After 15 years of restoration the Ab 608 Passchendaele steam locomotive along with its vintage train is set for its maiden South Island tour and as always, it will be leaving behind its plumes of acrid hypocrisy.

Steam trains have always struck me as a peculiar sight in modern New Zealand, especially when one considers the effort that’s been put into cleaning up the nation’s – the world’s – skies.

The name is somewhat deceptive: regarding steam trains it’s not actually the steam that’s the issue; it’s the inordinate quantity of coal burned in order to create that steam; given their primary discharge they probably ought to be called smoke trains, but they’re not are they, they’re called steam trains because everybody loves steam…

The Ab 608 Passchendaele will travel to Invercargill where it will then make its way back up the nation, stopping off at Dunedin, Oamaru, and Christchurch during this almost three week celebratory voyage.

…Approximately one tonne of coal is burned for every hour a steam train is in operation which, thinking of it, makes steam trains a ridiculously impractical means of transportation.

Taking into account efforts of governing bodies, the regulations that have put in place surrounding clean burning fires and such, to reduce Christchurch air pollution; then to have this Ab 608 Passchendaele monstrosity make its way over the land, belching out its millions of dirty log-burners worth of pollution in just a few hours’ of travel, suddenly, all those efforts are effectively negated.

Most people make a point to not mix trash with organic with recycling and yes, nowadays the majority are indeed mindful of their potential ‘carbon footprint’; some do their bit for the nation by driving a hybrid while some have gone totally electric – others choose to ride the rail.

Sure, these New Zealand built steam trains are pieces of historical wonder and granted, they are amazing contraptions that probably do deserve recognition, even celebration but realistically, this is the modern era.

Unnecessary polluting is currently the world’s greatest taboo.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Steim Loco Motif

Photography by Polly U Tonte

Big game on Sunday; biggest game yet, I reckon.

It’ll be an early start for fanatical Kiwi supporters but to witness New Zealand take on South Africa in the 2015 Rugby World Cup semi-final, for most, will be too great, too amazing; too sensational an opportunity to pass up.

South Africa have always been a challenging side; their size, their strength and intense physicality has for years ensured a fierce rivalry with New Zealand and the matches that ensue, invariably spectacular.

As usual I’ve lodged my spread of $1 bets and will be awaiting the game’s lucrative anomalies with anticipation.

It’s gonna be a good one – All Blacks by 12.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Kahn B Bodded

Photography by Levit Shaw-Tei

Labour day Monday.

Yes, Labour weekend tomorrow.

Yeah, word is my father was born on Labour day.

Really..? Some might consider that ironic.

What? Oh yeah, his mum being in labour on Labour day.

Well yes, that too, although I was actually referring to our Labour day baby’s penchant for hard labour.

Oh, yeah, that, but hard labour’s what farmers do.

True enough, but not all farmers are born on Labour day.

Not all farmers are my dad either.

Another good point.

But this year his birthday’s tomorrow, not Labour day.

Yeah, that’ll happen, it’s that whole ‘leap year phenomenon’ thing.

Really, is that what they call it?

That’s what I’m calling it, just now.

Well, Dad’s turning 60 this year.

That is correct.

It’s pretty old.

According to my calculations it’s right on the edge, but still technically middle aged.

Still pretty old though.

Middle aged.

It’s pretty old.

Alright, yes, quite old – almost as old as you’ll be when you’re 60.

What? Nah, oh … What?

I said, you’ll be there one day.

Oh nah, yeah but I’ll never be old old.

Of course not.

Yeah man, 60’s old.

Alright, just be sure to wish him a happy birthday from me.

What? From me or from you..?

I don’t suppose it really matters.

Oh, we’ll do it together then.

Alright then.

Happy birthday, old man.

Nice one.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Leah Bar Deigh

Photography by Bert Day Buoy

While the Christchurch rebuild over the years has been steadily progressing, there is one building that remains the centre of dilapidated controversy.

When I heard it had been “…over five years since Christchurch’s devastating quake and the Cathedral is still an eyesore”, my first thought was, ‘Gosh, what a terribly depressing thought…’

My next thought was, ‘Of course if by “devastating quake” they’re referring to the one in February 2011, it’s actually closer to “under five years”, so, you know’.

The reality is though that this is one structure that, although intrinsic to the Christchurch environs, has had little to no rebuild work done to it.

The problem as I currently see it, the problem as I have always seen it, is zealots. These people who hold the Christchurch Cathedral in utmost reverence and only want to see the, comparatively youthful in relation to other historical world churches, structure returned to its former glory, are in fact the same groups of people who have been for (under) five years stymieing the Christchurch Cathedral’s rebuild process.

The other reality is that the aforementioned cathedral, under five years ago, fell beyond the cost of an economically viable reparation job. Since then Christchurch have tried a $5 million disposable cardboard cut-out replacement but still, no significant money has been spent on the Cathedral itself. Christchurch lobbyists have undergone meetings, committees, and referendums related to the Cathedral’s fate – bureaucracy which by now have surely totalled in the vicinity of the millions of dollars – but with no actual progress made.

Christchurch’s religious sector is firm: they want to see the structure rebuilt.

Christchurch’s logical sector is exasperated: they want to start again and use (what’s left of) the insurance pay-out to build a new, a better cathedral.

Christchurch’s religious sector think: it’ll be fine, let the insurance pay-out takes us as far as it’ll go then after that, the good Lord will provide – by which we mean the taxpayer.

Christchurch’s logical sector: as humble atheistic Christchurch homeowners we are not willing to undergo yet another rates increase to pay for the repair of a building that is clearly a write-off and furthermore that we don’t even damn well use, let alone celebrate. (Or something to that effect; I’m really generalising.)

Ultimately the devotees of Christchurch’s cathedral remind me of the Green party: they spend all their energy supporting impractical ideas then the instant sense is put before them, they condemn the notion.

Good luck with your church guys; I refuse to help those who refuse to help themselves.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Kath E Droll

Photography by E Lodgie Cal

Less general, more topical; this week’s theory pertains to the ongoing question of whether former New Zealand cricket great, Chris Cairns, is guilty of the charges looming before him.

Is Chris Cairns a match fixer and, by implication, a perjurer?

To perceive Cairns’ situation from afar, his case does appear decidedly weak; the court battle in question seems to have been in progress now for half an eternity. The question therefore: why would the Prosecution show such resolve in convicting a man unless they were certain that he was guilty? Further damning to Cairns’ case is that practically every witness called to the stand is quick to implicate Cairns in this match fixing scandal.

Then there’s bloody old Lou Vincent. He is a confirmed match fixer. He’s also a piss-ant, and he’s queer-looking. He is vehement in his testimony of Cairns’ guilt – but so what, some might say, Vincent’s a dirty cheating liar, and he’s queer-looking.

Every time the media has shown Chris Cairns making his way to court, dapper in his pristine blue suit, his curly locks svelte as he struts across the pavement, his tall physique oozing aplomb from every orifice, he never appears to be under any pressure at all; so I put it to you, how could someone who has influenced the hands of so many then outright lied about it, while on trial no less, look so damned suave?

Just thinking of it though, that’s likely the facade he’s going for – the too cool to be crooked image.

I doubt I’m the first to make the association, but this prolonged court case is in fact remarkably akin to the Lance Armstrong scandal a few years back. For so many years Armstrong was resolved in his denial of cheating; yet for years they pressed him. Finally, although the doping authority could never actually prove it, they managed to hang the charge on him. (Word is he later confessed, I wouldn’t know, I was too disillusioned to notice.)

Similar to that Armstrong case, Cairns seems to know that for as long as he maintains his innocence, technically, hearsay and conjecture notwithstanding, the authorities cannot prove otherwise.

My Theory therefore, is that Chris Cairns is just like Lance Armstrong: he’s guilty, he’s just a very convincing liar.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Dart E Ritton-Lyre

Photography by Mash Fissure

New Zealand has been revealed as the third fattest country in the modern world.

Fortunately the New Zealand Health Board has established that this “unhealthy disease” begins at childhood and is in the process of developing tests which will single out these “unhealthily overweight” children to remedy their “disease” before it goes terminal.

Gosh, that must be a terrible weight off the minds of all the morbidly obese parents out there; what a relief to know it’s not their fault anymore and that they no longer have to accept responsibility for their biological state – it’s their kids’ fault…

These tests will theoretically allow the parents to step in and make some dietary and/or lifestyle changes to correct the problem before these currently chubby, potentially obese children reach adulthood.

…Although I would’ve said, the chances are if the kid’s already a pudgy little monster it’s likely because the parents have little idea of good dietary and/or lifestyle habits…

Obesity is set to overtake smoking as the nation’s biggest killer and while – depending who you speak to and what study you read – I was certain that it already had, like smoking, the Government is against it.

…One silly mother was quoted voicing her belief that the impending run of testing for overweight children is simply “Another way for the Government to invade our privacy and tell us how to live…”, which I felt was a wonderfully insightful and not all contrived piece of free-thinking.

The problem largely, as we already know, is sugar. Kids load their little bodies up with so much complex carbohydrate that they just cannot use it all and as for the portly parents who distribute these treats, well, simply, you ought to know better.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Port-Lee P Rent

Photography by Larr Darse

Tremendous as New Zealand’s record breaking 62 – 13 win over France yesterday was, the highlight for me came long before the final whistle blew.

I believe it was just the 6^th minute when Brodie Retallick stormed the French attack, charged down a kick, lumbered forward, retrieved the ball, stumbled a few more metres then dotted down to become the All Blacks’ First Try Scorer…

Effectively it took only seven minutes to win that game. Such was the All Blacks intensity in that opening period; such was their intent, their commitment and their self belief, the woeful French never stood a chance.

…Makes me wonder though, did this towering behemoth of a man have any idea that he was paying $41? Did he have any inkling at all that his 6^th minute act could have had a simple country lad screaming at the top of his voice and fist-bumping the air around him?…

This game ought to have quelled and lingering doubt about the All Blacks’ past lacklustre performances; as a wise man recently asserted: any team will only ever play to the standard of their opposition – it is extremely difficult to maintain a high level when your opposition is not.

…Mind you, despite that one bet affording me an over four hundred percent return, every other wager comprising my ten pronged attack failed quite considerably; Nehe Milner-Skudder, who just needed to score twice – as many players did, including Tawera Kerr-Barlow of all people – after scoring once in the first, come half-time took to the sidelines nursing a sore bloody shoulder…

Regarding this game against the French, unlike the lesser games against the lesser teams I believe the All Blacks were genuinely scared of losing and were therefore psychologically prepared for a massive game; hence their scintillating performance.

…So that one fizzled spectacularly, as did my 21 point winning margin which, oddly enough, was met exactly with that first unconverted try after half time then subsequently blew out….

In the lead-up to the Namibia match for example, while every player might well have been heard quoting something along the lines of, “Oh nah, we’re not taking this game lightly”, in their heads there was no genuine urgency because realistically, there was no way they could ever convince themselves that it was going to be a tough game; thus their comparatively low standard.

…In conclusion, gambling is a brilliant pastime. Providing it’s kept under control and only ever uses money that can afford to be lost, what a rush…

South Africa have returned to form and should present a difficult, but not unassailable, opposition next week

…On that note, my other ‘One Pick for a Million’ finalist is out; this year I truly expected to see a New Zealand/Ireland final but, well, there you go…

The question now: which team will New Zealand meet in the final?

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Anne I Lited-French

Photography by Wynn Wae Jar

Only around 24 hours now to the one Rugby World Cup match that’s worried more Kiwis than any other.

Of course memories of 2007’s quarter final exit at the hands of the French, or in fact last time’s final against France which New Zealand only won in the dying stages through a penalty kick by that pseudo hero, Stephen Donald, (let’s not mention his other kick earlier that year that cost the All Blacks what would have been their unprecedented unbeaten record), to come out just one point ahead, have been brought back to the fore.

This time though, despite France’s recent decision to, reportedly, oust their coach on the grounds that he was causing the team to underperform (the very same thing in fact that they did last time – is it an omen, is it nothing, who knows?) seemingly confused about whose ultimate efforts actually contribute to the full-time score, I’m not worried. A few possible reasons for that: either maturity is having a calming effect on me which, much as I wish that were true it clearly is not, or it might just be that my competitive streak has grown dull with age, but, no, that doesn’t sound any less hopeful. No, the reason is simple: I truly believe that in this 2015 Rugby World Cup, France has been comprehensively overtaken by the other European nations; England excluded but Ireland most definitely included.

After yesterday afternoon having a punt on the greyhounds (or ‘dogs’ as they’ve become known to the TAB), starting with $25 which I promptly built to $50, I closed the ‘Racing’ page and opened ‘Sports’…

Sports betting was where it all began for me; I remember the exhilaration of, each Friday, stopping in at the pub and lodging a single $20, long-odds bet on that weekend’s Super 12 rugby competition – Super 12, dude how old are you? – I won once, too. My one bet for the Crusaders to be losing at half time against the Chiefs, then to be winning at full time against the same team, flaunting odds of 12 – 1 (not as far out as most of my other bets but still), returned me almost as much as I’d lost in the two years of wagering those ridiculous bets.

…This time though, 2015 Rugby World Cup year, having learned that the best and really the only way to make money gambling is to bet small and regularly against high odds (no, for the record, I don’t think I ever considered one $20 bet once each week, ‘small and regular’), that is just what I did.

On one game I spread my $1 bets around the field, from ‘First Try Scorer’ – Brodie Retallick was paying $41, and he just might do it, too; to ‘Exact Winning Margin’ – 21 points to NZ paid $21 so that was nice; also, and this was a ripper, ‘Player to Score More Than Two Tries’ (I know, what the hell is that? It’s like you can bet on anything nowadays) – Nehe Milner-Skudder was paying an easy $13 for that one; ‘Last Scoring Play’ – a NZ drop goal, I can totally see happening right on full time as Carter prepares for the final, paid $26; shit, I could go all day and honestly, I damn near did. Realistically though, my entire stake was only $10 and get this, potentially, my winnings exceed $200…

Yeah, nice one, spoken like a true gambler, although in my defence, it has been over six months since I’ve had a punt on the greyhounds (dogs) and in fairness, after doubling my money almost immediately (aside from all I’ve gifted them over the years, I mean) essentially the money I’m gambling is the TAB’s anyway so, you know.

…It’ll never happen. I’ll be lucky if I even retain my stake; I know that and so does every person who’s bothered to read this far.

What is likely to happen though, is New Zealand’s prevailing over France on Sunday and given that I’ll have something on it (ten things in fact), well, obviously, I’ll find it all the more exciting.

Isn’t that how it works?

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Gum Blair

Photography by E Ting-Frugs

Despite having only become acquainted in the weeks prior, this young woman seemed remarkably keen to unearth the cache of information otherwise obscured by my natural barriers.

Walking single file through the kickboxing area, heading towards the changing rooms, to my back I heard Jenny pose another inquiry: “So, I’m confused – if you’re so massively brain damaged how come you’re so good at BJJ?”

I chuckled, spun 180 degrees and continued walking backwards at the same pace. “I find jiu-jitsu doesn’t require a great deal of cognitive ability – just memory and ability to think under pressure,” and with that I completed the circle.

Walking past reception we emerged into a wide area presenting several different corridors. Jenny stopped to fill her water bottle at the drinking fountain. I looked on. She straightened, stepped back and seemed to assess me. The occasional person passed between us. “You are so interesting,” she said, almost to herself.

Seizing the opportunity, implementing my historical ineptitude at reading situations, while my own nervous system accosted me I quipped, “I’m glad you think so although it should be noted, Jenny, I think you’re pretty awesome too” – my head at this point started oscillating on my neck while my elbows periodically kicked out at my sides – “so how would you like to go out one evening to grab a drink, or an eat, and chat further, about stuff, someplace, sometime, somewhere” – my head was shaking so badly at this point I reluctantly dropped eye contact and physically, firmly pulled my neck down with my right hand just to gain some sense of stability – “somehow?” Peering up from the corner of my eye I concluded the gamut then, feeling a little silly, added, “I like to keep it general.”

“Oh,” she appeared taken aback at the question, which struck me as peculiar, “oh yeah, yeah, that sounds cool, but it would have to be in three weeks’ time – I have a big essay to do for my course…”

“Oh nice, how big’s ‘big’?”

“Um, fifteen thousand words.”

“Nice, so you have three weeks to do that..?”

“Yeah, so I’ll have to, like, kill my social life for a few weeks.”

“Fair enough, hey,” after a brief respite the limbs were flailing again, “well, do you want to, throw me your number then, and I’ll, give you a yell in three weeks?”

“Oh, oh, no, like, I’ll still be doing this, just I won’t be going out in the weekends.”

“Ah, right, sorry, misinterpreted, but of course, you don’t consider jiu-jitsu part of your ‘social life’.”

“No,” she laughed uncomfortably, “this is my exercise life, not my social life.”

“Nice one, guess I’ll be seeing you next week then.” With a brief wave I turned to leave.

“Bye,” I heard from over my shoulder.

Those few conversations took place months ago, spanned a number of weeks and aside from an awkward encounter some weeks after that, were the last time I spoke to Jenny.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Miss Indust Ending

Photography by Con Foose Yin

It’s no secret that the majority of New Zealand doormen are natural born shitheads; this recent Christchurch incident simply reinforces that consensus.

Most of the men tasked with manning the thresholds of the country’s bars and clubs are essentially thugs for hire; little prior training or knowledge of the industry they’re supposedly guarding is needed and in fact the defining requisite these men do appear to flaunt is a lust for power and a boundless passion for exerting just that.

Granted these people have a job to do: they have the security of the premises to their rear and the safety of the public kissing their rear to uphold; yet it’s the way many of these so called security staff parade about with a flagrant sense of pomposity, as though their position standing outside a licensed establishment makes them somehow better than all the people on the inside or, more to the point, exiting said premises, that I find infuriating.

During my time as a frequenter of Christchurch nightclubs I encountered many doormen. Some of these were great people who, while keeping an eye out for disharmony among revellers, loved nothing more than to partake in banter among patrons while ensuring that everyone in the vicinity was kept happy and safe. Most though, an upsettingly large portion that is, of Christchurch doormen, according to what I saw and nothing more, rather than having general well-being at the fore of their collective mind, were more intent on seeking out minor drunken transgressions and apprehending then agitating the ‘offender’ until he (invariably it was ‘he’) either said something inflammatory or, in the worst cases, attempted to assault the bouncer, where this dick-faced doorman would then execute some sort of hold on him, wrestle him to the ground and sometimes, conclude the effort by standing on his neck or face; grinning stupidly while his bouncer buddies looked on.

Occasionally I saw this fail, saw the drunken idiot manage to escape the bouncer’s grasp and try to abscond; in this instance it was the bouncer’s buddies who would step in and bring back the wounded prey in the hope of restoring the pride of the alpha male.

That’s what I saw and that was around a decade ago. Who knows, things might have changed since then; I doubt it though.

It was nice to see in this recent Christchurch episode that after holding a rear-naked chokehold on the man for far longer than was necessary; on dumping the body on the pavement and preparing to leave the scene then looking up and seeing that he was being filmed, the bouncer in question promptly returned to the unconscious figure and flipped him into a half-arsed Recovery Position.

Apparently this drunken dude had only minutes earlier “made death threats” towards security staff so, you know.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Duncan Fowler

Photography by A R Swipe-Derrmann