Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree ....

It caught me by surprise – it is December 1st - World AIDS Day – red ribbon day. It has really flown under the radar this year.
That red ribbon, so distinctive in its time – that trend setting ribbon has lost ground to those causes (very important causes) who copied it. And so we have pink ribbons which originated in 1991 only 1 year after that red ribbon. There are yellow ribbons which signify a number of causes – among them youth suicide. And now there are white ribbons which actually date back to 1991, even though their mass appearance is only recent. Each of these now commanding more publicity than the original red ribbon. Each has its history. Hats of to the cancer society for choosing the daffodil.

For the first time I cam remember the announcers on TV this morning failed to wear the red ribbon. Let’s see what happens by tonight. But it is an interesting lesson in diminution. I guess as yet more colored ribbons appear for yet more causes, the original red ribbon is in danger of disappearing from view.



As running addict, I propose a ribbon for our disease. Any suggestions of a color?

These boots are made for walkin ....

You gotta learn to walk before you can run. Running addict is also race walking these days. But there’s a big difference between running and race-walking. You can run any darned way you like. Run like a turkey or a horse; nobody will complain. Laugh – yes: complain, no.

Race walking is another matter. There are some rules. You can’t walk any old way you like – especially if that so-called walk amounts to a run.

Now if you’re in a walk race and someone behind is breaking the rules – who cares? But when the guy ahead has lost control and broke into what amounts to a run – that my friends is entirely another matter!

You are in a running race and the person ahead breaks into a walk. Your response – joy!

You are in a walk race and the person ahead breaks into a run. Your response – resignation? Only if you are a not a competitive sort! My response is fury.

It is like the trots when the horse breaks into a gallop. So ya gotta have judges.

A white sportscoat and a pink carnation, I'm all dressed up ...

The lunacy of local government. …Dunedin city council wants to support Nu Zulun’s cricket team, the All Whites when the West Indies comes to play. It is therefore encouraging fans at the cricket ground to wear all white clothes and to shout “we’re all white here!” when the West Indies runs on to the field.

Some have raised eyebrows. On comes a … well …black team … and the crowd shouts we’re all white here”. Others have said go ahead and shout. That way we won’t be politically correct.

I predict that a crowd shouting at a black team : “we’re all white here” will not go down well in the international press and the country will once again appear as somewhat lacking in the IQ steaks ... ooops .... stakes.

PC or not – it is time for this adolescent country to strife towards adulthood.
A white sports coat

Your cheating heart will tell on you …

Idiom: To cut the corner

Sometimes cutting corners is okay. It might simply mean finding a quicker way to do something. However, there is often a lost of quality in the work achieved. Sometimes, the idiom “to cut a corner” has a negative connotation. It simply means cheating.

Runners know all about cutting corners. There is nothing more annoying than seeing a runner up ahead cutting a corner on a clearly marked course.

You cut a corner and win; you cheat and achieve your goal. What have you got? A goal and a lost soul. I’m not talking about hell here folks! I am talking about not being true to your innermost self.

The prophet Jesus of Nazareth put it well “What does it profit a person if he/she gains the whole world and yet loses his/her soul”.

Shakespeare took it up in King Lear when Polonius advises Laertes “This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man” (Act 1, sc 3).

How is the air up there?

Do you hair the shift going on? As I was drinking a bear the other day I could hair it …

“You will rarely have a good time …”

I thought, what kind of advertising is this?

But the shift is on with young Nu Zulundurs.

Beer >>> bear
Hear >>> hair
Ear >>> air
Really >>> rarely

Think of those generous young farmers who share their sheep.

Now some people rarely fare for the language with this shift happening. But never fare, language is always changing. Indeed such change is a mare trifle in the scheme of things.
Indeed we should chair at the glorious dynamic of the English language.

Yes folks chair rather than snare!
and don't shed a tear (as in rip)

Anyhoo, hair them speak

What's it all about Alfie? Did I miss something??

Darn ..... it annoys me! Someone forgets to send me the crucial email about that crucial event and i am like blah??? Then they say, see you at the meeting. And I say, What darn meetin?

Left out of the loop again!

Welcome to the 21st century age of techno-failure ....

where one missed click on the mouse leaves you wondering "What the heck is this all about". You get dragged into the conversation about 50 lines in and baby you is lost!

"We need to prepare for that meeting on Tuesday!"

Huh? What meeting?

Did I miss something?

Now it is a quick check through the last million years emails...

No .... eeer .... nope .... no sir .... i don't think so .... yes definitely nothing about a meeting ... yep ... no doubt ... no meeting ... i guess ... oh stuff it ...

lets head out for a RUN!

I like the free fresh wind in my hair – the green grass under my feet

Running is a ritual – one that connects my brain with my body, and my body to the good earth under my feet and the wind in my face. It connects me to a sense of rhythm. Not just the rhythm in the run, but the rhythms of one run to the next. Running enables in Joseph Campbell’s words, the “harmonization of our lives with the order of nature”. Of course walking does the same thing and cycling.



But it is not the running or walking or cycling on those frightful things in gyms! What a metaphor they for the mechanization of modern life.

Some runners have lost the plot. They carry every kind of technical instrument with them to get feedback on their bodies. Whatever happened to simply being in tune with the body!

And while I am on it, why do some runners and many walkers have to grip on to all those water bottles? Do they serious think they are going to dehydrate in 1 hour? Fair enough in the desert, but not in the mild manner weather of Nu Zulun.

So come on folks. I call for minimalism in running.

Shorts and t-shirt, shoes and socks and a key in your pocket.

And we run because we like it through the broad bright land.

Flyin high in April, shot down in May …

Nu Zulun has voted folks!
It has been a vote for change. Of course change is that great ponderous fact of life – the only great constant. What was it that the Buddha said? Transitory, transitory are all things. Strange thing is, change is the one thing we humans tend to steadfastly resist.

Elections are a stark reminder of what Joseph Campbell called the organised inadequacies of this world. Oh yes, they grant that brief illusion of control – that somehow, maybe our destinies lie in our hands. The Tao Te Ching, however puts it plainly: “the world is forever out of control”.

We sang a great old hymn in school: “Time like an ever-rolling stream bears all its sons away. They fly forgotten as a dream dies at the opening day.” Helen has quit. Michael has quit. Winnie has disappeared from the political earth. An old familiar restaurant closes. A new one opens.

The Tao Te Ching speaks of the wise person:
“Things arise and she lets them come;
things disappear and she lets them go.
She has but doesn't possess,
acts but doesn't expect.
When her work is done, she forgets it.
That is why it lasts forever”.

To fall in love again and we did then …

It’s the big day in America. Has America fallen in love again as in those halcyon Kennedy days? I suspect so. I suspect a bit of a landslide on this Super Tuesday in the States. Obama is an orator you see, and God knows we need one after eight mind numbing years of foot-in-the-mouth Bush.

Clearly, Obama has sat at the feet of the African American Baptist preacher and learnt his trade and learnt it damned well. It is what we lack in New Zealand – the politician-orator. Listen to Clark and Key. Combined they have plumbed, mined and excavated new depths of boredom and monotony. Who needs sleeping pills when a leaders’ debate is on? But when this man Obama speaks, people are mesmerised.

I know what I am talking about folks. You are looking at the Northcote College senior public speaking champion two years running, and president of the debating society.

Obama is about as good as they get. And frankly, it scares me a smidgen – just a tad.

If the United States should last for a thousand years, this could be a fine hour! Or then maybe, just maybe, it could be twilight time.

On the road again

I am running again. Since June 24 I have run total of about 12 km. Then last night I ran a 5 km at the Northcote Point pub run. I was only a minute off the pace for my best in recent years. It is surprising how fit 50 – 60 km a week of fast walking has kept me!

I now hereby officially recommend walking as excellent running training. Jack Lovelock (1500 metre Champ at the Berlin Olympics, 1936) did a hell of a lot of walking as part of his training regime.

So to celebrate my return, lets us a sing a hymn! Does anyone know the tune?



Song of the Ungirt Runners

We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.

The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
Does the tearing tempest pause?
Do the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
'Neath the big bare sky.

The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.

Charles Hamilton Sorley