Compulsive counting disorder

It all started years ago. I had this friend who believed that 17 was his lucky number, something to do with the seat number assigned to him when he was writing his school leaving exams. Presumably the exams went really well. He had this habit of adding any string of numbers together. Car number plates provided the raw material for his counting frenzies. When he found a string that added to17 this would be a SIGN. What exactly it was a sign of, as far as I remember, was never defined. This form of mental arithmetic must have been contagious because I caught it as well. When walking along the street together we would each vie to be the first to spot a car number plate with a string of numbers adding up to the magic 17.

Years later, I’ve still got the disease. It won’t go away. I can’t stop myself summing up the numbers on car number plates. And it’s getting worse. Now, one hit is not enough! I need to find three number plates with numbers that add to 17 for it to be really and truly a sign. Car parks almost drive me mad. So many plates out there! Anyone know of a cure?

I saw the PM!

There was nothing for it! df’s sister-in-law was visiting and we had to do our bit to lay on some entertainment. What better than a Friday evening trip to the park where the Chinese community were celebrating the Lantern Festival to welcome in the Year of the Rooster?

After struggling through the chaos that is Auckland traffic, we reached the park. Surprise, surprise! A motley crowd of suited individuals were hovering around the gate. Clearly they weren't there to greet us. A quick "Hello, hello, hello, what have we here?" soon revealed that they were awaiting the arrival of Helen Clark, our Prime Minister. On closer inspection, we realised that the crowd included sundry other *important* people in New Zealand public life notably Don Brash, the leader of the Opposition, and Dick Hubbard the Mayor of Auckland. Each suit was accompanied by the regulation tidy, smiling Mrs Wife-of-important-person. All were there to take part in the opening ceremony. Why is it, wondered I, that male dignitaries almost always bring the wife to such events? And why, on the other hand, would it be thought odd if Helen Clark were to bring hubby? What a funny lot we are, are we not?

Speeches were made, lights were switched on and the festivities began. It was a very pretty sight. Sister-in law was happy, duty was done. A bonus, I bought myself one of those cone-shaped peasant bamboo hats that I've always wanted.

Honking versus horning

Driving home last night I came to a halt behind a car that was waiting at a red light. A sticker in the back window instructed: HONK YOUR BRAINS OUT it won’t take long. My first thought was that this kind of slogan would have more meaning in India where just about every truck bumper, fender or rickshaw back trunk carries the instruction HORN PLEASE OK. But on reflection I thought, "No, not so", for in India to horn (yes, it is widely used as a verb) is an essential part of driving for to drive without horning is positively dangerous. Trust me; it is not a cliché to say that it is safer to drive on Indian roads without a rear view mirror and a properly functioning brake than to drive without a loud and persistent horn. In spite of a perfectly standard Highway Code the only rule of the road that is observed and observed religiously is the unwritten one that assumes all drivers keep a close eye on what is in front and if at all possible avoid hitting anything. This usually demands frequent use of the horn. By the way, there is one instruction in the Indian Highway Code that is, I remember noting, somewhat unusual. It is the one that suggests that if a vehicle is involved in an accident the driver and other occupants of the vehicle stay inside and lock the doors until the arrival of the police. This supposedly will protect you from the unwanted attentions of an irate crowd who will, without exception, be of the firm opinion that irrespective of the facts of the case the biggest vehicle involved in the collision is THE one at fault and the only way to deal with the situation is to give the driver a good beating. In all the brouhaha that is sure to arise it is often the case that no one bothers to enquire after the health or otherwise of the unfortunate victim(s). But I digress.

Yes, Indian drivers do use the horn frequently but almost always in the context of ensuring safety on the roads for more often than not the horning is a substitute for a shouted, "Get out the way fast, I’m coming through". All too often the way the honk is used in New Zealand or in Britain and probably in other counties as well, is quite the opposite of this. Here it is used aggressively and often as a sign of impatience. I think this probably excuses the somewhat nasty tone of the sticker HONK YOUR BRAINS OUT it won’t take long. How annoying is it to be sitting at a red light picking your nose, checking out your hairstyle in the rear few mirror, searching for the lipstick in your handbag or just generally having a good time only to be interrupted by the honk from behind? I mean, how unpleasant is that? After all, it WAS only 2 seconds ago that the red light turned green!

I offer for consideration a possible solution. Let’s all stop honking and instead adopt the Indian habit of horning. We can then all drive around politely horning. Never again will the unmindful dilly dallier be embarrassed/annoyed/upset by honking and never again will the impatient-to-get-on-their-way honker be misunderstood.

To veil or not to veil

I had lunch today with BF, an ex-colleague of mine who happens to work nearby. He is from one of the troubled countries in the Middle East. Over the couple of years that I've known him, we must have spent many hours around the coffee machine discussing the ins and outs of the political situation in that part of the world amongst other things, of course.

Anyway, while munching my way through a bagel filled with salmon, avocado and hollandaise sauce (quite yummy actually) the conversation turned to the wearing of the veil. Much to his chagrin, BF’s wife wears the head scarf. He faces a dilemma. It is clearly her prerogative to wear what she chooses but one which BF feels affects him and places him at a disadvantage. While going around with his wife it is more than likely that the general New Zealand public will perceive him as one of those men who goes around suppressing women and their rights. BF readily admits that this is a natural prejudice that he himself struggles to overcome when he sees veiled women accompanying other men.

Isn’t it unfortunate that the head scarf has become such a contentious symbol of religious identity and one that actually masks a number of deeper issues around religious freedom and the rights of women? To wear or not to wear the veil is surely not the issue. The demotion of women to a secluded world that does not allow them to have professional and public social lives is objectionable. Fix those bigger issues and back off and allow women themselves to decide what they do or do not wear.

I might be wrong but I feel that this whole issue has been exacerbated by the attacks on ordinary Muslims in many countries of the world after 9/11. Any threatened group naturally bonds more strongly together. It’s a survival thing that is strengthened by the display of symbols that identify your membership of the group.

Maybe I'm psychic

It happened again this morning! I opened my eyes and my digital alarm clock showed 7:17, a beautifully symmetric number. I've had this idea for a while that almost every time I consciously check the time, I find myself looking at a symmetrical number. It could be 7:17, 9:39, 10:01, 16:16, 12:21 ... you get the drift I'm sure. My conclusion is that I'm psychic - obviously!
"But wait a minute" says the more scientific half of my brain, "If you really want to prove this hypothesis shouldn't you first calculate the percentage of symetrical numbers that would appear in a 24 hour day?". "Of course, of course" says the scientist. A quick mental flip through the hours convinces me that symmetry in the digital numbers is surprisingly common. I can, with no bad conscience, ignore 00:00, but what about 1:01, 1:11, 1:21, 1:31, 1:41, 1:51, 2:02, etc, etc, etc. Forget about statistics then. I'm already convinced that maybe it's not very unusual to come across symmetrical numbers on a digital clock and that sadly I'm not psychic after all.
It was a nice thought though and now I find myself wishing that I hadn't spoilt a beautiful illusion with simple facts.

All this talk of numbers and statistics reminded me of my favourite of the many quotes around that throw aspertions at the reliabilty of statistical methods. This one is attributed to Mark Twain, Most people use statistics the way a drunkard uses a lamp post, more for support than illumination. It always makes me smile.

What is it with us expats?

I'm going to make a big confession. Since coming to live in New Zealand (it's 3 years now) I have become a regular follower of Coronation Street. The Kiwis have the audacity to call the program 'Coro'. They have their own Street - Shortland Street a daily soap set in an A&E clinic that follows the lives of staff and friends. I never watched Coronation Street in the four years I spent in UK just before coming here. On analysing my motives I have come up with an answer - nostalgia.

In my office there are a small number of expat Brits. It's not unusual to find us clustered round the coffee machine of a morning exchanging notes. Take this morning for example, we had a good old laugh at poor old Charlie's expense over the news of the balls up with the wedding plans. Poor boy! One of us expats is a good old yorkshire boy. He went exploring in a UK Foods Shop and just had to buy Walker crisps, weetabix and Iron Bru. Now that should tell you something about the quality of NZ crisps (they call them chips) and breakfast serials. It probably tells you something about the yorkshire man's taste in soft drinks too - but we won't go down that track.

I'm hoping that this Alan Walker who made the news for taking offence when his local supermarket used it's public address system to make announcements in both English and Maori (an official language in this country) is not an expat. I have to agree with Tapu Misa who concludes that what he and others like him are promoting is a form of cultural imperialism.

Morning ramblings

Don't you just hate it when a neighbour's car alarm goes off at 6 in the morning? It's too early to get up and too late to get back to sleep. In such a situation the most weird images often float around in my head. This morning it was cornflakes covered with blackcurrent juice that was suddenly powdery. This left me with a bowl of blue-powder-covered cornflakes. For some reason I then threw in a handful of raisins!
OK! Forget that! I turn over to find de facto (df from now on) still fast asleep. No opportunity there for a quick morning snuggle! I turn on the radio to a very low volume classic FM.

I'm so excited

This is my first ever blog. I've only recently started reading blogs. I love them. Thanks to all the bloggy pioneers. You're all heros. I hope to become a blog regular although I'm not sure yet where this will take me. Do I talk about my work, my life, my thoughts, my politics? Oooooo, the possibilities are awesome.
Back soon. I'm off to work out how to create a profile and other technical thingies.