Monthly Archives: August 2015

Tim Walker’s Maturity II

I have always felt that the test of true maturity is firstly, knowing who you are and being comfortable with that.

The second aspect, in my opinion, is having the wisdom, the foresight, the sense, the sensibility to solidify, to establish your place in the world.

Many younger people appear to have fallen into a devoted quest to ‘finish’ the task-sheet of life: they school, they play, they work, they earn, they accumulate, they purchase; they wed and they procreate. Some will argue that the more of the aforementioned aspects one has covered the more mature that makes them…

Almost as though this is some kind of prescribed challenge that everybody playing the game of life must accomplish and accomplish in that order; as though this is the way and there is no other.

I will argue, aside from the last two, if one can’t achieve these goals as one person, then one is a failure. In my opinion the question of maturity relates strictly to one being; if somebody cannot handle the rigours of life alone, simply, they do not qualify as mature.

The sapient pearl that I received in my childhood regarding one gender maturing faster than the other, I now realise is a matter of perspective. The woman who told me that girls mature faster than boys for instance, might have perceived maturity as the ability to spend Friday nights at home listening attentively to conversation that holds no interest to the respective listener; she might have perceived maturity as the desire to settle into a nesting situation then spend a large portion of that life rearing a swag of ungrateful sprogs or, who knows?

The point is that to make the claim one gender matures more quickly than the other is extremely risky; as mentioned above to me maturity is about self-acceptance coupled with the desire to make your place in the world. Self-acceptance includes knowing who you are as a person thus having the ability to partake in reflective self-improvement, being willing to adjust your being to suit various instances but ultimately, being content with who and especially what you are. Making your place in the world doesn’t necessarily relate to ownership of items or property, it is more about a person’s feeling of personal belonging. In order to harness this belongingness it is my opinion that one must first achieve independence; too many people are reliant on others for not only their happiness, for their basic survival.

How can anyone claim to be a mature grown-up when in order to survive they need a counterpart; that’s co-existence in its most simple form and quite simply, it’s a weak existence.

It’s a fact that humans are gregarious creatures, but even sheep can manage alone.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Philao D Ledder

Photography by Shi Pea


Tim Walker’s Cheating

Self professed, unabashed ‘adultery website’, Ashley Madison, has been hacked.

Protesters of the Ashley Madison movement months ago threatened that if the adultery-promoting website didn’t desist its debauched ways, they would see to it that the anonymity of its users was hacked thereby revealed to the world.

Ashley Madison recently, controversially introduced herself to the world as a place where ‘unhappy spouses’ can go for some ‘extra-marital leisure’ and curiously, became an immediate worldwide success…

The website’s supposed over 40 million users however are set for a surprise – the group behind this hack have reportedly released over 35GB of data, previously stored in the Ashley Madison database, to the world.

…Which I feel says a great deal about the scruples of modern man. Personally, no sympathy ought to be wasted on these shit-bags who decided their marriage vows were no longer that important and felt justified in contacting this website of depravity.

Perhaps I’m old fashioned in the belief but I’ve always considered that if two people are prepared and willing to utter the vows that constitute marriage, they have then embarked upon a lifelong pact; I do not see that the aforementioned bond can be set aside for the purpose of ‘extra-marital leisure’ anyway.

Tinder was bad enough although theoretically they aren’t hurting anyone, yet. This Ashley Madison at first glance is beyond belief; that said for a site of this nature to survive there must be a client base…

The hacked Ashley Madison email database alone was said to contain 36 million records.

…Given they have survived this long it seems that perhaps it’s not so much Ashley’s fault as it is the men of the world.

Temptation is all around us but in no way should it be a defining factor.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Dor T Sheat

Photography by X Tre Merry-Till


Tim Walker’s Theory VI

New Zealand’s bee population has been dwindling for a number of years; this much is more fact than theory.

Conservationists, biologists and scaremongers alike however, seem to be having a great time pushing the theory that, given all coloured vegetables are a direct result of pollination, this shortage of honeybees will result in the end of natural produce as we know it.

The first time I heard this assertion I recall smiling understandingly, then shaking my head in dismay. Do these people take us for idiots? I too am aware of bees being less abundant now than they were ten years ago but are we truly supposed to believe that there is no other insect out there that also enjoys traversing between flowers and which is similarly capable of dusting its legs and abdomen with pollen?

Here’s a fun fact: over half of the ‘bees’ out there that ever invade your space resulting in your violent flailing of limbs and swatting of body parts, are in fact wasps. Generally bees don’t give a damn about gorging themselves on your juicy apple at the exact moment you raise it to your mouth, that’s more of a wasp trait and yeah, turns out wasps are equally as good as flying around fields of flowers as their honeybee counterparts…

In reality this theory that conservationists are pushing regarding honeybee Armageddon is simply an attempt to stop farmers using herbicides which, while preventing voracious insects from feasting upon their produce, are indeed harmful to bees. The thing is though, if growers’ herbicides were that detrimental to pollinators, they wouldn’t use them; obviously it is in the farmers’ best interests to maintain a strong pollination presence – even more so, I would hazard, than New Zealand’s ignorant eco-warriors.

…Giving further durability to the future of pollen dissemination are bumblebees, which in fact are some of the greatest pollinators around, then of course there’s always the humble fly which enjoys spitting and sucking on pretty much anything exuding a fragrance.

Truth be told there’s thousand of insects out there which travel indiscriminately from stamen to stamen spreading fertility dust between each, and shit, then there’s the wind; it performs essentially the same task just with a whole lot less accuracy. Ultimately, although in recent years the humble honeybee might have appeared to be struggling to keep up numbers, I scarcely think it’s cause for concern.

Never fear kids, my theory is that the greenies’ theory of an impending bee Armageddon resulting in no pollination hence the end of all natural produce is about as weak as the lime-crete they push as a more eco-friendly alternative to concrete; your broccolis and your Brussels sprouts will always find a way to make it to your dinner plate.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Honey B Sting

Photography by Polly N A Thor

Tim Walker’s GST

The New Zealand Government wants to put an end to tax-free trading online.

Hitherto Kiwis have been able to purchase goods from the Internet cheaper than they would in store for the primary reason that they were shirking Goods and Services Tax.

That’s fifteen percent these online fiends have been getting off their purchase prices for nothing more than sitting in front of their little magic boxes and avoiding contact with the outside world while, like an idiot, here’s me still frequenting the physicality of shops, paying fifteen percent extra and, heaven forbid, dealing with real people.

I found it comical to see the reaction of one young man who in fact looked as though he hadn’t left the safety of his computer screen in months; on hearing that GST was going to be added to online purchases he responded along the lines of: “…why are we being punished for not buying domestically?”

Oi, dickhead, you’re not being punished – although now I consider it, you just implied that you were spending your money at online businesses abroad where you would previously have been supporting your local suppliers so perhaps you ought to be but no, you’re not being punished as such – you are simply going to be brought back to Earth like the rest of us old-schoolers where you will be required to pay tax on your series of banal purchases which in fairness you wouldn’t have bothered buying if you had no Internet connection anyway; really your behaviour is indicative of someone with too much money on their hands to begin with thus minor taxation will surely not be a bad thing.

The majority of these online purchasers appear to be living the New Zealand dream – working jobs they don’t like then squandering their money buying shit they don’t need.

I for one am pleased that taxation will eventually be introduced to online trading in New Zealand; it might just take a while to set up.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ben Al Per Chaser

Photography by Jay S Tay

Tim Walker’s Samaritan

There has been much talk of late about ‘Good Samaritans’; recently a team of these wonderful people lifted a car off a Kiwi woman in England…

It was amazing; this woman had been knocked down by a London cab and medics were unable to extricate her from beneath the car’s wheels, so a group of citizens actually lifted the vehicle off her.

…Funny though, good as this was, I’ve never heard anything about ‘Bad’ Samaritans; people who help another then leave without saying goodbye, or perhaps help them then make light of their predicament or something.

This leads me to wonder, do Bad Samaritans even exist and if not, why the hell do we bother qualifying Samaritans with the ‘Good’ label?

By definition, a Samaritan is a kind or helpful person. The term ‘Samaritan’ originates from biblical times and the story of a man from ancient Samaria who helped a man in need after this man was bypassed by others.

A Samaritan is therefore a kind person; a good person. It is only through our ridiculous modern desire, or perhaps exhausted brain function, to mimic the speech patterns of other people because it’s so much easier than contriving our own, irrespective of how stupid or asinine the resulting phrasing sounds that the prefix ‘Good’ has been added. It’s like the word ‘rarely’. Most people struggle to use this word without preceding it with ‘very’, thus ‘very rarely’. What about ‘overweight’? Nobody casually refers to an emaciated person as ‘underweight’, yet an obese person is unthinkingly called ‘overweight’. Logically, given that their size is what we see we should be calling them ‘large’, but because ‘overweight’ is currently the fashionable term, also because that’s what everybody else says, that’s what we say.

Here’s an idea the people of New Zealand might like to entertain: instead of speaking in your uninspired jumble of clichés, idioms or other television-gleaned, hackneyed phrases, try thinking for yourself – think outside the … perimeter.

You don’t have to repeat something just because that was the way you last heard or saw it said or done. Reminiscent of the way Quade Cooper was treated as he ran from the field in the weekend’s Bledisloe Cup match; I guarantee nobody even remembers why they despise Quade Cooper – sure, he collared Aaron Smith in that match, but so what? It’s rugby – yet as typical Kiwis we’re still acting like immature little piss-ants just because that’s what our buddies are doing.

Back on task. ‘Rarely’ can be used without ‘very’. Numbers can be verbalised without being preceded with ‘like’. ‘Little’ can also be used without being preceded by ‘very’ and for Christ’s sake, ‘Samaritan’ should be used alone.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Mia God

Photography by Fris Traded


Tim Walker’s Protesting III

Those oxymoronic protesters are at it again – unsettling the lives of innocent bystanders just to have their own selfish opinions heard.

They chose a Saturday this time to vent their collective displeasure at the nation – on a topic which I refuse to name lest those pillocks gain further publicity on the matter – I guess so there wasn’t any conflict between protesters and the scintillating careers they all hold down…

The most frustrating thing about a throng of idiot idealists running around a Christchurch shopping mall with their homemade banners and their ‘I know better than the nation’s qualified Government figures so you better shut the hell up and listen to me or else’ dispositions, was that I could guarantee a large number of them had little to no understanding of the issue they were even protesting.

…Half these people it appeared, had simply jumped on board the acrimony bandwagon brandishing flashy mottos, half-arsed catchphrases and the like, screaming about putting an end to something that has for years been a vital part of the nation’s existence but on account of it only recently becoming a feature of the public eye, is now seen by those people with limited understanding of everything modern world, as being tantamount to the Devil’s work.

I saw one of the silly women involved, possibly the protesting ringleader, complaining about “…the obnoxious New Zealand Government…”, “…the obnoxious Christchurch weather…”; obnoxious this and obnoxious that as though it was the world’s fault that stick she had firmly shoved up her arse was so uncomfortable – all while her and her team of suggestible cronies held up traffic, disrupted people’s plans and made general nuisances of themselves, in a genuinely obnoxious fashion.

They claim it was a ‘Peaceful Protest’. Hah; like I said, oxymoronic. I wonder how peaceful it was for the lives of the unrelated motorists they drew into their immature little game and made late for important appointments; how peaceful it was for every other unrelated life rendered a shambles that day because one group of moronic grown-ups wanted to throw a tantrum about something of which they had little comprehension in the first place.

These people need to understand that their consternation does not warrant a nationwide uproar.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Grough Upp

Photography by T Anne-Trim

Tim Walker’s Weather

Although I’ve never met him, I have heard that he’s quite the angry little Spaniard.

The insidious weather phenomenon predicted to befall New Zealand in the coming months, characterised by strong winds, severe deluges, prolonged drought and all around unruly weather, has been termed by meteorologists as the ‘El Nino’ effect…

Oh yes, he has been here before but this time, reportedly, he appears more pissed off than ever.

…Which given that much of Canterbury’s northern farming regions are still stricken by the drought resulting from last summer’s remarkable shortage of rainfall, similar to the US state of California, if this El Nino effect does result in the further abstinence of moisture, the whole of North Canterbury could easily end up a desert wasteland.

El Nino’s equally destructive counterpart, La Nina, who by all accounts is quite the tempestuous little maelstrom, in fact only departed New Zealand’s shores in recent years and while the El Nino effect is ultimately caused by high pressure thus warmer than usual temperatures at the Earth’s equator, La Nina is a result of basically the opposite equatorial weather pattern – not that it means she is any less bitchy than he.

The common question then will no doubt be: is this a further result of climate change?

My response: if it is, what the hell are you going to do about it?

Ultimately, New Zealand is in for some interesting weather over the next while. Strap in and enjoy the ride.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Wes Zuhr Cycle

Photography by Anne Grey Latina

Tim Walker’s Maturity

Back when I was a snot-nosed little kid I recall asking a female grown-up: “How come husbands are always older than wives?”…

In reality husbands aren’t always older than wives yet somehow my timid little seven-or-eight-year-old mind had picked up on the pattern of males generally being older than their female nuptial counterparts.

…I recall the response being laconic: “Because women mature faster than men.”

Now thirty-two years old I have retained this, approximately twenty-four-year-old, sapient pearl. I have retained furthermore, images of twelve or thirteen years on from that moment, as a twenty-year-old still-aspiring diesel mechanic, looking about myself at my cohort of similarly young men and women, some in training for, some having already secured, and others keen for as long as possible to shirk, entry to the workforce. The latter group – adorned in their grey-marl sweat-pants and their Kahlua-stained singlet-tops, smoking their roll-your-own cigarettes and drinking their cheap cask-wine, subsisting with their egregious eating-habits and packed into their filthiest of flats along with their intermittent utility support; all in an attempt to eke out as much of the hedonism of youth as they possibly could – at the age of eighteen had been quick to jump on board the dole-train.

Also retained from my time as a twenty-year-old aspiring diesel mechanic are images of my sitting before an official-looking lady at the bank along with the signing of legal documentation which would in the coming days, seal ownership of my first home.

I have retained additionally, perhaps pointlessly, the many reaction shots from contemporaries who at that time, were struggling to fathom such a move from one so young. Given that my female to male ‘contemporary’ ratio at the time measured an alarming 4:1, also that I tended to mix with a clique several years older than myself, the majority of these unfathoming queries came from young women two or three years older than I was at the time.

“Why would you want to tie yourself down with buying a house now?” was the most common question I faced…

Incidentally, since that ‘approximately twenty-four-year-old sapient pearl’, other than my elder sister, I’ve known no females who have made such a bold solo purchase; in fact all I have seen is young women who seem content to float from male-occupied accommodation to male-occupied accommodation.

“…I don’t see it so much as ‘tying myself down’,” was my typical response, “as I do, getting ahead.”

“But it’s such a burden,” I recall one particular questioner’s comment, “like, don’t you want freedom?”

“I still have freedom,” I countered, “how is me paying for my house any more constricting than you paying for your shitty little flat?”

“I dunno, I guess, it just seems like, I dunno, like, a mortgage just seems more serious…”

That was at the age of twenty. While I watched silly girls and idiot boys waste their money on pointless enterprises, I paid a mortgage. While I watched silly girls and idiot boys tell lies to each other to get what they desired, I made legally binding agreements. While I watched silly girls and idiot boys spend their weekends tending to meaningless relationships, I put effort into landscaping my property. While I watched silly girls and idiot boys considering that they just might have found true love and deciding to test it through their first of what would turn out to be many garish weddings…

I don’t know, I guess I was out cycling or something.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Sally Gehrl

Photography by Idjut Boyce

Tim Walker’s Nightlife

Prime Minister John Key is keen to see New Zealand bars’ opening hours extended during the impending 2015 Rugby World Cup.

Initially the Greens Party was against the idea because as we all know the Greens have always been against the promotion of change, particularly if there’s a danger of that change resulting in somebody’s good time.

Good old National though, they want to see that every Kiwi has the chance to view every World Cup match from the dank surrounds of their local bar while pushing excess blood-alcohol and nibbling on meat pies.

Now seemingly the Greens have – at risk of appearing unpopular – performed a quick about turn on the matter; now they’re all for late-night/early-morning boozing.

Imagine it – up in the morning, quick shower, shave, teeth brush, then rushing to the nearest sports bar by seven, sipping your first beer ten minutes later, hooking into a mince and cheese pie breakfast – oh wow, it’s gonna be great.

Yeah but, I thought the whole reason for restricting the hours bars could legally be open was to reduce the incidence of drunken violence, vandalism and all around uncivilised behaviour on New Zealand streets after dark..?

It was, sure, but it’s only gonna be for a couple of months, so it won’t really matter.

I see, so for a couple of months the nation will be essentially impervious to the idiocy, violence and the criminal activity inspired by late night alcohol consumption..?

Well yeah, oh, nah but, you know…

Or for those few months have the nation’s recidivist binge drinkers promised to curb their reckless behaviour, thereby ensuring a safe late-night environment for all?

Well, they might have…

Oh I see, or perhaps for the duration of the World Cup the nation’s younger drinkers who have yet to develop the tolerance which would allow them to party all night and into the next day, have agreed to ease back on their alcohol intake..?

Shit I dunno – leave me alone, it’s wasn’t my idea.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Leah T Knight

Photography by Shan Nan Higgins

Tim Walker’s Theory V

On two past occasions I recall being taken for an idiot by Christchurch tradesmen.

This week’s ‘Theory’ therefore pertains to the erroneous belief that the ‘Tradesman’ tag also suggests ‘Trustworthy’.

Whether they’re Qualified Master Builders, Plumbers, Mechanics, or otherwise seems to make little difference; if the unscrupulous tradesman sees the potential to make some extra coin…

The first instance relates to the first time I had my car’s automatic transmission properly serviced. It was on returning to pay the bill at this ‘reputable’ Auto Trans Repair shop that the mechanic adopted a forlorn expression and informed me, “Yeah, sorry dude, your auto’s makin’ metal – looks like it’s run a bearing or something.”

…That is what the unscrupulous tradesman will do. I should advise readers at this point that I had recently purchased the vehicle in question and had previously mentioned to the guy that I was having the work done primarily to find out if there were any mechanical concerns, malfunctions or anomalies, where I would report back to the car yard and see that they funded the repairs, under the Fair Trading Act 1987, clause 4, paragraph 6.

Given the temptation I had put before him I half expected the mechanic to say something of the aforementioned nature; I then intended to hear out his explanation and make my own judgement regarding the necessity of his claim.

As it turned out that was exactly how it happened: I listened as he spun a yarn about the ‘uneven shift pattern’ of my gearbox relating somehow to this ‘spun bearing’ hence the apparent excess of metal shavings uncovered in the transmission sump. Truth be told I was quite aware of an uneven shift pattern between the second and third gears of the four speed box; I was aware furthermore that this was an issue that could be rectified with a simple transmission band adjustment. As for the metal shavings in the sump: it’s a gearbox. Any gearbox makes metal.

Despite this ‘Transmission Specialist’s’ warnings about inevitable failure should I not have the issue immediately remedied, I’ve since done over 100,000 kilometres on that ‘spun bearing’ without incident.

The second such theory of unscrupulous tradesmen relates to my hot water cylinder which is situated outdoors in a purpose-built shed, stuffed with Pink Batts for insulation. One day the hot water, fast as it could be heated, was gushing from the overflow pipe. Seeing the need for a valve replacement, I naturally called a plumber. He arrived, I showed him the fault, mumbled my theory; he nodded comprehension and started work. Half an hour later he was done.

I recall before he left inquiring as to exactly which valve had needed replacing and he reporting that yes, my supposition had in fact been correct; it was just a faulty overflow valve. I recall expressing my gratitude, saying in a relieved gush of extraneous information how I’d only a few years back paid over $300 for a replacement tempering valve; I recall him chuckling and commenting how ‘I got off light’ and how, ‘they’re a lot more than that now’…

I received a phone call some weeks later from that very plumbing company informing me that ‘the tradesman who had recently carried out the repair at my property had written a comment on the sheet under my name’ – which the clerk was supposedly just getting around to filing. Apparently ‘I now had a leaking tempering valve’ in my hot water cylinder shed which was ‘leaking water on the floor’. The man went on to say that ‘while it didn’t sound urgent, should he just go ahead and book me in for a tempering valve replacement in the coming weeks?’

I recall feeling terribly confused – was someone playing a potentially expensive joke on me? I recall declining the kind man’s offer to stitch me up for another repair job, and instead went out to the hot water cylinder to see for myself the extent of this ‘leaking valve’. On unscrewing the little shed’s back wall I saw that yes, the plywood floor was indeed wet. Standing up I took some time in locating the tempering valve – with which over the years I had become familiar – near the top of the cylinder; imagine my surprise to find it totally dry. I then pulled out some Pink Batts and traced the pipes to the bottom. They were all dry. I pulled out more Batts and set about locating this water leak, wherever it was.

Eventually, after dislodging most of the insulation, right at the bottom of the cylinder I found a large brass nut with tepid water seeping from around its join. I straightened posture and stood back, looking up at the tempering valve; then down to the leaking join. I estimated the nut’s size as 27 millimetre and ran away to fetch that spanner from my toolbox. Returning to the leaking nut I hesitated, aware of how temperamental brass fittings can be; what if it was cross-threaded – what if it wasn’t but my intervention somehow stripped the thread?

Self doubts notwithstanding, I locked the open-ended spanner in place and gave it a tentative pull in the clockwise direction. To my sheer delight and utter surprise, it shifted. (At this point it should be noted, the feel of a nut moving on intact thread as opposed to a nut slipping over stripped thread is easily distinguishable; this nut was tightening.) I gave it another tug; it tightened more. I gave the spanner one last tweak and removed it. I had potentially just saved myself ‘a lot more than’ $300.

I left the back off the shed to oversee progress; the weather at the time was warm nor’ west so I knew if I had fixed the problem, that floor would soon be dry.

In three days’ time that’s exactly what it was, too.

My theory on duplicitous tradesmen who think they can push around people they perceive to be either weak or stupid, has left me deeply cynical; I sympathise with those poor folk who perhaps aren’t so astute or simply don’t have the knowledge to see through the unscrupulous tradesman’s tale of deceit…

Because it’s shit.




Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ian Scroop Ulysses

Photography by Trey D Mann