My latest rant

Sometimes I just need to rant. Be afraid, you are my captive audience.

Taking the man out of mana

Apparently attacking your pregnant ex isn’t such a big deal. Especially if you have your mana to protect.

A manager at Te Papa had a row with his ex while visiting her and their toddler. The child got a bleeding nose after being hit by a door during a struggle between her parents and the fine, upstanding specimen of manhood that is her father (and the father of the unborn child) threw a hissy fit at his ex over a cellphone: he held the woman down by her hair, rubbed water from the toilet in her face and told her to “eat shit”.

What a class act.

But it seems the fact that he’d been drinking before the assault, that a conviction might impact on his ability to travel as part of his job and might even *gasp* severely impact on his mana meant he was discharged without conviction.

Somehow I doubt this man had any mana to start with.


The rumoured bed …

Big Save say it will be here on Friday. So that’s another delay of another week.

They also say (once again) that they’ll understand if we don’t want to go through with the purchase. They’ll understand if we want to buy elsewhere. They’ll understand if we want them to take back the half-arsed, damaged, mismatched bedroom suite they delivered 8 weeks or so ago.

Because, I guess, it’s easier to wash your hands of the problem than actually deal with the cock up of the manufacturer and broken promises. Yes, of course … offering to forget the whole deal is a much better option for a national furniture retailer than actually doing something about their crappy customer service.

Click here if you’re wondering what my rant is about.


Holidays and wayward furniture

So I’m not back in the land of the web-living after a week of annual leave involving several vodka tasting sessions, searching for lost ping pong balls (Norman’s favourite toy at the moment),  bonding with Seymour the Wonder Cat and his arch-nemesis Norman the Newbie Cat, avoiding the particularly nasty bout of late autumn weather that invaded our lovely province and wondering why the hell buying a new bedroom suite ended up being such a long, drawn out drama.

Way back in the mists of time (January-ish) I spent a week or three traipsing around town, trying to find a new bedroom suite to buy. Eventually, I found one at Big Save so ordered it, along with a new mattress. Both in super king size because with Grant and two warring cats sharing the bed I was finding myself sleeping perilously close to the edge every night.

It would take 12 weeks for the suite to arrive, I was told, because the bed would have to be a special order … normally they made it in king size at most. When I went back the next day to confirm I wanted to order it along with the mattress, and have everything delivered all at once I was told that it would be 12 to 14 weeks. At the very most.

Fast forward to a few days before we we due to hit the 12 week mark and we popped in to Big Save to check  on progress and were told it was on target to be delivered on April 23 (14 weeks after ordering).

A couple of days before the 23rd I phoned Big Save, only to be told that no, it wasn’t there yet and that they received a fax to let them know each week just what is in the shipping container that lands in Wellington. Our furniture wasn’t on that list. A tad disgruntled, I asked if they could please phone me the next week when they got the fax so we could organise things (having an entire room full of furniture arrive means having to move another room full of furniture elsewhere … in our case, to our wee home away from home on the Mataura River).

Hadn’t heard from anyone by mid-week the following week, phoned again, was told no … it hasn’t arrived. Again, I asked PLEASE CALL US when you get your fax next week because moving out one lot of furniture so there’s room for the new lot isn’t a two-minute job.

A week later I still hadn’t heard anything. So I phoned. Again. Do you see a pattern?

Eventually, after 17 long weeks the damn thing arrived and was trucked down from Wellington. By this time, the Big Save people had offered to drop the delivery fee to make up for all the messing around.

So there I was, day # 1 of my wee stay-at-home holiday: we’d dismantled our bed, moved out most of the furniture, had loaded it up and taken it away and (drum roll please): the fabled bedroom suite and mattress arrived.

My bearded offspring happened to be at home so we set about unboxing the parts of the bed to assemble it. Hmmm … another problem: the slats were missing.

I phoned Big Save and they sent out a bloke with a bit of wood to see if some spare boards they happened to have on hand would do the job in the mean time but no, it didn’t fit.

Then I started to grow a tad suspicious/worried/ready to rip someone’s gonads off and make ear-rings out of them: I’d be spitting sparks if after all this time they’d sent a king size instead of a super king I said.

He asked for a tape measure and checked.

Yep, they’d sent a king instead of a super king. So not only did it take 17 weeks to get here and arrive incomplete, it was the wrong fecking size!

And that, of course, meant the mattress wouldn’t fit. And that we no longer had a bed.

Eventually, Big Save offered to lend us a bed until it was sorted, which we sort of had to accept. Being bedless and all.

While the Big Save bloke was here assembling said bed, Grant and I decided we should unbox the rest of the furniture to check it was all as it should be. And guess what? Scratches on the duchess. Then there was the tallboy: scratches and a dodgy looking router mark.

So now they say they’ll replace those, too. But we need them in the meantime.

It took a further six days to get a definitive answer on how long it would take to replace everything: six weeks, they say. At the very most, they say.

So that will take it to 24 weeks … it takes the best part of six months to get a bed! Impressive.

I was sorely tempted to tell them to sick their bed in a particularly unexpected orifice but the problem is I really like the suite.

Oh, they have also given us a $500 store credit but I’m not really sure I’d class that as any sort of compensation: we don’t actually need any more furniture and if even if we did, there’s not much in the way of furniture you can buy for $500 these days so it would mean spending even more at Big Save. And if this experience is anything to go by, I’m not keen to repeat the performance!

So there you have it: 24 weeks to get a suite with a bed that doesn’t match the rest of the furniture. And that furniture’s damaged. If I’d wanted mismatched, scratched furniture I’d have gone to the second hand shop and paid a whole lot less.

And I’d probably have got it the same day.

Wish me luck!


Boo-fecking-hoo, poor baby

Did we all feel sorry for the pillock in court last week, facing charges over a high-speed chase?

He was “petrified”, according to the news report. Poor boy thought the police would stop chasing him once he hit speeds of 160kmh so he kept going … and so did the cops. Eventually, he reached 190kmh, which is when the whole “petrified” thing happened.

According to that same court report, the moron in question was spotted driving a car that had been reported stolen.

Judge Barry said Stirling … sped away from police … reaching speeds of 120kmh in the 50kmh residential area.

Stirling had to swerve around vehicles endangering people in the residential area and also putting his life and the lives of his passengers at risk … Police laid road spikes in Havelock, causing the vehicle to mount a kerb, Stirling and a passenger fled the scene while Stirling’s younger brother remained in the car.

Now, I think you’ll find it wasn’t a case of the driver “had to swerve around vehicles” but more a case of him choosing to do that. He could have stopped, after all.

And as for the police road spikes causing the vehicle to mount a kerb … sheesh, once again, it was the idiot driver who did that.

We need to get away from blaming the cops for high-speed pursuits and instead put the blame where it belongs: on the shoulders of the fuck-tards who think they can get away with any crime by speeding away.

They should have Tasered the little cretin once they got him back to the cells, just for the sheer fun of it.

Oh, and I couldn’t believe his laywer trundled out the old “take pity on him because he’s from a broken home” line. I thought that one went out of fashion in the 1970s.



WOOS: (Word) Occupational overuse syndrome

I know the Christchurch earthquake has been awful, that it has done so much damage to the city it’s almost too much to comprehend.

However, I think it’s time we in the media banned the term “earthquake-ravaged”. Much like the liquefaction, it’s everywhere: earthquake-ravaged this, earthquake-ravaged that, earthquake-ravaged city, earthquake-ravaged central-business district, the earthquake-ravaged eastern suburbs … the list goes on.

It was a good, effective, punchy way of describing the damage. Once or twice. But now it’s been so overused that it’s losing its impact.



The key to getting it right

Dear New Zealand citizens,

If you don’t know the name of our country’s Prime Minister you have no right to whinge about him. I am sick to death of seeing all the hand-wringers on the Trade Me message board getting stuck into everything he does while getting his name wrong: it’s John Key, NOT John Keys.

Perhaps we should have a basic intelligence and general knowledge test before allowing people to vote. And perhaps before they breed, too.


Horror after horror

I think I might just be in a bad mood for the rest of the week as I try to get my head around the insensitive, selfish fuck-tards who seem to inhabit some parts of cyberspace here in New Zealand.

These past few weeks has been pretty awful, with the deadly quake in Christchurch and now the awful events in Japan. Like nearly everyone I know, I spent that Friday night glued to the telly, watching the drama unfold but barely able to believe what I was seeing.

That there are people taking to the net to proclaim “oh, it’s just Mother Nature getting her own back on Japan for the whaling” or “well they were cruel to the POWs during the war so they deserve this” is almost beyond comprehension.

Let’s start with the whaling argument: Yes, like most decent Kiwis, I’m against whaling: it should be banned. However, I’m not stupid enough to blame every Japanese citizen for a government that allows this to take place and the crews that actually do it.

I used to have a lot of respect for the work of the people involved in the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, including Kiwi Peter Bethune.  However, after the group officially saying Bethune was banned from its Antarctic anti-whaling missions during his trial for doing naughty things on a Japanese whaling ship last year then turning around and saying “oh, that was just a legal ploy to get him a lighter sentence” as soon as he was back in NZ kind of did away with a lot of that respect.

If you have principles you want to stand up for, don’t know it in a half-arsed way. Do you think we’d all look on the likes of Nelson Mandela with such admiration if he’d renounced his beliefs to escape jail?

Then there’s Sea Shepherd head honcho Paul Watson and his poem about Neptune being angry and causing all this. Punishment for killing whales, apparently.

Get a grip, it’s not every Japanese citizen who hunts whales. Those poor people were simply unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time: just like the victims of the Christchurch quake.

As for the “remember the war” crap, I can’t believe there are still idiots out there who think this way. Yes, there were some bloody disgusting atrocities during the war but that was long ago. You can’t blame an entire nation for the actions and decisions of governments and armies of the past: the world has moved on and so should we.

If we were to be held accountable for acts of war by our ancestors, those of us with Maori ancestry would probably be in the pooh with some of the other tribes and our English ancestry would pretty much get us ditched from the Christmas card lists of every nation in the Commonwealth because let’s face it, the Poms invaded and degraded pretty much every country they went near.

Some poor bugger going about their business in a fishing village in Japan 10 days ago was no more to blame for what happened in the war than I am for what happened at Culloden.

What’s happening in Japan right now is truly awful. We saw the terrible devastation from the 2004 (was it really that long ago? Doesn’t it seem like it was just a couple of years ago?) Indian Ocean tsunami in videos that were shared after the event but this was the first time we saw it all happening live.

Of course, things have become even more frightening with the nuclear power plants stealing the headlines for most of the week and while I’m with the rest of the world in hoping the experts manage to pull things back from the brink of disaster, it’s still the sight of houses being washed away  and knowing there were terrified people sheltering within so many of them that sticks with me the most: your home, that place where you should feel safe, turned into little more than a pile of matchsticks in minutes.


Do You Wanna … what?

I’m not a great fan of Glee I figure, which shouldn’t come as any great surprise since I’m probably 30 years too old to be in the show’s target audience range.

So for that reason, I won’t offer any sort of critique of the TV program in general because I have watched just two episodes since it hit our screens (and only then because a friend insisted it was the best thing she’d seen in a long time).

However, I do have an opinion I’d like to share over the decision to include a song by convicted paedophile Garry Glitter on the show: Dear Glee powers-that-be, you are morons.

Why the hell would a series that targets a young audience use a song that will put money in the pocket of a man who also targets a young audience but for very different reasons?

Gwyneth Paltrow did a stint on Glee and squeaked out a rendition of Do You Wanna Touch Me?

And yes,  I’m sure there are plenty of teenage boys out there who would happily give Ms Paltrow an affirmative answer.

But using the song was still a thoughtless move.

And I’m not including a link to the video because I disagree with the song being used. If you want to see it, go Google it yourself.



Dear Cheap Designer Bags …

please feck off. I don’t know why but I’ve suddenly been inundated by spam comments from (the not linking was on purpose, I really don’t want anyone going to their site because they are hairy arsed pirates of the interweb, however if you’re looking for someone to sign up for gay porn sites or a goat-appreciation society, it would appear is the email addy used on behalf of the registrant).

As you were …


Silver Fern Farms Te Aroha: disgusting behaviour

Silver Fern Farms is quite rightly getting slammed in cyberspace for their actions in docking the pay of their workers who observed the two minutes’ silence during the memorial service for the Pike River miners.

Sure, there have been some trying to defend their actions by pointing out that the staff are paid by production levels so during those two minutes didn’t process the one-beast-per-60-seconds (or whatever the rate is) they normally would but that just doesn’t wash.

Even if they are paid by number of animals dispatched, surely the company could have paid them out at their normal rate, including the two they were behind, as a sign of good faith and support.

The Pike River mine disaster was felt by every New Zealander, whether they knew someone in the mine or not. It was a truly awful but uniting event and one that shouldn’t be used to save a couple of bucks. In fact it was even less than a couple of bucks: it was between 98c and $1.60.

Yes it doesn’t seem like much but a nation was asked to honour the miners by observing the two minutes of silence so surely the company could have shown an equal amount of respect by not breaking out the calculators.




Jillian "George" Allison-Aitken

I live in the deep south of New Zealand, where smelly dairy cows are taking over from sheep in the livestock stakes. My hometown is the small but perfectly formed city of Invercargill, which is also the hometown of the original boy racer, Burt Munro. Find out more about me here.


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