The overwhelming focus of this year’s Mystery Creek Fieldays seems to be money-saving techniques for dairy farmers.

Unsurprising given that about ten years’ ago, back around the time where most every sheep or crop farm in Mid Canterbury was having all its trees uprooted, every fence pulled out and being ultimately levelled to make way for a dairy conversion, I recall posing the query to one of the aforementioned farmers: “Do you guys reckon you know what you’re doing – I mean, do you honestly reckon there’s always going to be this much demand for dairy?” It was at that point I recall losing confidence in my line of questioning and wrapping it up with a few choice key words such as ‘potential market overstimulation’, ‘massive commodity overproduction’, ‘flooded market’ and so forth.

The response, coming from behind one of the thickest hand-rolled cigarettes I’d ever seen was an unyielding: “Progress, Timbo, it’s all just a big ol’ bucket of progress.”

Yeah, well, evidently, your ‘bucket of progress’ had some holes in it. After peaking a few years back, dairy farmer’s payouts have been dwindling ever since. Now Fonterra are taking steps to cut their own overheads in a, supposed, effort to better treat the farmers/shareholders/owners who provide the company’s lifeblood…

Fieldays. It’s the most ridiculous fusion of words I have ever seen. ‘Field’ might be a legitimate word, but ‘ays’ certainly isn’t; conversely ‘days’ is fine, it’s ‘Fiel’ in that case that doesn’t sit right with me. ‘Fielddays’ would be acceptable but then of course you’d be compelled to hyphenate the double-d thus, ‘Field-days’ – which, funnily enough, is the only version that the computer doesn’t underline.

…Then there’s my father who, incidentally, while everyone else was undergoing their beloved dairy conversions, all jumping aboard the milk-product train which in their opinions was going to carry on forever but which in reality was set to derail a decade or so down the track, quietly went about maintaining his sheep and crop farm. Everyone around him did the dairy thing; he maintained sheep and crop. Their farms are barren; he still has trees on his land.

Dairy Farming in New Zealand, in my opinion, the way so many tired and fed up farmers hurried to board the bandwagon all those years ago based around the promise of hard work coupled with high returns, also the way this extensive style of farming is doing its best to ruin the land and tributaries, was always destined for failure.

As predicted, flooding of the dairy market was inevitable and now, out of respect for the fallen, any ‘crying over spilt milk’ puns shall be avoided.

Thank you.

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Dear Ray Firmer

Photography by Deidry Cow

He spent much of that morning on the telephone to his parents, gleaning information through his father, becoming irritated with his mother. He was twenty-one years’ old, yet she treated him as if he were eighteen less than that; Kahn understood she only had his best interests and overall well-being at heart but sometimes, she drove him utterly insane. After the phone marathon he moved into his conservatory to consider what he knew. Despite cloud cover taking out the sun the heat inside the little glass room was intense. Kahn gazed out at his vegetable garden and tried to forget about scornful Koreans and threats of war, and just tried to enjoy his place in the world. The air was so fresh; God, he loved it out here. He opened the small sliding door on the west side of the glass enclosure and stepped onto his green – not yellow like some in the city but vibrant green – lawn. Turning to the right he smoothed a patch of soil in his garden which had been ripped up by birds looking for insects, checked that all the seedlings were flourishing, realised that the area the birds had cultivated was in fact his row of carrot seed, cursed their thrashing beaks, and just as the night before, took a stroll around the property. It was becoming something of a habit, he thought mirthfully, appreciating that as habits went, he could do a lot worse. As he walked Kahn pondered the potential for paid work in this area: he supposed that if he advertised in a local paper the chances of picking up some odd landscaping jobs shouldn’t have been too narrow but for now, with just under 10k remaining in his bank, the issue was far from urgent – although how long would ten thousand dollars last with regular outgoings such as mortgage, rates, electricity and phone bills? He had no idea. He was new to this game.

That night he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the six o’clock news report, nevertheless the TV went on, as usual, at 5.58. After enduring advertisements for a few vacuous American sitcoms, the ominous music signifying the News programme began. Kahn found himself wrestling with a mild case of nervousness, until he saw the melancholic expression of the typically impassive lead anchor, where a mild case of nerves became fully fledged anxiety.

“On Three News tonight, our main story relates to the North Korean attempt, at global domination, and colonisation.

“We cross live now to member of the UN Security Council, Carol Hives, good evening, Carol..?”

“Yes Michael, good evening.”

“Now, Carol, I’m sure I am not the only person who wants to know … Simply … Can North Korea, do this?”

“Yes, that’s a very good question, Michael, and you’re right, you won’t be the only one wanting to know this … The answer, from a legal standpoint anyway, is, no, they can’t.”

“Right, Carol, thank you, so, can you maybe shed some light, on, firstly, why, they are doing this, and, secondly, how, are they getting away with it?”

“Well, Michael, the why, comes down to a matter of necessity, do they need the vast expanse of land, for which they are asking? And the answer, after taking into account current, and potential, population, et cetera, is a resounding, no … And I think, or should I say, the UN thinks, this high level of agitation, we are seeing, from North Korea, goes far past any necessities, goes past any logical reasoning, no Michael, this was most definitely, a vengeance-fuelled attack, although vengeance for what, we are, as yet, in the dark.”

“OK, and the how, Carol?”

“And as for the how, well, let me tell you, Michael, they are not getting away with it, not legally, at least…”

“Alright, so if not legally, how about practically?”

“Well, that’s the interesting thing, Michael, after two monumental world wars, throughout history, it would now seem, that the world, or at least, the world leaders, have more or less, learned their lesson, which is to say, the entire world, appear so terrified of embarking on another world war, that even for those typically belligerent nations, Iraq, Russia et cetera, common sense does seem to be prevailing and thus, they are holding back any physical retaliation.”

“And Carol, you believe this uncharacteristic non-belligerence is, in the hopes of, sparing the world, from another war?”

“That is the UN’s belief, yes.”

“Also Carol, if I could quote you, you mentioned earlier that North Korea are ‘not getting away with it, not legally at least’…

“And I maintain that … Korean leaders will soon be standing trial for wartime atrocities against -”

“But from what I hear, Carol, they’ve already launched, an air attack on Washington DC, and are still, in the process of, making demands, so please tell me, Carol, how is this to be considered, ‘not getting away with it’?”

“Yes, fair question, Michael, but let me assure you, we are not taking this unprovoked attack on the world’s, most powerful nation, lightly.”

“Alright, Carol, and what, if anything, are the United States, doing about this, ‘unprovoked attack’?”

“Well, given the calibre, and volatile nature, of this skirmish, they have been advised to refrain from any potential retaliation, for fear that to return fire on North Korea, who, for the record, Michael, have since been formally credited for the attack, would be as good as throwing down a declaration of war – of world war, for that matter, which, as previously mentioned, is something everybody, is keen to avoid.”

“’World war’, though Carol, isn’t that jumping the gun, so to speak?”

“I don’t think so, Michael, not when one looks at global feeling towards, North Korea.”

“So, just how strong is, North Korea’s military?”

“Right, they were recently, officially, assessed as being the fourth largest in the world, but of course, as we have all heard, have since collaborated with the Chinese military, who were also said to be among the top, five, big guns, but even before this amalgamation of powers, it was discovered, that North Korea had amassed far greater numbers, thanks to a largely indiscriminate conscription programme, than we previously had knowledge of, and therefore, through sheer numbers alone, may have already ranked somewhere in the top two … But it really is hard to say, Michael.”

“But you are confident, Carol, that with the Chinese military merger, they are definitely, number one?”

“I don’t know if I would consider a nation’s military strength, reason to hand about rankings of ‘number one’ and so forth, but yes, Michael, they are now, without a doubt, the world’s greatest military power.”

“That was Carol Hives, of the UN Security Council, with her, somewhat disturbing, views on the recent North Korean conflict – thank you Carol.”

“Thank you Michael, goodnight.”

 

Reckon I must be the only person over the age of twelve who still regularly drinks Milo.

Had one yesterday. Let me tell you, I was aghast. There was absolutely no difference in flavour to how it always tastes. Now, this might be on account of the fact that the Milo I used was scooped from a two kilogram tin of the stuff purchased several years earlier, I don’t know.

Lecretia Seales is dead. She died a few days back of ‘natural causes’ – in other words, she was given a larger dose of morphine than her heart could handle. That’s beautiful. All she really wanted to do was make a statement, and she did just that. The problem remains, the legislation of assisted death/suicide still appears on course to be denied, which is bollocks, so I don’t know.

As New Zealand citizens we ought to be so proud of our children – the precocious scamps are embarking on life so young these days. Girls are now having babies at fifteen, boys having sex at fourteen and the most impressive thing, we’re producing murderers by fourteen and, yes, even thirteen years’ old. Spectacular. Kiwis ought to be so proud of that one I think. I don’t know.

Navy ships continue to ‘rescue’ buttloads of – sorry, boatloads of illegal immigrants off the coast of Libya and offer the stricken souls refuge in Europe, further promoting the act of immigrant trafficking thereby rendering the description ‘illegal immigration’ something of a misnomer I think. I don’t know.

A digger driver has been buried by a landslide at a Waikari lime quarry, reigniting talk of increasing workplace safety for workers of dangerous occupations. Here’s the thing about that though: in order for those so called, dangerous occupations – forestry workers, miners, quarry workers etc – to be free from their sinister tag of death they would need to employ maybe twice the staff to perform tasks at perhaps half the speed and the entire operation would therefore become unproductive. That is why not everything can viably meet OSH approval, so I don’t know.

Some career choices are deadly. On that note, Jerry Collins’ recent death shocked the world. Fair enough, he was a great man and an even better All Black.

That much I do know.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Noah Thyme

Photography by Tua Mitch

 

In this modern era where everybody appears to be fascinated with the lives of everybody else, perhaps expectedly, reality television has come out the winner on the day.

With no actors to pay and minimal scripting to be written, from the producers’ point of view reality television is a cheap, easy and presumably quick way to throw together a show: simply find a bunch of good-looking, outspoken idiots who have difficulty controlling their tempers, who thrive on emotional tension and who are prone to meltdown, put them before a camera and give them an array of senseless tasks to carry out, and, cut.

Sounds brilliant, and if that was really how it worked – people watching other people going about silly tasks in their natural capacities – it’d be great, wouldn’t it?

No, it wouldn’t. In fact it would be dead boring – or so television producers seem to think – which is why they feel it necessary to step in and change reality to ‘reality’.

Of course you have your X Factors, your Idol franchises, your Survivors, your Big Brothers, your Bachelors, Bachelorettes and so forth although in fairness, I think we already knew they were staged and scripted, didn’t we?

No, it’s the likes of Ice Road Truckers or, to a lesser extent, Storage Wars/Hunters, where as a viewer, regarding the former you actually do expect to see the hardships of an openly pious middle-aged Canadian cowboy in his big old Western Star towing across the northernmost reaches of the planet a forty foot curtain-side semi-trailer laden with a month’s supply of food for the citizens of Yellowknife or something, or regarding the latter, you might be genuinely excited about seeing a bunch of eccentric Americans vying for ownership at a storage locker auction and revelling in the crap they find therein; yet these so called reality shows have truck drivers doing and saying things that you can be damn sure they would not do or say if they had the choice, we have idiots at an auction acting like petulant dick-wads then after they’re done bitching and moaning about nothing of significance but filling a good ten minutes of air time, those dick-headed producers have them finding things in the lockers that must surely lead a viewer to question the shows authenticity, but for the benefit of the person standing behind the camera, that’s how it has to go.

Cops, Cops Uncut, Road Cops, Gold Coast Cops, Police Ten 7, Police Stop!, Motorway Patrol, and any others I might have missed, I fear are going the same way. From what I’ve witnessed the majority of these shows start off alright if that’s what you’re into – for someone with an interest in heavy vehicles/road transport, Ice Road Truckers used to be a brilliant watch and dare I say even the Storage Wars of days gone by was worth a look – but inevitably, they soon become over-produced, ridiculously conflict-filled and tension-ridden pieces of television-wasteland that no longer even focus on the topic alluded to by the show’s title; instead becoming remarkably akin to every other bloody soap opera drama on TV.

What is reality though? Is it actually what we live, or is it the manner by which we’re instructed to live?

Dude, I don’t even know anymore.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Rail T Shoe

Photography by Scrap Ted Chyte

Of all the controversy incited over the years by so called right wing blogger, confirmed mouth-breathing, bottom-feeding, cretinous creature, Cameron Slater, his recent attempt to contract a computer hacker to commit illicit deeds is up there with the best of it.

This outspoken pillock who has become something of a cult figure in New Zealand for his ability to make outlandish claims about people he’s never met while hurling around his misdirected and sometimes erroneous abuse from the safety of his computer screen; also for the ability to publish on his website hurtful and often scurrilous content which in many cases does nothing more than reveal this slothful blob of repulsion as the gutlessly greasy piece of Whaleoil scum that he truly is.

This piss poor excuse for a man first became known to me when, in the hours following a Greymouth car crash which left a 26-year-old backseat passenger dead, Mr Slater was seen to publish an article under the heading: ‘Feral dies in Greymouth, did world a favour’…

Supposedly he’s a political blogger, apparently right wing orientated, reportedly he’s a National supporter; yet all I ever hear is how this shit-bag’s underhanded tactics have resulted in someone else being dragged through the mud of public opinion.

…To refer to any deceased person in any part of the country in any kind of derogatory manner is nothing short of brainless, although according to shit-for-brains Slater it didn’t really matter – it was only Greymouth. Granted, his intention is to write ‘provocative’ content but slagging off the dead – dude, really..?

The man is a disease. Watching Jesse Ryder twice beat him in the boxing ring was nice although, admittedly, in either fight I recall being at a loss as to who I should be backing – in my opinion each man is as big a douche-bag as the other – so no. It’s about time somebody played that dick-wad at his own game and spread some shit over his big flabby face. Word is he began his ‘blogging’ career years ago as a way to remedy his own crippling depression. Yeah, nice one. Therefore now, instead of him being depressed, he simply causes the depression of others with his tactless writing.

Here you go, Cameron. Let’s even the stakes. You sir, are nothing but a disgusting, fat, vile, slovenly, vomit-inducing, bile-rendering, pathetically repelling, useless piece of septic waste.

Oh and, I hear death threats aren’t beneath you either so: the sooner you…

Come on. Really. Could anyone be that much of a shithead?

Huh, apparently so.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Shay Ted

Photography by I Ron-Ich

Winter is unquestionably the season of my smoke alarm discontent.

Not being terribly fearful by the cold I am not the kind of person who ensures his house maintains a steady 16-18 degrees overnight; oh no, the inside of my lounge has been known to dip as low as 5 on those icy winter mornings…

Which brings us back to smoke alarms; unlike me batteries don’t do so well in the cold. Indeed, batteries are known to become withdrawn and depleted by the cold; therefore it’s generally around 3 a.m. that the infernal mid-winter beeping drags me from my slumber.

There are four smoke alarms in my house all fitted out with 9 Volt ‘Heavy Duty’ Eveready batteries. One of them is beeping, that much I know. Once I’m up, out of spite I usually ignore the beep for the first while. As the morning begins to warm, of course, the battery appears to find some energy and the alarm stops beeping. I go about my day as normal. It’s not until that night that I am reminded of the low battery, smoke alarm issue.

The problem also is that a smoke alarm’s low battery beep is ubiquitous – it can be heard all throughout the house but one never can readily decide from what room it’s originating.

This game of early morning alarms might continue for up to a week before I track down the offending beep and fit a replacement ‘Heavy Duty’ battery.

Yes, ideally I’d replace all four batteries at a given time each year – ideally. I am much too frugal for that; which I guess explains my usage of substandard batteries to begin with.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Eve R Reddy

Photography by Uri B Ping

Who else but the revered New Zealand Government could bring themselves to pay thirty thousand dollars for a door?

Reports have it that a simple door providing division between two rooms – speculation is it’s so Labour party members aren’t continually facing intimidation from their National counterparts – is costing the taxpayer thirty grand.

Supposedly this door is made of pretty expensive timber though so, you know.

Seriously, if there is one NZ institute who like to ensure they always pay top dollar for goods or services that a layman would know is not even worth middle-dollar, it’s our ministers. These guys somehow find single pairs of underpants worth almost a hundred dollars, taxi fares worth thousands of dollars, airfares worth tens of thousands, hotel rooms worth more tens of thousands; company cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars…

You’re alright, guys, taxpayer’ll get it.

On top of this travesty, somehow our Government found a way to spend millions of dollars fixing up some high country abode when I know a team of builders who would have done the same renovation over a long weekend for a couple of boxes of beer, also the knowledge that the favour would one day be returned.

Minister for Economic Development, Steven Joyce, is running one hell of a misnomer with that ‘economy’ tag he wears so proudly – reportedly spending $70 thousand on convivial signage out the front of MBIE headquarters; Minister of Earthquake Recovery, Gerry Brownlee went through a stage early in Christchurch’s rebuild where as much money as he burned through nothing really appeared to change and in fact, one might have assumed that he was following the advice of Prime Minister John Key and spending his days literally ‘throwing cash at the problem’; Minister of Transport, Simon Bridges, is no better, somehow finding ways to pay approximately ten times the value of cars, buses and well, just about every-bloody-thing.

I almost understand the desire of a politician to throw around cash, to make it rain and such forth – shit, when your wallet is continually filled with a seemingly endless flow of money why would you not? – although being one of the people funding this frivolous expenditure; this outright wastage of the nation’s money, honestly, I don’t think I’m alone in my exasperation.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Phru Val Luss

Photography by Polly Tish-Onn

He flicked on the TV at 6 a.m. to catch the morning news broadcast, and the possibility of further developments in this most recent North Korean horror story.

Kahn quickly noted that the young woman reading the story was doing little to capture the magnitude of its content, breezing through it with the levity of a schoolgirl.

“A very good morning to you, and welcome to the Morning News Block for November third, two thousand and thirteen … Our top news story this morning, North Korea have set a date.

“Broadcast to the world just hours ago, in the form of a bold ultimatum, it seems North Korean military leaders have demanded, full and complete, control and leadership, of the world’s land mass, and by extension, the population therein.

“And as per this document, read over international television and radio, as earlier broadcast, only hours ago, should, the North Korean military come up against interference, or, in fact resistance of any kind or, or if they feel full cooperation is not being given, in this audacious takeover, they will not hesitate to, quote, use force, against their latest foe, the United States, suggesting, that this tiny Asian nation, uphold the belief, that the United States of America, are ultimately in control of, the entire western world.

“The rest of the world, that is to say, everything, excluding, North Korea, and China, who seemingly, have already pledged their unity to this, intended, indiscriminate supplant, reportedly, has until the first day of the New Year, two thousand and fourteen, to decide what action it’s going to take, and how it chooses to react, to this apparent, crisis, before the North Korean military, start, quote, using force.

“And while this simple morning newsgirl is unclear what exactly is meant by, ‘using force’, one thing is for certain, North Korea certainly know how to make a fuss, however farcical it may seem to the rest of the world.

“This is Miranda Gold, wishing everyone a pleasant morning and a great day to follow – more news in a few minutes.”

He turned it off and tried to bring the real essence of the story, the harsh sobriety that the newsreader had so clearly missed, to the fore of his mind: North Korea didn’t just want a few extra blocks of land to accommodate their swelling population, they wanted the world. What’s more they were demanding the world; he had no doubt in his mind that they were serious and he knew any nation who took them lightly, would surely do so at their own folly. The broadcast gave the impression that North Korea as a whole felt aggrieved or mistreated, but the things they were claiming to do and the way they were intending to go about it, was disgraceful. To stand up and inform the world that a takeover at their hand was imminent and that everyone was expected to simply capitulate on their terms was ludicrous. The only thing Kahn could think they might have been hoping, is that the rest of the world’s great military powers would share similar sentiments of incredulity, do or say something provocative thereby, however unwittingly, starting a war. It made no sense that they were threatening to specifically ‘quote, use force against the US’, should the rest of the world not fully cooperate; so perhaps that was the intention – perhaps North Korea were simply agitating the mix until somebody gave them a reason to fight. If this was the case, that was no longer just belligerent, that was pugnacious. To be fair, he thought, none of it really made sense, and he struggled to decide if this was due to the newsgirl’s flippant interpretation of the facts, or simply because the story did make no sense. Maybe everyone was overreacting. Maybe North Korea’s words were being taken out of context, or blown out of proportion; maybe the whole thing was a hoax. No, that was daft. He had been following the story on radio and television for days. Assuming then that everything he heard in that news story was accurate, one thing of which he was certain, they could not do this; it was downright ridiculous that they thought they could.

The phone was ringing. He answered it. “Kahn..?” His mother sounded worried.

“Yes Mum, thank you, I’ve heard the story.”

“About the bombing?” Her voice was trembling.

“About the potential bombing, yes.”

“Potential? Oh, Kahn, baby, no, it’s much worse than that…”

“No, I just heard the story five minutes ago, Mum, with North Korea acting all self righteous, claiming that unless they receive full cooperation in their takeover, they’re going to use force – which I assumed meant bombing – against the US … The country’s deluded, Mum, they can’t do that.”

“Kahn, that was hours ago -”

“No no, it saw it just five minutes ago.”

“The news report might have been, but the ultimatum, as they called it, was delivered hours ago…”

“Oh right, so I mixed up my timeline, what’s the deal then?”

“Kahn, baby, there was an immediate backlash – what’s that? – no honey, I’m – yes but I’m – are you still there, Kahn?” Seemingly his mother was still learning how to hold two conversations at once.

“Yes Mum.”

“I’m putting your father on.”

He could hear the phone being placed on a hard surface. Seconds later he heard rustling as it was being picked up; then came the reassuring tone of his father’s voice: “Kahn, my lad, how are you – how’s the house?”

“I’m fine, thank you, a little confused, but otherwise fine – oh and the house is still standing, thank you very much for asking.”

“Good to hear … Kahn, I’ve been privy to some information through work…”

“Yeah, about that, aren’t you normally in the mile high club this time of day?”

“Normally, son, I would be … But NZ Airlines have been hit with a no fly…” His father was trying to tell him something, but seemed to be having trouble finding the words; yet another oddity.

“Dad … What’s wrong?”

“Oh shit, son, it’s those bloody North Koreans,” his father sounded as if he was ready to burst into tears, “they’ve gone and dropped a bomb.”

“What? On who?” Kahn was stunned.

“That’s the thing, they had their little outburst three or four hours ago – personally, I think they were looking to start something right there and then, you know, by saying that – then of course America took affront, as America do, they issued a verbal retaliation, which apparently pissed off that pillock Wanton, so what does he do, the fat prick, he goes and blows ‘em up.”

“What?” Kahn was beyond stunned, “There is no way that happened, I mean, I would’ve heard about it – why haven’t I heard about it?”

“It happened less than an hour ago, the press release has yet to be issued, I mean, it’s all over the Internet of course, which is how NZ Airlines came upon it, as you know, son, us high flyers are always first to get the big news – particularly when errant missiles and such are invading the airspace…” his father trailed off with some forced laughter.

“Oh Dad, I don’t know what to say … So, what happens next?”

“Keep your TV on Kahn, TV Three should be on the ball by now, they should have permanent coverage of the mess in America and … You haven’t got Internet, have you?”

“No, I keep a notebook, I find it’s less hassle and more reliable than a computer.”

“Maybe it is son, maybe it is, but at a time like this the Internet is invaluable – news stories are updated every quarter-of-an-hour…”

Kahn flicked back on his television set. The picture he saw could have been out of a Terminator movie – dust and rubble lay everywhere, dazed citizens staggered about like movie extras; in the background the wailing cadence of a siren could be heard. “Dad,” he said, “I’m on Three, this report is coming through live, it looks pretty messed up – you say North Korea is responsible?”

“Well, to be fair, they haven’t yet confirmed it and no one’s taken responsibility, but you can be pretty damn certain those commie bastards are behind it.”

“Yeah, but what about China, I mean, I hear they’ve pretty much joined forces with the Koreans, which must have made them pretty damn unstoppable…”

“Yep, you’re right,” Kahn could almost hear his father shaking his head in dismay, “those commie pricks are now a veritable military juggernaut.”

 

 

 

To hell with loneliness, I’ve just killed more of them. It was brilliant. There were heaps of the idiot monkeys all standing around, chattering as they do, but there were a few off to one side. They were chattering to each other, laughing about monkey exploits or something, so I crept up about 5 metres away, hiding behind a tree with two pocketfuls of ammo, and I chucked one of the rocks at one of them. In hindsight it was pretty stupid, because it might have done nothing but piss him off, but it knocked him out! Dead set, he just went down, like a sack of North Korean shit – which, incidentally, is exactly where he ended up. Anyway, so his buddy’s looking around, thinking, what the hell just happened, so I threw the other one and sconed him too. Tell, you what, it was one helluva rush. More tomorrow night I reckon.

 

Still keeping the pride, K.

 

 

 

 

 

First night I showed up I was introduced to a Scotsman, an Irishman, a Japanese man, a Korean man, two Englishmen, one South African man – who was not related to the – one South African woman, just as neither did the American man have any connected lineage with the American woman.

Second night, two nights’ later, I entered the same premises and walked through to the same matted area, to come upon rather a different assortment of people; both the American and the South African women were absent although in their place was another South African man and a teenaged male from Hamilton – New Zealand not Bermuda – and to my chagrin I noticed the chap from Korea had also failed to make it.

Third night, four nights’ after that, Korean Tony is back and when asked if the problem last time related in some part to Kim’s holding him hostage, he laughed, replying, “No Tim, I am from the South of Korea – I think if I was from North Korea, I think Kim wouldn’t allow me out at all.”

Happily, the cute little American vixen, Megan, along with the ostensibly erroneous pronunciation of her name – despite my pleas that on account of the single consonant (g), the preceding vowel sound (e) is elongated thus Meegan rather than the American preference of Meggan, and I should know, I assured her, my mother is a teacher after all, she taught me that stuff when I was still at primary school; where I go on to then further question American pronunciation with regard to the name ‘Craig’, maintaining the ‘i’ after the ’a’ ought to lead to a stretching of the ‘a’ sound thus Crayg rather than Crag…

Megan had returned also.

Perhaps curiously for a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class, and while I can’t be certain of constituents’ hair removal preferences, there are no South or even Latin Americans on the role. Despite this the level of international interest is quite phenomenal and while I do understand the attraction for the likes of Japanese Shogo – Jiu Jitsu of course being founded by the Japanese – it truly is remarkable to see the way this Brazilian adapted sport has brought together so many disparate nationalities.

We’ll head along tonight and see what the mix is like this time.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by E Cleeck-Tick

Photography by Megan A Fox