I was selling something cheaply online and was contacted by a woman who wanted it. She wanted me to wait until Thursday (presumably when she got paid). She didn’t have a car, so I dropped it off after work. When I saw the address, I realised it was within sight of where I spent nine years of my life as a child. It was a state housing area and these days that area is particularly rough. I prepared myself.
It was almost funny. When I drove along the road to the woman’s house, a couple of Maoris were standing in a front yard and stared at me as I drove past. I was reminded of the ‘hood’ in Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. I parked, and walked past another couple of big Maori guys (one in quite a flash car). Got to the house, walked past a kicked-in bit of house wall (patched) and to the front door. I surveyed the fenced front yard – rubbish everywhere and empty bottles of Jägermeister, etc. When the woman opened the door, I was hit by the smell of cigarette smoke. The deal done, I walked back to the car, feeling highly conspicuous as the only white person in the neighbourhood. I looked across to the house where I had lived and it had been revamped and made into a community centre. The side garden was now a carpark. One should never go back (although I couldn’t help it on this occasion). I laughed as I drove away. Man, what a place.
I was feeling extraordinarily tired (thanks daylight saving) and a bit achey the next day, so decided to “take a sickie”. After all, two older women at work had not turned up because they were tired (one had a nightmare), so I thought, bugger it, why not.
Our washing machine had decided to break down, and as it was something that needed to be dealt with during the week when someone was home, I took the opportunity. I rang a company that had been recommended to me. Unfortunately, that company had been taken over by a bigger company and I just got a receptionist, and not a tradesman. I wanted to ask if the machine was worth fixing (as it was fairly old). She wouldn’t have known but the decision was made when she said it cost $80 just to have a look at the machine. I decided to head in and look at new and used washing machines instead.
By chance, H had left her lunch behind, so I headed to her work place and gave it to her (she hadn’t even known she’d forgotten it). While there, I had a look at the cheapest washing machines (of good brands). They were more expensive than I’d hoped, even with H’s staff discount. I headed to the second-hand place and saw a nice machine there for just $250. I decided to buy it, willing to fork out extra for delivery. Delivery was free and they could deliver that afternoon. Brilliant. One problem solved, just by taking a day off work.
I tidied up the deck (blasted jasmine plant just takes over, no matter how many times I try to kill it), and mowed the lawn. The delivery guy came exactly at the time they said he would (1.30pm). I was impressed. My cat, (coincidentally called Jasmine – she did take over but she’s not a nuisance), was sleeping in the sunroom. As soon as the delivery guy saw her, he talked to her and I figured he was a cat man. Later, after installing the machine and testing it, he called to Jasmine. I called her over and he let her sniff his hand. She must have known he was a cat person too, otherwise she wouldn’t have stuck around, let alone come over. He told me he had a tortoiseshell cat as well. There’s something magical about those cats – they’re very good at making humans they’ve owned go weak at the knees when that human sees another tortoiseshell.
Job done, I could catch up with some washing and still had the afternoon in sunshine. After such a successful morning, I think I just relaxed.
Yesterday, I met a friend in Foxton. Her teenage son is into horse-riding and they were down for a ‘show hunting’ event. I’d never heard (or been aware) of show hunting before friend’s son got into it. It’s like normal horse jumping but more precise. Instead of doing the course as fast as possible and clearing all jumps, it’s more about style and a certain number of strides between each jump. Friend’s son was the only male out of all the pony clubs there, I think. He didn’t do too well in the results. To me, it looked like he went over the jumps beautifully, but not according to the judges. Friend thought the judge was biased against males (they ride differently), but he probably had too many strides, or something.
Whenever I’m at a horse event such as this (and at Horse of the Year earlier this year), I can’t help thinking of Thelwell’s Angels on Horseback and Riding Academy (if you don’t know of it, do look it up), and just want to snigger. You get riders that are too big or too small for the pony they’re on. You get arrogant riders from families made of money who have the flashiest horse floats, and poorer riders who have to borrow a pony. Quite often I find the people more interesting (and amusing) than the horse event. It’s always women who organise and run the pony events. The husbands just tag along, turning up when there’s food on the table or it’s time for a beer.
Dead tired (I think everyone was, including the horses) by 4.30 pm, I left shortly after and headed home, buying a burger and chips on the way.
Love your pics! Glad you got a good washing machine and a hassle free install 🙂
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I have a friend who rides her pony in local events. She has to get up especially early to groom the pony and get him looking nice. She must have a lot of energy! As you say, the husband tags along and takes photos. 🙂
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