Our daughter also treated herself recently to a Trajet, a vehicle big enough to carry wheelchairs, push-chairs and Americans.
I lived in SA for 14 years before I had to appear in court. As a nervous teenager I was there as a witness to testify that it was my bicycle that had been stolen some 6 years earlier. I could barely remember the bike, only the fact that it did not have gears. I was quite thankful that it had been nicked and replaced with a 3 speed some birthdays later.After spending a very long day sitting outside a court room waiting for our case to be called my mum said we wouldn’t have to go back as the thief had escaped from custody. This must have been around 1965 and I am led to believe that things are still not any better.
Somewhat slower than the young ones below, it took me 20 months to be in New Zealand before being summonsed to appear in the Napier District Court.
I had been called up for jury duty. Anybody with a demanding job – like nurses or mums with young kids - simply pleads unavailability and they send in a letter to get let off.
However this approach means your name goes back in the hat and a couple of months later you find yourself again assembling proofs of indispensability and writing another letter, which as you well know is something that we are not very good at.
Far better, said my boss that you pitch during the week but wear a suit. This shows respect and willingness to serve, but also indicates to the defence that you mean to see that justice is done, and thus a poor prospect as a sympathetic juror.
Obviously others have latched onto this ploy as some 60 other tarted-up old layabouts had been assembled to fill the 12 seats on the jury. As their names were called one by one, the defence would quickly stereotype the candidate juror and call out “challenge”!
Being all done up like a pet lizard I was also quickly rejected, which was unfortunate for the accused, but saved me having to stay awake for the rest of the day. Being let off early, it was back to the office for my daily doze and out of reach of the domestic job-jar.
As a maverick and a conscripted incarcerate of many years in the SA army, I am a poodle for the cause of any poor sod up against authority and especially one that has forgotten where he put his stash.
My old lady says I am more of a bolshie old bastard than ever. Maybe its not just me but a flower power generation that may never come to grips with vested interests and the Singaporean autocracy that deem the possession of cannabis worse than the possession of its competitor product alcohol.
Floating along in the land of the long white cloud, ageing hippies dream that one day NZ will follow Canada’s example and find it excusable for marijuana to be prescribed as a palliative for cancer, Aids and Alzheimer’s. Whilst waiting for this, we may as well soak up the gin.
However this approach means your name goes back in the hat and a couple of months later you find yourself again assembling proofs of indispensability and writing another letter, which as you well know is something that we are not very good at.
Far better, said my boss that you pitch during the week but wear a suit. This shows respect and willingness to serve, but also indicates to the defence that you mean to see that justice is done, and thus a poor prospect as a sympathetic juror.
Obviously others have latched onto this ploy as some 60 other tarted-up old layabouts had been assembled to fill the 12 seats on the jury. As their names were called one by one, the defence would quickly stereotype the candidate juror and call out “challenge”!
Being all done up like a pet lizard I was also quickly rejected, which was unfortunate for the accused, but saved me having to stay awake for the rest of the day. Being let off early, it was back to the office for my daily doze and out of reach of the domestic job-jar.
As a maverick and a conscripted incarcerate of many years in the SA army, I am a poodle for the cause of any poor sod up against authority and especially one that has forgotten where he put his stash.
My old lady says I am more of a bolshie old bastard than ever. Maybe its not just me but a flower power generation that may never come to grips with vested interests and the Singaporean autocracy that deem the possession of cannabis worse than the possession of its competitor product alcohol.
Floating along in the land of the long white cloud, ageing hippies dream that one day NZ will follow Canada’s example and find it excusable for marijuana to be prescribed as a palliative for cancer, Aids and Alzheimer’s. Whilst waiting for this, we may as well soak up the gin.
