Carfuffle Can't Conceal Character Cracks or "Another Saturday Night And We Ain't Got No Assets"

"Another Saturday night and I (make that we) ain't got no-body" (make that assets), or more precisely (perhaps): "we're losing our assets". Granted, certainly not what Cat Stevens, now Yusuf Islam, had in mind when he wrote his song, but maybe a good translation of his sentiments into modern-day New Zealand political life vis-a-vis yet another television lead story last Saturday evening on state asset sales.
Judging by recurrent headline stories on both TV1 and TV3 of recent weeks and months, the various protests being regularly staged across New Zealand's major centres over the Government's partially privatized state assets programme now seem a good or adequate enough way to introduce an otherwise lacklustre Saturday evening of news programming. I.e. to effectively deal with or rather to what is known in the business as a 'no news day'. And once more we are given the impression that vast multitudes, at least in our four - sorry Hamilton, I mean four of our - largest cities - Dunedin, Christchurch, Wellington and Auckland (not necessarily in that order) - were, in a state of high dudgeon, 'out on the street' on Saturday the 14th, vehemently, vigorously and, most importantly, vociferously protesting the Government's intentions, nay, well-formulated plans, to partially privatize some state assets; most notably or at least 'first off of the (starting) blocks' being Mighty River Power, now itself embroiled in the fast-developing and unravelling, politically fraught fiasco being played out at the Waitangi Tribunal over Maori water 'rights'.

Now at the outset let me get a few things clear. Neither in recent times
nor in fact any time since my first precocious childhood interest in politics can anyone justly accuse me of spoiling my copybook by ticking (or at one time crossing) the National column on the ballot box. Yet correct me if you will, but didn't they - not all that long ago in fact - contest and moreover convincingly win an election upon that very issue - i.e. where, 'incontrovertibly', the proposed privatization of some state-owned assets was 'right out there' before the public, indeed arguably at the very top of the agenda. Where the (then) main opposition party, Labour, campaigned energetically and forcefully - let's give former leader Phil Goff all due credit - again, upon that selfsame issue, and where Labour received its worst ever result - and National virtually - if not in fact - its best ever. Reminiscent for me of the similar mandate-questioning gall of some strident U.S. Republicans vis-a-vis President Obama's 'nerve' in 'ramming through' the centrepiece of his 2008 presidential bid, healthcare reform, 'against the wishes' of the American people. Folk willing to crawl over broken glass to seek to constitutionally invalidate his proposals. Give me - but especially Obama, and the credulity of Americans - a break. Believe that and you know the rest. (And again, I'm not here arguing for or against that particular proposition, only for Obama's justification in pursuing it to some sort of 'successful' conclusion or resolution, though whether it wasn't entirely emasculated in the process is another matter altogether.)

Or am I somehow missing or forgetting something?; since said events happened within cooee of New Zealand hosting the 2011 Rugby World Cup. But no, since I can also never - remotely - be accused of being a rugby buff (to use a neutral term and thus be nice to adherents of New Zealand's one-time national religion), and so I wasn't (temporarily) sozzled out of my brain - which would be a rather awkward 'accomplishment' anyhow for a lifetime wowser - that line of reasoning might not take us far either. Though I had had more than serious thoughts about, and made equally earnest endeavours over, 'getting away from it all', from all the empty, shallow, self-serving razzmatazz
of New Zealand's 'big (8 weeks) out'. Though, admittedly, by Cup's end, like many, even most fellow kiwis I imagine, I found myself lured into watching our two showdown matches where New Zealand (first) comfortably, but bloodily and bruisedly, bested arch-enemy Australia and then - just barely mind you - managed to hold off our other long-time national foe, France. Now, I don't 'do' (i.e. take) any other drugs either, last time I got checked out (just a couple months back actually) I 'heard' that my hearing's as good as someone half my age, and every time - over the years and decades - I get checked out I've been invariably told my heart (and other vital stats) are in excellent working order. So however paranoiac and even hypochondriacal I sometimes may well be, and eccentric and even zany I may at times appear, I am not a partaker of mind-altering and otherwise numbing substances (other than computer radiation), so hallucination would seem unlikely. So again, tell me, are my recollections just plain faulty, or did I miss something somewhere along the way, such as the aforementioned election campaign  fiercely contested if only over that very issue of partially privatized state-owned assets?

In signing off, I realize (and quite understand) some folk are a little upset with our P.M., but - in all candour - I for one can't bring myself to regard John Key's determination to press on with his Government's partial privatization programme to be - even remotely tantamount to - a hanging, sorry, I mean a guillotining offence; not for a moment missing the irony of the protesters doing so upon Bastille Day. Not to get into how utterly offensive and plainly over-the-top the beheading of an image of our P.M. is in and of itself, quite apart from coming as it does at the end of a decade in which such gruesome acts were routinely carried out by Middle Eastern Islamist terrorists. Especially when one could well argue he fought and democratically obtained the right to pursue that very project now under so much contention. Though a case could perhaps be made that the protester/s who - in my initially faulty recollection - 'burned his effigy' - actually represented the un-and indeed fiercely anti-democratic nature and attitude of the (supposedly 'liberty, equality and fraternity'-loving) French Revolutionaries themselves, folk whose modern-day successors were aptly epitomized and personified in the French Government functionaries whose fingerprints were all over the bombing of the Rainbow Warrior 25-odd years ago now.

Somehow methinks such intense passion could well be justified in response to and outrage towards the Syrian Government and vis-a-vis the criminal inaction thereupon of the international community and its do-nothing, speak a good speech - to paraphrase a former American president, to 'speak harshly and carry a wet bus ticket' - 'representative' body the United Nations. Yes, anger and indignation over such unbelievably barbaric and horrific, appalling brutality 'playing out' daily throughout Syria (over recent months) could and would be in order, yes, worthy of well and truly getting oneself into a lather over even.

And yes, I repeat, I do think selling off state-owned assets, however piecemeal a process brings that about, is a very dumb idea. I just don't think it's on the same page as, or tantamount to, the end of the world - quite.

WEATHER or (more aptly) NOT! (An Afterthought)

My major present-day beef with such weather reportage remains somewhat different, however.This is neither that Dunedin's being unfairly picked on - as some would, at times, rather justifiably allege (including myself, at least vis-a-vis the nightly minimums, which are often much warmer than forecast and indeed often themselves constitute the following day's maximum). Nor that folk here in Dunedin are somehow colluding in some kind of clever con job with the national weathercasters - posting daily maximum temperatures consistently a couple degrees better (i.e. warmer) than is the actual case. Both of these I certainly would argue are problematic, and I do wonder at times, if actual conspirators are not involved, exactly what is conspiring to present things in such - the one minute unfavourable, the very next favourable - a light. Thankfully, it is also undoubtedly not my lifetime task to uncover those reasons either - which might be a little difficult anyway; one might suspect!

So the (long-awaited) issue is this: the long-established (custom of) positing the coming night's - and following day's - minimum and maximum as significant weather markers, and somehow intrinsically meaningful, is implicitly misleading. How so? Because said predicted maximum, for instance, may be achieved - just by the veritable skin of its teeth, if that - and then last for a mere 5-10 minutes (or possibly half an hour - if we're particularly lucky), while the real, ambient day's temperature may actually hover 2-3 degrees lower - again, if we're lucky, in these here parts - throughout the great bulk of the day.

And naturally likewise with the daily minimum. As explained previously - in Dunedin anyway, and especially of late during an exceptionally mild July - following a freezing June - following a wonderful April - subsequent to a rather miserable February (and early March) - preceded by a splendid two-week run-up to New Years Day, 2011 -

anyhow, as I was saying, it actually often gets nowhere near as cold as forecast/predicted/prophesied. So a small suggestion: ditch it folks - while you're ahead. Okay?

THE END

WEATHER - or (more aptly) NOT! (Part 3): A Needed Disclaimer (The Other Side of the Story)

Well, a confession - of sorts - to make, to clear up something. Subsequent to Dunedin's 'upgraded' temperature readings coming about a half-dozen (or 3) years ago now, our nightly tv temp (for the city's maximum for that day) is oftentimes, even usually, quite on the overtly and overly positive side of the meteorological ledger...that is, for what the vast majority of Dunedinites actually experience on a regular day-to-day basis. Yes indeed, I kid you not. How do I know this?

Many reasons - but primarily two. The first is, I'll concede, purely anecdotal, but in spite of which based upon literally years of - daily and nightly - observations in rather coolish, shady and therefore suitably accurate spots. And moreover in a suburb, Belleknowes - French for "beautiful hill" apparently, and it most assuredly is - and/or in a part over the past decade plus bordering both Mornington and Bradford - to fellow weather buffs one of Dunedin's warmest (suburbs) by night, and typically cool, indeed one of its coldest, by day. The critical point is that Belleknowes' ongoing, long-term temps have been unusually close - perhaps the nearest of any other city suburb - to the daytime and night-time temperatures long-established as constituting the city's average long-term minimums and maximums by the city's long-time Musselburgh Pumping Station. But the second reason is far less subjective.

Corroborated by good long-term acquaintance and much-more-than-mere-amateur weather buff Murray White, long-time resident of Halfway Bush - one of Dunedin's highest inhabited hill suburbs and generally 'above the snowline' (associated in telecasts on Dunedin's infrequent snow days with the infamous, often closed Three Mile Hill), Murray's tended to very much agree with me (indeed, often going much further) - or more aptly, in consideration of his expertise, myself with him - that since the switch to automated equipment yonks back now, itself coinciding with the whole global warming bandwagon, about which, again, he has far stronger and better argued views than me, the accuracy of said (nightly, on-screen) Dunedin readings has drastically declined. My own view, perhaps shared by Mr White, is that this has chiefly occurred in order to satisfy the sensibilities of Dunedin folk, in particular to placate the (well-intentioned if somewhat misguided) ongoing criticisms levelled at 'the (weather) powers that be' by certain vociferous, partisan and suitably patriotic, 'parochial' locals - people who, not without some general level of justification, believe "those folks up north" have it in for us southern dwellers.

But as Murray and I would contend - being ever of the fastidious melancholic temperament that we are - it's all about accuracy, stupid! And certainly in any other field of scientific endeavour one would hope for and indeed generally expect that the custodians of the various stats involved would tend not to conduct themselves in a footloose and fancy-free way with the truth. However arguably this is becoming increasingly questionable across an entire range of such disciplines in recent times, but don't you get me - and probably also Murray - started on that! Anyhow, unlike many, including Yours Truly, Mr White's weather commentary holds this distinct advantage: he's been one of the very few with proper meteorological equipment properly installed and read fastidiously through not only the years, but I believe at least 3-4 decades off-and-on (since he's moved back and forth from Hawkes Bay many years ago.) So perhaps he's entitled to commentate upon such matters - you be the judge. (And myself, well, at least such disclaimers and caveats establish me as not just 'ye typical southern whinger', but rather as someone with surely a smidgen, yea even a smattering, of knowledge, yes even expertise - of sorts - upon such eminently vital matters. And surely that counts for something - you'd hope.)

                                   END of PART 3



 

WEATHER - OR (more aptly) NOT! (DUNEDIN: it's (apparently) not "all right" (down) here (PART 2)

The moral of my tale? You need to stay up the night to - really, properly - enjoy the very real highlights of Dunedin weather, as the maximum might come first, the minimum duly arrive in its own good time: i.e. much later. Applying good 'ole counter-intuitive southern logic in other words. To usefully adapt an ad company's pet refrain,"Don't leave home (i.e. New Zealand) till you've seen the country": when in "these here parts", i.e. Dunedin, don't prematurely judge the allegedly inclement weather until you've truly given it a fair go - by experiencing all (and every hour) of it you possibly can. If you 'sleep it off' you might actually do so in fact to the chilling of your bones and the further impugning of your city's already unduly-maligned reputation. It really ain't as bad as you've been told - or you've told yourself. And though forgoing the restorative benefits of a well-earned bit of shut-eye is clearly too high a sum to fork out (just) to uncover that truth for you(rself)  and yours, occasionally utilizing those (in some cases) frequent nightly 'up-risings' for a superior purpose - such as observing and noting the nightly heat-waves our fair city is not infrequently subject to - is all that is required. And, trust me, you'll be handsomely rewarded for so doing - and then some.

Of course there are also more mundane, practical considerations which may come into play, such as saving oneself an otherwise whopping, humungous winter power bill, as well as maintaining an ever-ready wardrobe of clean, dry clothes. How so? In the latter scenario by getting 'em out super early, preferably prior to sunset, and certainly not waiting till sunrise. In the former instance 'simply' by adjusting one's lifestyle to make best, maximal use of the natural heating available for one's home and especially well-used rooms.

But I hear you countering by raising the following types of objections, each one in itself seemingly plausible.
"Is it really such a big deal?" "Honestly! Surely there are weightier matters to get one's pantyhose - or longjohns - in a right lather over; to get one's sizeable molars or dentures stuck firmly into?" Does it really matter how your hometown is portrayed, night after night, weatherwise, on the nation's tv screens? And if they're inaccurate to a fault, what real difference - to our everyday lives - does it actually make anyway?
Will it turn potential tourists away? Sink Dunedin's economy? Implode its population, sending them scattering helter-skelter, here, there and everywhere, like so many ten-pin bowling skittles? And even if it does play a not insignificant role in such an unlikely, far-fetched, 'doomsday' scenario, well, what then? Who - in the final analysis - really gives a toss anyhow? Like really?

I'll leave you to decide that question for yourself, with this (bit of) food for thought: such may well seem perfectly useless, meaningless tidbits of statistical information - on their own. Except for this undeniable fact: people conduct their lives, engaging in all manner of important if routine daily and/or weekly activities - outings, (decisions upon) modes of travel and dress, clotheswashing and drying routines - purely upon the basis of such mundane sorts of considerations, not to mention make much more important life decisions, such as where to be based, work, establish oneself, bring up one's family, etcetera.

I s'pose that's all, folks - except to add: what - all the foregoing - also means, or at the least strongly seems to indicate, is a rather uncanny, if I do say so myself, ability - admittedly based solely upon frequent, regular and anecdotal observations over a number of years, even decades - for Yours Truly to exercise a rather eerily accurate predictive ability vis-a-vis the ongoing weather of the city of my upbringing. A 'knack', if you will - or won't! -  characterized by somewhat closer-to-reality forecasts of upcoming local weather attractions than are those of the supposed experts with all of their fancy, much-vaunted, hi-tech, state-of-the-art, 21st Century equipment.

So "eat your heart out, Ken Ring" - I'm nipping at your (southernmost) heels!

                                   END of PART TWO

WEATHER - OR (more aptly) NOT! (DUNEDIN: it's (apparently) not "all right" (down) here)

                          (Two-and-a-half weeks on, due to technical incompetence.)


To truncate an otherwise long-winded account and somewhat tedious spiel - a tendency "Yours Truly" is quite renowned for - let's summarize the situation thusly: in her unflappable, suave,
nonchalant manner, "our" long-time and ever well-versed 'weathercaster' Karen - arguably unrivalled in both on-screen longevity and personal popularity alongside only Jim Hickey - 'announced' that the 'sunshine (or rather Scottish) capital (that is, Edinburgh) of the South' (i.e. Dunedin) - or not(!) - would apparently plummet to an overnight minimum of 6 degrees (Celsius), and then ascend to a rather respectable high of 14 degrees on Saturday. A pleasant prospect indeed - especially (as it shortly thereafter proved) when juxtaposed with the heavy chill that descended upon the city (and environs) that very (Saturday) evening, and then hung around a good one-and-a-half to two weeks thereafter.

Now Friday, June the 22nd'd been 'okay', let's say another (alongside Tuesday and Wednesday the 19th and 20th - coincidentally family birthdays) less cool, even somewhat mildish day, also hitting not just 9 degrees, but even breaking into double digits and reaching 10 eventually, and that even at our consistently cool residence set in the coldest, most shaded and southwesterly-inclined section of our street. Anyhow, just after Karen's weather preview, scurrying back out onto our back porch, it'd meanwhile climbed to 11-and-a-half degrees, and then, by around 8 p.m., it had warmed further, stabilizing around it seemed an eminently 'fair enough' 13 degrees. In other words we were - already - well on our way to 'tomorrow's target' (maximum) - and, what's more, with literally heaps of time still to go. And actually, since our place is consistently a couple degrees below the official TV1 & TV3 temperature site maximums, well, that's basically as good as that (predicted max) anyway. So 'good stuff' Dunedin: thus far so good anyway. 

Now I've "never made no personal claims" to prophetic status - either in eternal, spiritual, 'other-worldly' matters or in much more temporal, everyday, this-worldly affairs. Yet nevertheless I had, as I often have done, already given my Mum my own 'gloss' upon the following day's weather forecast. This I did upon hearing "our" Karen run through the following 24-hour's local weather events with her - and that of her fellow weather presenters' - characteristic uncategorical assurance that it would transpire 'just as we had been told'. And indeed so it did - not. Or at least in the usual way presumed; and that by an urban kilometre.

Anyhow, with, let's say, a rather hefty four-and-three-quarters decades (of which around three-and-three-quarters had been spent in Dunedin, or 3 entire decades if we ignore life up to around 10 years of age) under my sleeve, and knowing full well that Dunedin weather is just a tad different from our fellow main centres; (in all sorts of ways, and no, not just in terms of essential ambient chill); I said - approximately - the following to my ever-attentive, long-suffering Mum - well-versed in, if not entirely worshipful of, my long-established local weather prowess. That our faithful, ever welcome nor-westers - almost invariably congenial in contradistinction to their notorious Canterbury counterparts - having already kicked in that evening, the mercury would rise before it eventually fell. Or in regular laymens' and womens' terms, those predicted, prophesied 6 degree minimum and 14 degree maximum temps would indeed be reached, if not actually exceeded, but not at all in the way people - whether partisan locals or armchair critics from elsewhere - might expect. No sirree - or ma'am. Rather, as I'd told Mum upon hearing the next 24-hour's forecast, it would doubtless reach 14 degrees - or thereabouts - overnight, or - at the latest - either in the wee hours of the following morning or reasonably shortly after sunrise, and then, with the arrival of the ever-dreaded south-westerly (mid-morning, midday or sometime no doubt during Saturday afternoon), plummet rather quickly and eventually drop to 6 degrees or so. And so it indeed once again transpired, give or take both an hour or two and two to four degrees. Well, I'll freely admit that upon this one occasion the warmth hung around much longer than usual, indeed until early-mid afternoon in fact. (C'mon now - no-one's perfect.)

In brief it transpired thus. Upon arising at 12.15 a.m. it was still a mildish 13 degrees, and then the next occasion, at 2.55 a.m. - or so - I felt I'd entered Paradise upon Earth: the wind was gusting away and the merc had reached a balmy 15 degrees! (Mind you this is barely beyond mid-winter's day and in 'the Deep South' to boot.) Incidentally, while sojourning in 'the Twin Cities' of my Mother's native Minnesota, U.S.A., during Christmastime 1994, the locals (and myself also) were amazed and quite pleasantly taken aback when the temperature reached 50 fahrenheit, or 10 degrees Celsius, upon Christmas Day. Probably close to an all-time record for America's mini-Scandinavia.

It was still 14-15 when I finally got up at 5.30 a.m. - eventually dropping back to 12.5 awhile later - but upon leaving the house for the morning at 9.30 it was back up to 14 degrees. Arriving home around 12.45 p.m. it had reached 15.5, though I imagine it could well have gotten to, and even surpassed, 16 at our place through the late morning, if not also over the following couple of hours, when I absentmindedly forgot to check the temperature - duh! (Perhaps not though, as Mum informed me that whenever, on the admittedly rare occasions, she'd checked it late morning it'd been 'only' 14-14.5 degrees.) As you can already surmise the sub-tropical conditions didn't, and indeed couldn't, last forever, and thus and so it proved. By 3.30-4.00 it'd tapered off to 13-13.5, and then the ever-so-stealthily approaching, gathering storm clouds finally unleashed their merciless fury around 4.30, in lashes of squally rain, and suddenly our mini-summer oasis was done and dusted, and the temperature, already down to 12-12.5, quickly dropped to 10 degrees, and by 5.30 to 8-8.5. By the way the tv weather moguls graced us with a reading of 18 degrees, close to if not at the top (of the day's NZ high) and certainly I believe way above Christchurch.

                                                        END of Part One

Why Must They Always Disagree?

Has it ever occurred to you - while gazing at the players upon the stage of the body politic - to ask yourself the question: why must they always disagree?

Maybe your level of political involvement has never extended to tuning in to parliamentary radio or t.v. and eventually turning off in disgust, concluding that the whole lot of them were worse than kindergarten children.

But perhaps you've also wondered at times, why, when someone of one party comes up with what is undoubtedly a perfectly reasonable, sensible idea - yes, it does sometimes happen - his/her opposite number inevitably (you could yawn, it's so utterly predictable) instantly rubbishes the very idea, as if the one proposing it must be a complete idiot?

Not being cynical enough to believe they are simply jealous of their opponents and envious of their ideas, wishing that they had been the ones to come up with what they (actually) realize are some jolly good ideas, one has to conclude they are simply actresses and actors playing to a predetermined script.

What other conclusion is possible when even the very best - and sometimes, believe it or not, quite innovative and perceptive ideas - are barely off the press when they are instantaneously consigned by a political opponent to the proverbial garbage bin?

Does it not - ever - occur to such folk that to occasionally greet an opponent's idea(s) with praise or a positive comment or two, instead of the usual predictable disdain, could actually work to their political advantage, revealing not only good judgment and a generous disposition but the radical idea that not all politicians are utterly self-serving?

And so not only dumbfound voters - totally unacquainted with such refreshing honesty, candour and goodwill - but even make them more inclined to vote for such a person, who has not only the wisdom to know a good idea when s/he sees it but moreover the courage and graciousness to admit the fact before both opponents and the sceptical public-at-large. 

To seriously suppose, however, that courage, intellectual honesty and generosity of spirit could grace the modern political debate is perhaps just a little much to hope for.

As the old saying goes, dreams are free.