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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 4, Issue 12 (April 1, 1930)

Astro-comicalities

Astro-comicalities.

Everyone knows in which square of the calendar Christmas Day is liable to land, but Good Friday is prone to nose-dive into the most unsuspected latitudes and logarithms. Certain scientific Solomons say that Easter is in the nature of a seismic seizure, resulting from the sun contracting a complex in the apex, the moon being bitten by the dog star, and a ziff occurring on the zodiac—or some other stellar disturbance equally astro-comical.

And you, gullible reader, let them get away with it; you, a disgusted citizen, a father-of-five, a distracted parent, a mere pedestrian, one-who-knows, etc., etc., are content to take Easter lying down—in bed—hors de combat through a brace of buns.

What would you say if Saturday started to park itself on Monday, and Sunday took to skidding all over the week with the mobility of a butcher's baby in a bath? What, for instance, would be the state of your rave-lengths if, after sacrificing your grog allowance on a brace of coloured matches and a desiccated hurdy-gurdy for the infant Samuel, you suddenly discovered that Guy Fawke's day had slipped into the middle of Ash Wednesday?

Naturally you would go up in the air like a sky rocket.

Tune-in to the ballad of the bunless boy and the story of a mother's love that would not let her chee-ild be bun-coed by bun-combe.