Appropriate Acronym

Out of habit and a certain tendency toward masochism, I always search the local news websites for 'leaky'; and this morning that resulted in an advertising link to a website that would explain the implications of the FAP.
What?

No, really.
I followed it and discovered that this is the chosen acronym for the Financial Assistance Package which is the latest Government scheme to make leaky home owners morally and financially responsible for the state of their homes. Basically : New Zealand suffers from a huge leaky home problem because the Government undermined the safety checks in the building industry and the local Councils who earn a great deal of money from the inspection processes legally required in the construction of a house failed hopelessly in those processes; so now the Government plans to pay 50% of the amount it will cost to fix the problem, the Councils will pay a further 25% and it is for the homeowner to find the rest. Oh, and you get the money AFTER the house has been fixed, so you can imagine the builders lining up for that bargain; that's if you can convince the bank to lend you 25% of the total cost of fixing a leaky home with that loan  being predicated on - wait, let me think - oh yes, a LEAKY HOME. Good luck with that one.
So all in all, given the colloquial meaning of FAP, perhaps it is an apt acronym after all.

It's 11.11 on 11.11.11!

Well, it is in New Zealand, and so, it just has to be done!

A small oversight

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/newzealand/8031618/New-Zealand-scraps-ridiculous-road-rule.html
New Zealand drivers drive on the left, in much the same way as the UK and Australia. New Zealand does however have a unique road rule which states that the vehicle turning right has the right of way. Think about that one.It leads to a number of surreal situations, such as the one I always face when going from my home to the local shopping centre :

I'm in the blue car, wanting to turn left. The oncoming white car wants to turn right and he has the right of way; but obviously can't turn right if there's a car behind me that is going straight; so this means I  have to check my rear-view mirror before turning left; and you can imagine the potential for disaster here.

The rule apparently dates from 1977 and is based on a rule introduced in Victoria (Australia) which helped cope with trams, of which there are a severe lack in New Zealand (except one in Christchurch), so go figure.

So as you would expect, this change is going to have to be preceded by a massive information campaign with very clear cut-off points. And what date is New Zealand going to be carrying out this change?

April 1st, 2012. Yep, that's right. An entire Government department failed to spot that introducing a major change of this nature on this date might just Not End Well, and it was left to the Transport Ministers' private secretary Monique Waayer, to ask the question, "Are we confident that April Fool's day is the right date?".

Massive facepalm!

Is it just me...

or are the hackers getting lazier? I mean, really. I only occupy them for twenty minutes or so on the phone explaining that I have no computer literacy whatever and let them talk me through all the stuff they need me to do in order for them to mine useful stuff off my computer before going "But does this work on a Mac?" or "which IP address is the infected one; we have 17 computers in the house - what do you mean you don't know which IP address it is, how the hell are you monitoring it if you don't have an IP address?"; which I think is enough fun on both sides.
Now they're sending me emails inviting me to log on to obscure sites for support; because that's easier than having to figure out how to hack in when you have an obstinate, obtuse and obfuscating user on the phone. Please, it really does match up with the joke about the lazy Irish hacker who emails you asking you to delete all your own files and send them your credit card information because they can't be bothered.

Zombie Cat

And so, it being school holidays, Honourable Son was up late killing things in horrific ways on the computer, accompanied by his faithful cat, Alley. Because said cat is black, when Honourable Son caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, he looked down to discover one of his worst nightmares was coming true.

ZOMBIE.....CAT.......OOOOOOOZING............BRAAAAAAAAIIIIIIN!!!!!!!!!!

There was this huge bubble of white stuff exuding from the cat's head. The cat, in fairness, did not look menacing, more puzzled. Honourable Son finally managed to move his legs, went and got some paper towel, and tried to collect the brain, at which point it became clear that it was not, in fact, brain, but pus.
I'm impressed with his presence of mind. He held the cat still and squeezed his head until it stopped oozing, then he hurtled upstairs and fetched the Dettol and dabbed the cat's head with that. Apparently EEEEEWWWWWW does not begin to cover it (this from someone who had to stop slicing trolls in half and splattering blood all over the landscape in order to de-pus the cat).
He gave me chapter and verse when I got home from work the next day, while he was getting frustrated with the Internets. To get his mind off things, I offered to drive him to the dairy for a Coke; and when we got back we were greeted in the driveway by a cat who now appeared to be oozing strawberry yoghurt from his head. He hurtled in and dropped his Coke (get your priorities right, I always say) while I hurtled upstairs and got witch hazel, came back for paper towel and met him in the lounge with said cat in his arms.
He's good with animals, obviously, because Alley patiently sat there and purred while we alternately dabbed and squeezed till what was coming out was in fact watery blood and it had largely stopped. At this point I dabbed on witch hazel, and the cat departed to find out if there was food in his bowl. Clearly at some point he had been in a fight, and got a scratch on his head; as is the way with cats the skin closes over while the scratch festers beneath.
Honourable Son, having kept up a nonstop running commentary on how disgusting it all was and how the original explosion had looked like cream and the later ooze like strawberry ice-cream, observed at this point that he was going to be suffering from some serious food issues for the rest of his life.                  
I just phoned home to find out how the cat was doing and Honourable Son tells me Alleys' head exploded again - this time from a different scratch.
Wonder if they make cat-sized crash helmets?

Hmm. Cyclists.

It's winter, it's New Zealand, my daughter is past 12 and so it follows, we have netball at the AMI Centre in Takapuna on a Saturday morning.
If I ever find myself somehow holding the responsibility of building a netball centre, there are a few things I will focus on.
Enough space between courts for anyone over the size of a bulemic dormouse to make their way courtside and back.
Time displays that do not ensure emergency calls to another generation of Auckland neck massage therapists.
Weather protection.
Parking that actually takes into account the possible numbers of netballers wanting to be in the same space at the same time.
So. The parking is diabolical, and I don't even contemplate it; I pull into the convenient layby, drop my daughter, and go and park in Australia and walk back.
Okay, that's a slight exaggeration.
Walking back this last week, I looked over my right shoulder and mouthed astonishment at the carpark madness. As I did, a lady exited the carpark and aimed for the entrance of the Poenamo Hotel, directly over the road, where a few parking spaces might still exist. She had to dart pretty smartly over the west-bound bit of road, because the lights had changed; she did that and then braked sharply because a couple of cyclists were east-bound and crossing the entrance of the Poenamo. No biggie, they were the only traffic.
Except they obviously were startled, and swerved, though they didn't need to.
She (as it turns out) carried on cycling. He did not.
The motorist pulled into the entrance of the Poe, stopped, wound down her window and started to apologise. Which is as far as she got.
All I could think was - you kiss your mother with that mouth?
He unleashed the most foul-mouthed diatribe on her I have ever heard; and I've been to Wembley, people.
At a point he had his hands inside her window, threatening to 'f***ing smash you, you f***ing b**ch, you cow, you ..."
I had my camera and my phone in my pocket (I'm such a netball mum) so I pulled them out, pointed out I could use them both at once (they're SO clever, these Japanese!) and also told him that (a) he and his partner were never in danger and he was overreacting (b) he was using language highly inappropriate for a venue hosting sporting events for children anywhere between 5 and 18 and (c) he was a total douche. He informed me that his partner was f***ing pregnant; so I suggested he ride after her and guard her. Luckily, we both saw the wisdom of this course of action.
Poor lady was shaking like a leaf; but was planning to park up anyway, so she did not accept my suggestion of me driving her anywhere, or getting a sugary drink of some sort, which I think is what you do for people in shock.
Way to garner motorist sympathy, Mr Cyclist.

And on a hilarious footnote : http://shelleytherepublican.com/2007/06/21/cyclists-the-two-wheeled-menace.aspx

So, on the theme of Annoying Things that Annoy me

..here is one of my favourites.

Given the two facts that motorists are meant to be keeping their eyes on the road ahead and that the Western mind is inclined to read down from the top of the page, I do not know WHO came up with the notion that the word order in road markings should be reversed, so that you end up blinking stupidly over the bonnet and wondering where the "Give" is in "Give Way". The answer is : under your tyres.
Why do they bother doing an eye test for a New Zealand road licence, when clearly the common condition is supposed to be shortsightedness?
Or do they assume, in these days of the Nanny State where Big Brother wil do your thinking for you, that we only have enough mental capacity to process the meaning of one word at a time?
In which case the road marking outside the Corelli School says it all.

Child

That

Mind