This tree tends to trap those that try to travel to the top. Building barriers begat brief benefit but boys being boys brought bravado beyond builders belief.
It's a piece of street art that most people just walk past. If stopped to enquire what they thought the majority will have a view on one far side of the continuum or the other. Definitely doesn't illicit many, "Meh, it's ok I s'pose" type comments. That's art eh. The Philanthropist's Stone by Scott Eady
It's a lovely wee 'shopping arcade' inside an old Bank of New Zealand premises. If you ever go to Sydney and visit the QVC you'll get a similar feeling, because it was converted by the same company as the Old Bank (or vice versa). The Sydney version is a tad bigger.
The tour around the bowels of Archives New Zealand was fascinating and of you ever have the time then book yourself in. Like a rippling rag to the proverbial bull the "RESTRICTED ACCESS" labels on these flimsy cardboard boxes was almost too much temptation. Let me know what you find when you take a peak inside.
It's a rare find but here is Rav Riversdale, the "Miramar Marvel", circa 1927 playing a game of football at the old Mt Cook grounds. Riversdale was a stalwart of the growing Wellington football scene during the 1920s and into the 1930s with a burst of speed in defence that would leave many attackers wondering what had happened. In later years he became an inspiration to younger players with his rousing speeches and insights into the modern game.
Timing is everything in life. Back in May 2019 when I snapped this yellow leaved Ginko tree against the blue autumnal sky who knew it would represent a war in Easter Europe. #Ukraine #Україна
When the kids are the adults and have to model how to protest at Parliament to successfully make a difference. The Wellington #SchoolStrike4Climate, May 2019 was, like so many before them, loud, proud, demanding, full, focused, and most of all successful. Makes ya wonder about the adults who behave like children eh, sadly it's why the kids have to get out protest in the first place.
A tale of stolen underwear and a purloined Superman t-shirt I moved into Sara's house, with her blessing I may add, around 7 months ago and whilst I didn't arrive with much "stuff" I did have clothes. These clothes have a tendency to get dirty and require a wash within a machine. Sara's machine, a "washing machine" is housed in a small laundry room. As my clothes exhibit this "dirtiness" I would throw them on top of a basket before a critical amount is reached and the washing machine is brought into play. This wicker basket is not my basket, it is in the domain of Sara and not for me to use. Over the months this regular cycle of piling up dirty clothes on top of the basket (it has a lid, not my basket to put stuff in) before chucking them in to be washed and hung up to dry outside to dry has kept me going. Sort of. I do recall in the early days wondering where my Superman t-shirt had got to. I checked all my drawers and just put it down to bei
So important, especially "IN THE EVENT THAT" of ... something or other. Aaaaand, by entering this carpark you agree to the conditions set out. Um, ok, whatevs.