pettipoint

O, New Zealand, land of untrammeled lusts. "He developed a friendship with Spencer's wife through delivering goods to her home and later through a mutual interest in howls." (Court report). We demand that public morality and order be restored by banning sinful howl-playing by gregarious middle-aged butchers.

* * *

A hotel in Lower Hurt was refused permission to add a 20-bedroom motel block because it would disturb the tranquility of an order of nuns and of the US Ambassador. Particularly important at the moment, I am told, as God has almost been persuaded to intervene for the Americans in Vietnam.

* * *

Well, they always said that the Soviet Union was catching up to the United States. Let's see now — Guatemala, Lebanon, Cuba, Dominican Republic; Hungary, Czechoslovakia — yes, they're progressing well.

* * *

Did you attend the vigil? I did. Wasn't it fun! I'm going to stop demonstrating against the Americans now — it's so much more worthwhile against the Russians. A kind member of the local Czech community baked some bread rolls, provided some boiled eggs, and to, a quantity of brandy and ginger ale. You see what I mean?

* * *

"Repulsive", said Our Guardian of Public Morals. "With civilised methods like the Pill available, I find it quite repulsive that they should use the old messy methods. Anyway, why can't they use the mail-order, like I did when I was a student?"

* * *

My spies report that the Auckland Arts Festival was about half the size and scope of our three years ago. Naturally.

* * *

A friend, musing upon the fact that the North Pole has been discovered, even indeed the South — which doesn't really count because of the bear shortage—is equipping an expedition to find the Evening Post. Men of unbounded vision are sought, and women.

* * *

"Receipt of a pension is deemed to be sufficient means of support", opined Chief Inspector Kean, of Taranaki Street Fuzzhouse. Ah yes, we know—like bursaries.

* * *

For lo! tis the springtime, and the traditional buds are bursting forth—hello dears—while in the library the heavy murmur of spring heats ineffectually against the grey concrete, and youth and maidens, students too, struggle wearily, gallantly, hopelessly against the forces of Morris dancers, Maypoles, and shafts, as if were, of sun. Scurvy knaves, they all, knavelling scurvily in dim recesses, waiting to grow seed and blow mead cum rumbustious summer.