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About New Plymouth

Look, it’s a laugh, it’s weird, it’s bloody pricey—probs not for prudes or tightwads. Surprised me how knackered I felt after—happy knackered, mind you, like post-shag glow without the guilt. Would I go again? Maybe if I win the lottery or some twat pisses me off enough to need “zen.” Til then, I’ll stick to me DVD of *The Headless Woman* and a cheeky wank—cheaper, and no one’s whisperin’ hippy nonsense in me ear! Hah! What d’you reckon—fancy a rubdown, ya filthy git?

Are You Old Enough?

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So, I dashed down to the waterfront. The view was stunning, as always. The harbor sparkled like a million diamonds. But then, outta nowhere, a seagull swooped down and tried to steal my muffin! I yelled, “Hey! That’s mine, ya feathered thief!” People stared. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at a writer yelling at a bird?

Homegrown moving to Hamilton after 18 years in Wellington