oopsy-doopsy doo. As in:
OH … BUGGER~!
Now then, picture this: here you are, tootling about in New Zealand’s thriving wee country town of Gore, minding your own business with a song on your lips, joy in your heart (gorgeous spring day) (late spring) (okay, very late spring—almost summer solstice) and a fully loaded camera in your paws when on turning a corner you spot something still there that you’d seen some months before.
Someone’s “Oops~!” moment, forever protected by official disinterest (and two hundred thirty volts, or more).
The sight re-arouses earlier interest. It conjures up possibilities: did some cavorting young Gorons pass this way after school, and was the smallest guy’s footwear nonchalantly thrown upwards by the duty bully and caught on the wires? Did some wee fellow have to explain to his dear old Mum why he’s arrived home in newly worn-out socks?
some wildly enthusiastic wannabe All Black rugby champion give a gawdalmighty demonstration kick using the aforementioned wimp’s clogs as ball?
Will a close-up solve the mystery, answer the question—
—or shall we be forever in despair—are we in the presence here of undiscovered greatness, or can such a shot (the kick, dammit—not my snap) be reproduced to order?
Maybe we looking at a potential goldmine business opportunity—will we be able after a trial flight to franchise the “Boot-a-Boot” scheme and make a mint* teaching the inexperienced the art of hanging shoes from power-lines without getting sizzled?
Too many questions.
Sometimes it’s better to travel hopefully than to arrive; and by watching the ground beneath our feet rather than peering up at the unattainable stars we may yet prevent further unplanned “Oops” moments.
NON KICKUS CONTRA FULGUR
* So long as the supply lasts, of course (boots, power-lines, wimps etc …)