Some numbers have more significance than others.
1. The number of erogenous zones a guy has. Guess. No please don't tell me.
2. The number of kids we have had. Also the number of dead goldfish drifting in our pond.
3. The number of citizenships my wife has held. Can't she make up her mind?
4. The numbers of wheels driven in many New Zealand cars. 4WD is not a dirty word in Godzone (New Zealand)
5. The number of years that Kiwi kids spend at High School
6. The number of legs on that Weta that's crawling in the window. (For non-kiwis, a Weta is not the film studio set up by Sir Peter Jackson, it's a large, ugly and very primitive insect that survives somehow in the modern world. Something like Winston Peters. Sorry. Kiwi joke.)
7. The number of times my son (he of the pierced earlobe and tattooed forearm showing a delightfully rendered image of the Mexican Day of the Dead with the addition of a Chinese script which he was told meant "May the Lord Bless You" but which really says "I've got a Bastard of a Cold") has moved BACK into our family home.
8. The number of times a day that our little Bichon-Frise poops on the garden deck. Do I have to poop 8 times a day? No. Do I eat much more than the little doggie? Yes. So where does it all come from. It's one of the mysteries of the Universe.
9. The number of times I've taught my beloved how to send e-mails. She (bless her little cotton socks) gets everything right, but forgets to click on the send/receive when she's finished.
10. The number of years I spent working in a hospital Biochemistry laboratory. I can tell you more stories regarding ANY bodily fluid than you will ever want to know. Including the semi-solid ones and the ones that were never meant to see the light of day, and the ones you never knew you had.
11. My age when I was told that Santa Clause didn't exist. Bastards. Bastards for not telling me sooner. Bastards for telling me at all.
12. My age when I discovered what sex was. Bastards. Bastards for not telling me sooner. Bastards for telling me at all.
13. The number which most people regard as unlucky. Also the number of cards dealt to each player in the game Solo Whist.
14. The number of times I have tried to teach by beloved how to check air pressures in her car's tyres and the oil and fluid levels under the bonnet. I stopped trying in 1987.
|Smash 'em guys|
15. The number of players in the greatest game in the world. Rugby Union. Go the All Blacks. It's one of the reasons to my immigrating to NZ. After Scotland, it's really nice to live in a country whose International team actually wins something.
16. The age at which a Kiwi kid can get a driving licence. It used to be 15 until this year, I kid you not. And there's no restriction on what cars they can drive. As Japan has
17. The age I first tried whisky. Lovely stuff. Still a Scottish world beater.
18. The age I legally tried whisky in a Glasgow pub. (The Frying Pan, just of Old Dumbarton Road in Yorkhill. After we got barred from the Stirling Castle Pub, the best in the area. How was I to know that the owner was a red-hot Rangers fan? I only said that the Rev. Ian Paisley was a complete bampot.)
19. The age I got in my first fight in a Glasgow Pub. The Frying Pan had a certain unsavoury reputation as I discovered one Friday night when:
A. I used a large bottle of Garvies Lemonade standing on the bar to top up my whisky (I know, I know, but I was still young, and I though that whisky and lemonade was a "nice" drink)
B. The large and scar faced woman standing next to my then girlfriend told me that it was HER bottle of lemonade, and to get my thieving hands off it
C. My then girlfriend (who was large, but not disfigured by any visible scars) asked me if I was going to put up with that sort of language.
D. My discovery that the large and scar-faced woman had a larger and more scarred male companion who scared the sh*t out of me, and who seemed exceedingly belligerent.
E. My surprised discovery that my then girlfriend had a vocabulary and a delivery that would take the paint off a wall at 50 paces.
F. My look of absolute horror when my then girlfriend and the large scar faced woman erupted into a rolling ball of mayhem, with handbags, stiletto heels, hair, fur (fake or rabbit, I'm not sure)and varnished nails flying in all directions.
G. My surprised discovery that the sight was incredibly arousing.
H. My surprised discovery that the larger and more scarred male companion of the large and scar faced lady was a nice bloke called Gus, and we spent a pleasant 10 minutes chatting about local politics Don't be surprised. I've had more erudite, informed and entertaining discussions on politics, philosophy and "the meaning of life" in Glasgow pubs than in staffrooms in universities and schools) while sipping our drinks and watching our women rip the hell out of each other and anyone else that got in the way.
I. The observation made by the barman, who was standing beside us, also sipping his beer and
|Just try and find them you unprincipled beast|
20. The number of erogenous zones a lovely lady has. Detailed instructions and reference map available under plain brown cover at the very reasonable price of $50, including p&p.
21. The age of majority. The supposed age when ignorant, opinionated youths become adults. Ha.
22. The number bigger than all the others. A number that represents 40% of the teaching staff at Nuova Lazio high school. The number of teachers who are going to be away on Friday, through a combination of camp supervision, weddings, meetings around the country, professional development courses. The number of teachers I'm going to have to find relief cover for.
I'm not happy.