Things started to move at nine o'clock or so when Gray's bulletriddled body was dragged out of the Regent Theatre foyer by three amateur gangsters, the murderer being left behind by our intrepid driver "Pretty Boy" Powles, though allowances must be made as it was his first murder. We had to leave the other body (Carver) in the foyer and the crowd were quite disappointed when it began to sell Cappicade.

Another group deployed around the House of Parliament, the vicious faces being hidden by dark raincoats and hats (it was raining), with orders to vaporise the centre of Government and escape over the rooftops. At this point we might deplore the bad taste of the Taranaki type who took the wind out of our sails by doing most of the spadework.

If you'd been interested, though, you might have seen Richard John in nappies and bonnet, brandishing a bottle of guaranteed hygenic milk (you heard us—milk). There was a notice to the effect that owing to shortage of space the Education Department had been forced to appropriate the building for a kindergarten—the most highflautin' kindy of th' whole world. Sucks to the wooden building.

There are other statues—the inspiring and indecent wahine who points perpetually east-nor-east to the long Hawaikii, the far Hawaikii the Hawaikii over the rainbow (you never noticed it you sod and in your own station) was given a little moral uplift (which was subsequently returned to us by a bashful porter) and a still, a small notice on the linger murmured "Gents". Queen Victoria who gets greener every year in Courtenay Place was too verdigreasy to climb and we regretfully left the old dear to her oxides.

Meanwhile. Mr. Perry and Mr. Elmes had a sweaty time getting a 12' x 6' notice and one Wendy June up six flights of scaffolding on the back end of the ... ah . ., Civic Hall. It read: