Anyway, we can always fall back on eye contact if running low on imagery.
‘Nuff said, let’s get into it and please excuse any repetitions. In the meantime, the above is a wee bronze statue in the kiddie part of the park in town. Kept well polished by the efforts of hundreds of ambitious wee climbers all in the footsteps of Hillary. Tradition dies hard in Southland.
This next … there’s some sort of Ladies Social Knitting Circle that this time specialised in knitting socks and mittens for bicycles. I kid you, not. There were wee explanatory notices posted alongside in most cases, some in shop windows, others in the street as if the rider were inside getting his beans or her oats … whatever:
I spied it as I was hoofing quickly through the cloud of smoke that surrounds the cloud of outdoor (street) seating of The Tuatara Café on Dee Street. Not allowed to pollute inside, the smokers are free to come out and foul the world for we transients—but where would we be without our challenges, hey? I can still hold my breath for fifty yards at a moment’s notice …
WERE WE TALKING
tuatara? Oh … why not— here be a previous post’s sun-bronzed bronze crittur making dubious eyeball contact outside the museum on a cold wet summer’s day. Make of it what you will—but if he were for real and the same size as that statue, he’d make of you lunch. As pups/kids/infants they gallop about and are quite playful but as adults they simply stand and watch, like … dare I say it? … statues. And they can move lightning fast when they choose to. Brrrr.
In their cages (actually, giant size aquariums sans water) I have no idea what they eat but in the real world of dog-eat-dog I think they eat guys like this cutie below—I thought I was having camera trouble so took it back to the store but the guy fiddled and sent me back out into the world to try again.They are brilliant in that shop and I’d have no hesitation about recommending Harvey Normans to anyone if it were allowed.
And in the course of my trying again I scored this ugly wee cutie perched on a leaf patiently waiting a living dinosaur so he could be lunch—
—rather a forlorn hope. Them living dinos etc etc things are now confined by the hand of Nature and Man (okay, let’s be PC here) and by the hand of Per* to a few isolated valleys and offshore islands. And yes, camera seems to work perfectly.
some colour to finish off the post. I found this on my desktop, intended to use it earlier but can’t remember if I did or not. In a glass tank of prizes for wee infants with harassed mothers in a shopping sort-of-mall.
If I were to have a try at using the wee crane thingy with the drop-grabber, I’d aim for that little teddy bear guy with the stripy hat. The one making eye-contact …
* Per = abbreviation for the strategic PC corruption of the word ‘person’ … which itself couldn’t be PC either, because them PS folks are absolute sticklers for being literal beyond the nth degree: ergo the ‘son’ part of ‘person’ couldn’t be acceptable (masculine, you see). So could we replace the word ‘person’ in the English language with (say) the more genderically neutral term ‘perper’? And while we’re at it, surely human ain’t good neither? Shouldn’t hu’man’ be changed to huper? Or could we not just stand the PC against a wall and slap them to sense with some dictionary’s?**
** The plural used to be ‘dictionaries’ but in these day’s of anyfink gows oui pluralize wiv phonetiks and apostrefees. Much more simpler, win/won all rownd … and that reel progres.