I have just been to Hamilton on a truly exciting visit.

I drove a Ford Transit van up there. One that runs on diesel.

Perhaps I’ll rephrase that “runs”. You see, if my Honda Accord could be called a speedy rabbit, the Ford Transit would be the equivalent of a turtle – with severe arthritis.

If there were any manned speed cameras out there, the drivers behind me would have got clean away with speeding because the speed camera operators would have fallen asleep waiting for me to pass.

On the other hand, the van was quite at home doing 30kmh on the many road works sites I encountered. Gee, they are working on the road so much removing corners that Auckland is going to be miles closer to Wellington by the time they’ve finished.

This large number of roadworks does have advantages for women, though. Because any lady who wants a man who can make the earth move for them only need wander down to the nearby road works site. And talk to the earthmover driver.

Ah, but it was exciting driving the van, even if it was slow. Getting past big trucks on passing lanes was thrilling. You’d be about halfway past and the “Road Narrows 200m” sign would suddenly appear. Two hundred metres later, you’d be just alongside the truck’s driver’s door. And the road is getting narrower. And so are your bowels.

But, while I’m not sure whether there are any 18-wheelers in the ditches beside a passing lane or two between here and Hamilton, I don’t think I hit any of them.

I did pass a Britz camper van and the driver did seem to get a bit upset about that. So much so that he sped up to catch me and then pulled out to pass me on some 30kph road works. He didn’t succeed because just then we came upon a man holding a big STOP sign.

Me, being basically a pain-in-the-ass, suggested to the guy holding the sign that he might like to talk to the tourist in the campervan about sticking to the speed limit on road works.

The STOP man grinned and said “Good idea”, then waved me on. He then stepped out in front of the campervan to stop it and approached the driver to have a nice polite word. I later noticed that the campervan driver, some way behind, was keeping pretty well to the road works limit after that. I’m not sure what the road worker said to him, but it could have been something involving physical retribution from his rellies in tribes further on if the campervan driver desecrated more of the roading network the road works guy’s people are claiming as part of their Treaty settlement.

Of course, this all goes to prove that there are times when looking like Hone Heke in a particularly unpleasant mood can be very socially helpful.

Once I arrived in Hamilton, all should have been well. Unfortunately, this wasn’t so because of what my doctors says is a prostate infection I have been battling for a few weeks. I suspect the stress of the driving exacerbated things, because I suddenly came down with a burning fever and was in no condition to do anything but lie prostate. Or is that prostrate?

Whatever, I was burning up. Hey, being hot stuff is one thing, but having one’s body on fire is no fun!

However, a good night’s sleep brought my temperature down but I was still not very useful for tasks like loading vans for the next two days.

So I just comatosed and listened to Reece’s two-year old son, Dominic, causing chaos in the household. Young Dom is a real cutey. When I first met him, I said to Reece that Dom was going to break a few girls’ hearts when he got older and Reece grinned and said, “Well, he got a kiss from one of the little girls when I picked him up from daycare today”.

Which is rather cute and no real problem … until the day arrives when Reece has to pull them apart…

Hamilton is an interesting city. I didn’t see much of it because I wasn’t feeling well enough to explore the sin spots, although I did call in on the Museum just before I left. It was closed. They mustn't have seen me coming. I mean I'm one of the best historical specimens you'll ever find!

But, that’s their loss. I was thinking of offering them the exclusive rights to display a fascinating collection of 1960s male underpants, stains and all. Well, if they don’t want them, I’ll just offer them to Te Papa, instead. I’m sure Te Papa will be interested. I can see their banners now:
“A Brief Introduction To The Sixties”
“Underpants -The Greatest Let-Down Of The Sexual Revolution”
“Why Not Y-Fronts?”

After that, there is my collection of ties. There is the one with which my Uncle Herbert hung himself. A real mystery, that one. We all thought that Uncle Herbert couldn’t knot a tie, that Aunty Agatha used to do it for him. So how did he tie that slip knot? And shut it in the top of the doorway? Sadly, we haven’t been able to ask Aunty Agatha about it. She and her boyfriend are still touring the world on Uncle Herbert’s life savings.

And then there are the ties with the naked women on them. Of course, many of those have been ruined by the bikinis that my ex drew on them but …

This trip has given me new ideas for future career paths for me. I’m seriously considering becoming a rainsayer. Everywhere I went for the past few days, I’ve brought rain to the place. And all this without a single rain dance. Maybe it was just that my high body temperature raised the ambient temperature quickly, thus starting a precipitation generation process.

Or I could become a Hamilton parking meterperson. You get to wander down the main street vindictively brandishing a big piece of chalk and wearing a Stetson hat. I’m not sure why the Stetson hat. Maybe the metermaids didn’t like wearing a bowler hat.

I’m glad to say that the meter person I saw simply ignored me. I was sitting in Reece’s car pretending to be the driver while Reece went into the bank. He actually got some money from the bank and didn’t even take in a gun. I’m so in awe of the youth of today.

The reason that Reece wanted the money was because he was buying a car. It is quite a nice car, except that it has one of those huge exhaust pipes that look like the backside of a guy who’s spent too long in jail.

Reece bought the car to replace the Nissan he presently owns. That Nissan has a motor with more capacity than Julia Roberts has mouth. And it is about as expensive to run.

The car is a Subaru Legacy, still not a small car but apparently Reece likes large women. So he needs a big car. This preference of his for BBW is a bit of a nuisance, actually. I mean, if he likes large women, I can forget sending him a copy of my Sex Positions calendar as a birthday present. I'd feel terrible if he got hurt should they try the woman-on-top positions. He, on the other hand, probably wouldn't know if he was coming or groaning.

But, I’m now back home to my own little cluttered flat and a happy little old lady next door. I think the old sweetie missed me. With me no longer at my computer, she would have learnt not one new swear word all week.

But, now that I’m back, with my computer refusing to post messages to Internet newsgroups, her education continues. *^!”(^#!*<+*# computers!

It’s nice to be needed.
--
Allan