Choc Horror

Kate Middleton

Late April is not a good time to be born a chicken.  Not only is there a 'run' on eggs for Easter but also the forthcoming royal wedding promises to cause problems.

If history is to be believed, any fad displayed by the royal partner-to-be will quickly be picked up by the fashion industry in the UK and slavishly copied by wannabe princesses.

It has been noticeable that Kate Middleton has a fancy for feathers and wears these hat plumes on a variety of outings.

Her deceased mother-in-law succumbed to mega shoulder pads in the 1980's giving a good impression of an American gridiron quarterback.

I am predicting the return of the kaftan and spandex pants and, if all goes to plan, of Big Hair a la Dolly Parton.

As someone who retains dimming memories of the 1953 Queens tour to New Plymouth, specially struck medallions and union jack waving, I have to say that all the hype over the Windsor's latest nuptials leaves me cold.

Dolly's Big Hair Day

A royal wedding is great for the UK tourist industry and no doubt a tonic for some during the dire recessionary times that the country finds itself in.  But given the financial restraints that are in place in England the expenditure on this event seems out of all proportion to reality.

Back in NZ the weekend is awash with chocolate and hot cross buns and people are rushing on to the roads to enjoy the last long weekend holdiay before winter - many maiming themselves in car accidents in the process.

The religious significance of the festival seems to be fast fading with a religious march drawing only a handful of participants and children surveyed at the Easter A and P Show not associating the birth of Christ with the festival at all.  Unsurprisingly the word uppermost in their minds was 'chocolate'.

Far more important to most of us is the Monday observance of ANZAC Day; a time for reflection and remembrance for those who lost their lives serving the country in the two World Wars and other conflicts.

The poppy sellers are out and about (poppies remind us of the flowers of Flanders where some of the largest battles of World War One took place) although there is also some controversy swirling around the production of these paper and plastic replicas.

From next year on these 'flowers' will be manufactured offshore in China as the production costs there are cheaper than using the sheltered workshops of the intellectually handicapped where they have been made in the past.

While this poppy production shift may offer greater returns for the Returned Services Association (RSA) it has further deprived a vulnerable section of our community, which is a great pity.

Meanwhile in Singapore the papers show little or no coverage of either the royal wedding or Easter. All front pages are full of electioneering (largely PAP in content) with the PM being quoted as saying that potential office holders will be "thrown in the deep end".

I suspect the same could be said for Kate Middleton.

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An Old Croc

I had resisted the temptation to buy a pair of plastic sandals, known by their more common brand name of Crocs.

Embedded in my memory banks was my late mother's advice to always buy leather; plastic was in those times regarded as a substitute that only the poor should contemplate.

In Singapore most of the shoe stores are festooned with Crocs in a dazzling array of colours, always highly priced and rarely discounted.

They are in fact a modern form of galoshes or goloshes, to use the pre-1920 British spelling.  First references to this type of overshoe came in the Middle Ages  from the Gaulish shoe or gallicae.

Back in New Zealand we frequent the Number One Shoe Warehouse to buy our cheaper footwear. Yesterday we discovered quite by chance their outlet store in the suburb of Glenn Innes.

The place of full of cheap Chinese clones of better known brands and I brought a pair of red plastic sandals for $10.  They look identical to the aforementioned Crocs and were probably made in the same factory, but they are completely devoid of any branding.

I intend using them for garage shoes but will not be taking them on the streets for fear that their bright ruby red colour will stop cars in their tracks.

Now I discover that this same footwear exposes the wearer to other  hazards as the Singapore video below shows.

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Half A Mo

There are a few moments in one's mortal journey when a life altering is decision takes place.  I had one such epiphany two days ago.

Staring at the mirror on a cold winter's morning I decided to shave off my moustache.  This carefully cultivated zone of self indulgence first sprouted on my upper lip some thirty five years ago.

It has also survived and flourished in its various manifestations over 26 years of marriage despite suggestions to the contrary.

I blame this sudden and rash decision on my change of diet after leaving Singapore.  Soup and porridge have now become staples and a moustache is not the best item of  body adornment in such circumstances.

The rationale for my earlier decision to wear a moustache are now lost in the mists of time. No doubt the influence of Hollywood's leading men such as Clark Gable had something to do with it, but more likely it was the 1970's rock scene where long hair and a droopy moustache were de rigeur. 

I may have been no Rhett Butler I but I did have a passing resemblance to Ringo Starr on the Sgt Pepper Album's cover art.

Historical evidence suggests that the mosutache has been worn for thousands of years.  Eighth Century Latin refers to the "mustacium" and Hellenistic Greek to "mustax".  The Pazyrik horseman pictured (circa 300 BCE) sports a pencil thin moustache.

My morning decision had no such historical context. The sobering reality has been that no one actually noticed I had shaved off the offending appendage! 

Even the pair of eyes that can observe a sock out of place in the tallboy at forty paces failed to notice the physical change as she passed me by.

Either I have become as superfluous as the furniture, or the colour of said moustache has now changed to such a degree that it matches the skin colour of my upper lip - I suspect the latter.

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