shake it off and start again".

No, Sky Customer Service department, we won't.  You'll just have to accept you have an over-priced and at times unreliable service which is no longer wanted.  Go join Usher crying into his beer.

 

 

There seems to be a whole load of shooting going down down under.  A farmer finally walked free this week from court after spending two-and-a-half years defending himself on charges relating to shooting at an intruder on his farm.  Meanwhile, a trial continues for a drug addict who not only slashed two women with a samurai sword, but then drove to another city and fatally shot a man.

I was surprised when I got back to NZ to learn that gun ownership per capita is high in this country - my rose-tinted view of the old country while away always included a picture of a peace-loving society. 

There is a high proportion of gun ownership, but this is partly due to the high numbers of farmers.  It is much more efficient to kill a suffering animal rather than feed it interminally and not be able to make any money from it.  And since NZ has a rugged, pioneering (white) history, the males of the population do like a few rugged, masculine pursuits, such as hunting.  Hunting, I guess, is a blokey thing to do.

Speaking of blokes, there is another kind of shooting that's been going on round this way - one John Tamihere, a politician who likes to style himself as a 'red-blooded hetersexual bloke' has made shooting from the lip a sight (or should that be sound?) to behold.  The public's first indication of Tamihere's 'blokeness' came late last year when he pronounced to any who would listen that a man should have the right to come home at the end of the day, put his feet up and have a beer.  In the same statement he claimed that men should feel they have the right to leave the toilet seat up!  His comments caused a bit of amusement, but were seen as relatively harmless.

Now Tamihere has stepped up a gear, since comments he made to a journalist have come to light.  He states he is sick of being made to feel guilty about the Holocaust, referred to a gay colleague as a 'queer' and when complainiing about parliament, which in New Zealand has a woman Prime Minister, he referred to women as 'front-bottoms'.  I think the last time I heard anyone use the term 'front-bottom' it was a four-year-old who was speaking.

It is hard to work out whether this behaviour is just reckless and stupid, or is part of a double-bluff.  Tamihere isn't the first politician in any country to claim he thought his comments to a journalist were 'off-the-record'.  This is often a good way to get controversial views aired without taking responsibility for them.  But slagging off your colleagues, and using offensive language is not a good look for a politician.  And the most astonishing thing of all is that Tamihere's boss, who has the power to fire him, is (to use his words) a 'front-bottom'. 

I have no idea what this man was thinking of but by shooting from the lip, he has managed to do a fine job of shooting himself in the foot.

It was while Nelly Furtado's 'I'm like a bird' was playing at work one day that I first displayed a tendency to take the lyrics of popular music (not pop music, by the way) a bit too seriously.  Remarking to a colleague that birds are more than aware of where their homes are since they generally build nests, my collaegue responded, "It's just wee song, Lois!".  He was right, but I guess the linguist in me can't help but have a fascination with words.

Gwen Stefani, who I suppose to appeal to a generation of listeners unaware of the subjunctive case ('If I were... not If I was...), treads no new ground in fantasising about being rich, since she probably has more than enough money anyway.  Abba, a swedish pop group of the 70's for those weren't alive then, sang 'Money, money, money' lamenting how hard they worked "and still there's nothing left for me" (after paying the bills) even though by that time, a while after their phenomenal success with 'Waterloo', they were very rich indeed.

But far more risible than Abba and Gwen, is Usher crying into his beer over having to tell his girlfriend that, as he so delicately puts it, "my one on the side has one on the way". So Usher, the dirty love rat, has been cheating on his chick, and probably was going to continue to do so, but now a pregnancy has dashed his plans.  I can see a reponse to this (only from others as tragic as I am in taking all this so seriously) being divided down the lines of gender.  Chicks may well say, "serves you right, toerag!", while guys may be more inclined to think, "Bad luck,mate - shem you got caught!".

Actually, for the record, I quite like a lot of Usher's stuff, as I spent a year learning hip hop dancing, and intend to go back to classes in the near future.  But don't think you'll get any sympathy from me, Usher, over a 'confession' brought on through your scummy behaviour! (lol)

I find I look a bit of a fright (as my mother would say) in the mornings.  Luckily, being a chick, I can quickly put on a smear of lipstick and brighten up my sad and sorry face.  I find I don't have time to put on a whole lot of make-up in the morning, but lipstick is my salvation, as at least it looks like I've made some kind of effort.

I used to despise hair gel.  Mexican men seemed so awash with it I wondered whether it would be a good idea to do some kind of top-dressing spray of gel over the whole of the country, saving the guys of the country a little time in the mornings.  But I've come round to a new view of hair gel.

I'll never see it as adding anything sensual to hair - running my fingers through gelled locks ... yuk!  I find it strangely pleasant to see a man who isn't wearing any gel.  But I have figured out the place hair gel can have in a man's life.  One of my colleagues appears always to me, to have a bad case of what I call 'bed hair'.  Pushed around his head all over the place, he would look like he got out of bed to come to work all of about 5 minutes ago.  But, a slather of hair gel and D, looks a little bit groomed.

Perhaps hair gel is guy's version of lipstick!

All cultures have dress codes.  The strictest are thought to exist in Islamic cultures, the most liberal in the West.  There are a myriad of shades in between.

One day, while staying with a friend in Seville, Spain, I went out in attire casual enough to frame me as an aesthetically-challenged backpacker, because I just needed to pop down the road for some bread.  A woman saw me and looked me up and down with disdain, as though my appearance was an affront to her and humankind.  Spanish women generally dress smartly regardless of where they are going.

In Mexico city, you will seldom see anyone wearing a T-shirt.  The word for T-shirt, is playera, which is derived from the word for beach, playa.  Unless you are on a tennis court or in a gym, wearing a T-shirt in Mexico city might earn the same disapproving stares as I encountered in Seville.

A lively debate has arrived in one of the New Zealand newspapers after a single, professional woman in her thirties (who is a well-known newsreader) complained that there are no single men available in her age group.  Both men and women responded, some of whom felt strongly that kiwi women simply don't know how to dress.  A Brazilian man claimed "they don't know how to dress themselves"  while aCanadian lady commented "I have never seen such a level of personal sloppiness in women".

In this country, a more casual approach to dress in one of the ways in which the population have a laidback mentality.  Kiwi women do dress up for many reasons including the following:

!.  The workplace requires it.

2. It is appropriate for the occasion

3.  Because we just feel like it.

We dress dwon for reasons including the following:

1.  It is practical - manicured nails aren't much use down on the farm.

2.  We are active chicks.  Pretty nails never helped anyone do more reps in the gym

3.  Because we feel like it.

Kiwi chicks are individuals who enjoy dressing up for themselves when they wish, not just to go round to the corner shop.  I will leave the last word to Roz Clear, who wrote a letter to the editor of She magazine last year.

"...I've just returned to Wellington adn have been struck by the individuality of NZ women.   After being bombarded in many ports and villages by low cleavages, very short skirts and stilettos, it was refreshing to walk along Lambton Quay and see women of variety and style".

Thanks Roz.

 

 

To be continued - have to go back to work now!

Just read an interesting entry on one of my favourite blogs 'The people behind my eyes' which mentioned Internet stalkers.  I suppose because the author is a bit younger than me, she may be enjoying chatrooms, and the like, which I have never experienced.  I have however, had the odd pop-up appear while I am in an Internet cafe.  They generally say things along the lines of 'Hi, how are you?' or 'You have received a message from xyz - are you free to chat now'.  i agree with the afore-mentioned author that here is something a bit strange about these virtual people who want to be your friend.

Who on earth are they (if indeed they are people, not just messages generated by say, hackers and virus-planters)?  what would they want with me?  I recall when I tried internet dating once that there were 24-year-olds happy to bounce messages back and forth discussing nothing more exciting than the weather.  At first I was surprised that these guys were interested in me, but quickly realised they were just passing the time.  Can't say I have a lot of time to pass 'chatting' with anonymous dudes over the internet.  But maybe this is just a way to relax for some people, which I don't relate to at all.  But then, some people in my life have asked why I write a weblog.

Ah the joys of getting older (but not wiser).

The conviction and of foreign drug smugglers in Asian countries has been going on as long as long as westerners have been enjoying overseas holidays.  Anyone entering countries such as Singapore will receive plenty of literature informing them of the harsh attitude towards drugs (in such countries), and Nicole Kidman starred a while ago in a made-for-television film 'Bangkok Hilton' with a framed-for-smuggling-drugs-into-Thailand-derived plot.  Indeed, even Bridget Jones (in 'Bridget Jones' Diary: 2) did a stint behind bars.  That plot development was, ironically, one of the more plausible threads to the film, but I digress.

One of the latest in a long line of westerners condemned to death for drug-smuggling is australian Schapelle Corby.  At first I was a little skeptical over how much publicity this case is receiving in the media - Corby is perfect as a poster-girl for foreigners caught in the net of a foreign justice system which condemns to death convicted drug-smugglers.  Young, female, with a photogenic face, I found it hard not to wonder if she would have received so much attention had she been a balding 50-something male with plain looks.  But there is something, I will admit, a little different about this case.

Corby may be able to escape conviction and the death penalty if the Indonesian court is willing to accept evidence that has appeared from the unlikely source of an Australian on remand in the state of Victoria for charges including rape and burglary.  It is alleged that John Patrick Ford overheard two cellmates discussing Corby's case, and admitting they knew drugs had been planted in her luggage for the domestic segment (Brisbane-Sydney) of her journey.  The drugs were supposed to have been removed by co-operative baggage handlers in Sydney, but the connection was missed and the drugs, along with Corby, flew on to Bali. 

It would be a curious (though of course, very welcome for Corby's friends and family) turn of events should an overheard conversation prove the innocence of Corby. At least the Australian government seems to take Ford's testimony seriously, and, should they be able to proffer evidence of the sydicate Ford referred to operating in Australian airports, not only give her a 'get out of jail free' card, but be able to deal with the drug-smugglers before they put more holiday-makers in foreign jails. 

All this is assuming Corby is innocent. 

 

While thinking about this case, I recalled a notice I saw in a hostel in Bangkok.  It suggested visiting foreign nationals in Bangkok prisons, and possibly taking provisions to them such as soap.  I wasn't really sure how to react to this.  I didn't know enough about the individuals concerned to know if they were falsely-imprisoned.  Also, although I consider myself a compassionate person who helps friends and families in need if I can, I can't really say that my altruism rivals that of Sister Prejean (as played by Susan Sarandon in 'Dead Man Walking'.  There were other notes on that noticeboard too - one suggesting that those thinking of visiting consider their motives for doing so, for example.

Has any reader done such a thing?  How did it make you, and more importantly, those you visited feel?  Would you feel obliged to visit Schapelle Corby?

Look forward to hearing any views readers may have.

 

Some months ago, a contract for monitoring of my alarm services arrived in the mailbox.  It was with delight that I realised I had paid off the alarm system itself and could now opt out of having alarm monitoring.  My reasons for this were several.

For starters, I had been rung on a number of occasions to inform me my alarm had gone off, which neighbours could not verify even though they were at home.  Secondly, I accidentally set the alarm off myself last week, and no one called me to let me know.  I also received a statement with my new contract last year, which showed an implausible number of alarm incidents - far more than I believe ever happened.  It is, in fact, my belief that the monitoring company sets the sensors off themselves, then ring up to see if the customer will have a patrol sent round to the property (which is the other way they make their money out of you).

After some discussion with I my flatmate, I decided not to sign the contract, and cancelled the direct debit from my bank account.  I was therefore surprised when I was called yesterday to be told, surprise surprise, an alarm sensor had gone off.  I refused to have a patrol sent, and called the company back later to ask why they were attempting to supply me with a service that they were not under contract to supply to me.

To my amazement, the gentleman who took my call tried to tell me the paperwork sent to me was a special offer, and that the service could only be cancelled by phone or in writing by the customer.  I am not sure what, about no contract being in existance, he didn't understand.  If I turned up to work after a temporary contract had lapsed, I would have no right to be paid. 

Last night I got home and there was no evidence of a bread-in, and the neighbours had not witnessed anything suspicious.  I think if anyone witnessed suspicious behaviour, it was me!