WINTER—A BIT PARKY?

IN THE interests of trying to retain some hint of contact between our common languages of English and American (and Ozz and NZ and any others that might also have sprung from the common well)(or dribbled …) I should really

EXPLAIN

that ‘parky’ in this context means a tad on the cool side. You know, as in chilly—like in ‘brass monkey weather’. Oh dear, you aren’t familiar with that term either? Okay … it is literally—

“Eek!”

“Now what?”

“Bloody cold out here tonight!”

“Oh! Yep. Parky enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, no arguments there.”

—all very well and good. Except that the reference to ‘balls’ might need some explanation lest your jumping to undeserved conclusions sully my reputation for being of drawing room standard. So rather than yet another brief Argus summary I’ll let the good ol’ Apple onboard dictionary beat me to it, like so—

one image is worth a thousand words—Confusious

One picture is worth ten thousand words—Confusesus

—but in the scheme of things that’s neither here nor there.

My topic was literally ‘parky’ as in the parking of a car. I imagine that in some parts of the world a state of anarchy exists on the highways with concomitant causality count but here in NZ We, the People, are nothing if not as well drilled as our sheep. Probably better so, in fact …

SO YESTERDAY

I was hoofing through the pleasant wee suburb of Windsor when it occurred to me that although most Southlanders have independent natures on the roads, this lady was indeed using her initiative—

the hiker ...

—and getting the best of both worlds. I stood staring in rapt contemplation of an absolute masterpiece of devil-may-care flamboyant sang froid in the parking department. I watched as long suffering locals—obviously accustomed to a local character, beloved enough to make allowances—fitted themselves around what any damned Aucklander might have deemed an obstacle.

I even enjoyed listening as my hyperactive imagination coined a conversation between two little old ladies in the front seat—

“Errr … Myrtle?”

“Yes, Dear?”

“We seem to be a wee bit sticking out—?”

“Oh, don’t fret Dear. We can always walk to the kerb from here …”

—and walk they must have. I just hope they had enough rations to last the trip …

SO THAT’S WHY

I like Southland (believe it or not). Down here people have gumption enough to damn the torpedoes and go full ahead, devil-take-the-hindmost. Southlanders carve out their own future and are earthy enough to not even blink when some old poops talk about frozen brazen simian balls or practise original parking techniques. Their tolerance of eccentrics bodes well for our future …

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NIL DESPERANDUM  

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