The one with the Tooth Fairy.

I found the today when I was looking for something else.

It's a note from my daughter from many years ago to the Tooth Fairy about a tooth that had fallen out, but that she had been playing with, which had then become lost.

Yes it's in purple, yes that's a picture of the tooth that was lost. Note that this isn't to scale.

This folds in the middle and here is a 'front' page, it's like a miniature card.



There are some things you just can't buy.

(she slept with this under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy to find, she did get her gold coin).

Related articles

• Affidavit for the Tooth Fairy


• The Tooth Fairy Cometh

The Spin Bike, the Garage and the Knee

Spent a couple of hours rearranging the garage. This so 'we' could install the newly purchased  Spin Bike into a place we can use it.

The garage door has developed an asthmatic wheeze, so I spent an hour on door remedy. That may not have worked. I used a lot of the WD-40, CRC556, and the special garage door lube. It's less asthmatic and creaky on the hinges, I could be forced to google a way to fix this.

I bet it involves Olive Oil.

Broke one of my re-fill bottles, the 750ml junior which I don't think I paid for anyway, disappointing though.

Did find some drinking glasses that I had stowed away for a later date. Couple of 250ml lager glasses, and a taller thinner Pint Glass rom the Bath Ales company who make a fine beer that I've been neglecting.  Beer I was drinking before I started to keep a list, and from the nice people at The Wine Circle in Kumeu, who I've also been neglecting.

Also found a heap of old soccer programs from when I used to go watch the mighty Eagles of Crystal Palace play,  and some newspaper cutting and stuff.  A whole set of posts in itself.

Threw out next to nothing. That could come back and haunt me.

Also reminded that I have an Ice-Cream machine, and a Tortilla press that I need to use again, but after I use the pasta machine, which was hidden behind the Paella pan, propped up by the the pestle and mortar.  I swear the cupboard is like the Tardis.

Also.... reminded but the 7 used field Hockey sticks about (i) how much we invested in Hockey sticks, and (ii) just how good MissPdubyah was at Hockey.

Also, I may have shoe problem, all the shoes on the stack-rack are mine.  3 Pairs running shoes - current, 2 pairs not used for running but I still wear, couple pairs of casual shoes, couple other pairs of casual shoes, and so it goes on. A lot of shoes.

Also, why do we have 3 stereos in the Garage. One of them has a mini-disc player! I should get that out and see how I can plug that back in again to the amp.

Moved things back to the garden shed that belong there, including a scarifying machine for the lawn that I brought, custom built by the last owner, what was I thinking?, and a weedeater, and a thing on a stick that I can't remember what it does, an edging tool thing.

Also, a bag of quick-dri concrete, and a bag of lawn feed.

Oh and a waterblaster.

Found the christmas tree and some 'lost' decorations, might be the last year for that. Should have been last year to be honest.

Found the outside  beanbag, that has gone  back on the patio near the BBQ, for which I found the rotisserie device :-)

But in all this I've managed to twist, wrench, or jar my knee, again, because this has been a long term thing since the 5-a-side football season, lateral pain on a sideways movement.

For which I found the only cure might be a beer :-)

It's not where you're at it's where you're from.

Part of being where you are is knowing where you came from. I'm from a family that has a chequered history, not unusual. and the family tree is a journey, like everyone else's.



So it was with a bit of excitement that I really stumbled over this last night, in one of those weird moments where you indullge your self-googling, except this time I chose my Father's name.

And this popped up.

A public notice confirming his naturalisation \ Citizenship in July 1965, a magnificent addition to the family history tree.

Feeling a bit good about this to be honest, but not for any real reason, except I found it.

Two Funerals and a wondering

To be honest it's been a few funerals,  but specifically I'm thrown off by axis by one of which was this week, the other from 1988.

This week the funeral of a friend, Des Tierney, a good bastard by any measure. If I end up half a good a bastard then I'll be spectacular. No one exemplified the meaning of community than Des. There won't be a million words or books written about Des, and that's a pity in some regards, but he'll be an oral legend, around these and other parts.

The other funeral, my Father. The one I didn't go to because I just moved to New Zealand, in 1987.

The thing that links them? Well in the sadness of things they both died before they were 60.

And why then would I be thrown into the funk that I have. Well I'm not getting any younger, and I'm now contemplating, as I did with some incredulity at 16, as being as old as my dad. Except now that the words "when he died" are added on the end.

So why should I panic about the age my father died? He was a heavy smoker with a sedentary lifestyle, it's not the way I am. And how does the passing of a friend conflate a story to make it a doom.

In a normal thinking they don't. But as your own mortality, and your own perception of that mortality changes you begin to fret. I spoke to a couple of of me friends about this, and they get it, what I'm feeling, they didn't laugh, they just compared theirs to mine, and we all agreed that it was a nothing. It is what it is, there is no binary thing going on, that event A does not meant that it will equal a similar event  A for me, or them.

So now here I am wondering why it is that I never owned a Lotus Elite Turbo, and E-Type Jaguar. A 1967 Mustang fastback , or a V8 anything, and it's not like that would define me in anyway. It might bring me immediate pleasure, and the added angst of maintaining and paying for it.

I'm now wondering why I never went home to England and abandoned almost everything to a new country, like no one ever did that, but I've not been home, not am I likely to go home, and I left in 1987. And yes it's still home. Go figure.

Do I think people will tell grand stories about me when I die? You're having a laugh, the most heroic I've been was when never.  Should I worry about that?

So a life just as ordinary. A fear and doubt. A surprise? There are many things in my head, and a weight on my shoulder that has descended for no reason other than self.

But if I had a motto to live by it would be "this too shall pass", and it will. Might get that as a tattoo.

Larkings Landing, Beach Haven, Auckland

I had some time on my hands today, and went a wandering. I found this;

Hilders Park, Or Larkings Landing if you prefer. Down some steps to the Sea Scout hut,  a moored Play boat that seems to be allowed to wander as it's tether and tides take it, more seats with dedications to dead people than is prudent (all painted deep institutional green) , and  at least 3 public barbecue machines.

Bit of a find really

You'll seem I'm still a thing for geometric shapes and got a tad muddy getting under the wharf, I just can't help myself.

[gallery link="file" order="DESC" columns="2" orderby="rand"]

Happy Families - the one with the recap #2

Anyways we crack on ....  There are many more things to tell

If you remember we had an aunt Peggy  - it turns out that she was not a relation at all. This came to light when Peggy needed proof of identity for her pension rights. Seems our nan took her in. Mum only said she was very upset and angry.

but a footnote clears it up somewhat:  Peggy is a relation, that's your Mum's "sister" on her birth cert. The father is named as your granddad ( Eva's dad ), but the mother isn't Harriet (grandmother), but is in fact your Grandads sister.  We presume that whilst married - the mother who's name evades us at present - and with her husband is  at war (or dead) she's become pregnant. Our Grandparents have taken Peggy as their own, hence Grandads name on the birth certificate, so Peggy was your Mums cousin and her "parents" we're her Aunt & Uncle.

In other stories

The bishop of Fulham is a relative! He came to visit us once.

Granddad had a  brother who lived just yards away they never spoke.

Took mum to see Albert SCRIVEN  -  he being a cousin -  his brother was a boxer and actually spared with the late Sir Henry Cooper, we have a letter from him telling us that.

Granddads father fell of the back of a horse and cart and died. He was born in Crewkerne  - that's Somerset.

granddad  served in WW I -  according to mum he was a stretcher bearer.  Had a finger knuckle shot off Clive may remember that twisted finger.

Uncle George who lived at the same house got shrapnel wounds in the back we have a photo of him in uniform with a military motorbike. Sadly he jumped in front of a train at Hither Green. There was a short story in the newspaper at the time. I talked to the head of British Railways about this but they don't keep records.

Then there is Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim took everything,  but he died a pauper at Bury St Edmunds.  The council cremated him, and put his ashes on nans grave.

The only relation alive is by marriage, and  is Uncle George's wife.  Mums brother, George was in the SAS.

Our older cousins are passing away,  cousin Tarn died , Cousin Sam (Clive will remember him he has cancer) is living in  somewhere like Thailand  -  sold his house to provide for himself as money goes further.

We have a relation there who as done much ancestry work,  I met him on the family tree. There is a soldier with the surname "Hicks" -  a war memorial statue, more than one, who posed for the sculpture  - we have a photo,  It's also the memorial statue near us, anyway we're sure there are more.

Our family tree goes back to 1604 I think but only on mums side.

We have relations in South NZ - Waimate. Might as well put this a relative played for the all blacks. a long time ago.

and Finally....

Uncle Syd was a  boxer -  using the name "Pat Crowley" in Ireland.  Not a good idea to be an Englishman with "the troubles" then. A record of 99 fights undefeated. The information came from a boxing historian who was very excited when we told him who Pat Crowley was. Also spoke to the owner of boxing magazine about George SCRIVEN, grandads son, he was an Olympic hopeful but liked women and a beer he's the one who sparred with Henry Cooper.

Happy Families - the one with the recap

I mentioned yesterday how strangely a family that doesn't really communicate that well suddenly gets a burst of enthusiasm for each other. Today I have the recollections of  the #2 Child, my older brother (there are 3 sisters in between us though). Let us begin....

Lots of photo are missing the oldest ones were taken when dad was a misplaced person after the war.

The reason, for his being a misplaced person, is, I believe, dad,  along with many others were rounded up after the Warsaw uprising.

He probably knew Pope John Paul  - who evaded capture.  That could explain why we got Christmas cards and holy bread, and that we also a photo of the pope on the wall. (signed by the pope himself I remember)

This is important  - dad was a slave worker for the nazis , I think he must have been liberated by the Canadian forces so ending up in Canada, where his listed occupation was a barber.

After release dad joined the Royal Engineers.

Mum saw him visiting a friend in London (near her home address in Beacon Road and said "I will marry him" -  and she did  - at Lockerbie in Scotland.

Dad like many other war veterans did not talk about the past.

Dad first went back to Poland in 1964 in an Austin A40 car a red one.  He took to Poland things that were rare like coffee, plasters , chocolate, warm clothes  - including socks and underwear. When he came back home all he was wearing was a top and trousers and a pair of sandals he had given everything away.

The photo you are referring to is at a place called krakow  (possibly Zakopane),  you have been there along with Lesley ,Andy, Stewart also Shirley.  You all went in a Austin 1100.

That was 1966.

I remember going to Poland, indeed in a red Morris 1100 there were 4 asleep on the back seat, top to tail, and mum and dad in the front. It would have been an overnight drive. I don't recall Stewart being there, since he was born in 1967 it would be unlikely :-)  OS just myself, my older sisters Shirley and Lesley and my younger brother Andrew.  There are a few vivid memories - I was after all only 5) Sitting on mum's lap as we drove through the night - having a night watchman looking after the car - a bit of a rarity in Poland at the time - a private car - the Trams and the Ice Creams. 

Growing up - "It's no use we're losing her Captain"

Such a timid thing, I though. MissPdubyah has all the worldliness of a tea-spoon. This is the daughter who had to look up a map to see how to drive Browns Bay from our house (clue: It's pretty much a straight line from here).

This is the daughter who got lost driving to Browns Bay. Seriously. The same daughter who failed her first attempt at a full drivers license for driving too slowly.

The same daughter who's childhood memories are all stories that end "and I cried"

That one.

Well she has a casual contractor job with a mall shop. The hours she can work are at a whim of a manager. The hours she can get from her job in Albany have been curtailed because of a new employee, and so she was offered a chance to work in the St.Lukes shop. A bigger, better shop.

Travelling from our house to St.Lukes means a trip on the motorway over the harbor bridge. This is like some mystical gateway, a challenge, a barrier (think the Prisoner and the giant soap bubbles). Anyway having drawn her a map and spoken to her about what lanes were best to be in an when she got lost. And ended up in Newmarket, and this is one story that actually does end with... and I cried)

Given some counseling and new advice MissPdubyah managed to renegotiate the motorway system and ended up at work. She followed her manager's car back to the motorway to get home.

That was then. Now we have ....

Thursday - I drove my friends to the Museum, and

Today I drove to Mission Bay for a yoghurt.

to Mission Bay. For a yoghurt. This is the modern equivalent of driving to the 'tron for a milkshake.

I can't believe how much, so suddenly a change like this happens. It's like having a baby all over again, and the bit where you're left wondering when did they stop saying choo-choo and start referring to them as diesel-electric engines.

I fear MrsPdubyah and I have lost her...... and found a new one. he says smiling

Unhappy Families – the one with the long lost brother.

From previous posts you might have got the impression that there was a family member shy of a family. The youngest child had mysteriously and inexplicably decided to shy away from contact with the family and for years became estranged from the family.

You'll probably also get that we're not exactly a close family.  8 children and not a one of us lives in the same town, city as any other one, and in fact two of us live in different countries.

You'll also have been intrigued by the implosion that the death of the mother has caused within the family an some apparent greed being played out.

I'll put my hand up and say that since 1987, when I left the UK apart from the occasional call home to Mother that I hadn't made any attempt to talk to my brothers or sisters, and it was decade before I met my older brother in Australia.  Yes a brother and also my mother came to visit in NZ, but that's about it. We're not a big on being a family family.

So it was with unreasonable joy that the youngest brother had decided, coincidentally, to make contact with the family  again. I really was elated. This made me feel whole again in some strange way.

And it was with trepidation that I emailed him, just a touch-base email, just in case.

What I wasn't expecting was the quite harrowing and upsetting reply that I got back. And even now I'm saddened even to think about reading it again. The opposite of joy unbounded.

Because, quite frankly, the horrors that my brother has suffered through. Alone.

I'm ashamed, so very very ashamed. Even now I'm close to tears with emotion and distress. It's not a bad thing, it's just very confusing.

The bit that makes me cry is this:

"PS. Please excuse my grammar, I suffer terribly with dyslexia since I had a course of ECT treatment"

I don't want this to be true. I don't think that my wonderful life should be so wonderful when your own brother is having what is a horrific treatment for depression. It's not what fair is.  It's such a gulf, a chasm between what I have and what he's had. I know that it's not same/same and it's not a fair compare. But it's not something that I'm comfortable with.

I'm ashamed because I have a wonderful family (mostly), which is clear because even though after many years we can pick up where we left off, except older, grayer, fatter, wiser. And I'm so bereft, so alone, in a country where I have no family, and the relatives are all from MrsPdubyah's side of the tree. And! they're immigrants too, the family tree isn't so much a tree as a stick.

So quite apart that I like it here and it is my home, it's also been a prison of my own making and that belief that things are things, and that family will always be there at this point aren't actually stacking up.

I wish I could have made it better, obviously I can from now, or I can try, but for my youngest brother I shall cry a few shamed and painful tears of regret, anger and frustration. I'm so so sorry.

Trying Teen Times – the grown up one – Part the Fourth

It's really difficult being a parent, especially one to a newly unemployed child. Unemployed because he quit at university, and has suddenly discovered that jobs are not like food in the pantry, always there (at least at home), but that you have to go hunt one out.

Not having a clue of course, and reluctant or willfully ignoring, advice, it's suddenly dawned on him that he has to get his A into G and find something.

Like a bull at a gate he goes at it. Today we have the "What I.T. courses should I study?" to which I reply that I'd told him  2 years ago that he'd be advantaged by studying on and getting into something like VoIP. Today I have to tell him that it's not like there is one qualification that'll get him a job, it's kind of bit specialized.

So I've sent him off to look at jobs he'd think he'd like to do, see what the qualification level is and go backwards from there, after all if he can find a bunch of "dream jobs" then he should  plan to work towards them knowing what the bar looks like?

Unless I'm wrong.

Today the driver is that 5 1/2 hours ago we mentioned to him that it would be a plan to keep searching for a job, and to be sending off his CV. I should be happier but when he sits next to me with a gamestaionboy device I know he's been more focussed on some qualification and experience in something that'll do him no good and have no relevance in anything he wants to do in life.

Googling your childhood

Google streetmap is a clever tool, I went for a virtual tour of some of the old places I used to hang. Pretty depressing.

So this is the house where I was born. There used to be a Sycamore tree, right were the new owners have parked cars! parked cars, what's with that! Anyway the window at the front side was my bedroom window, just though you're like to know that.

The bit of green next door, with the wall, well that was the tallest wall in the world, and jumping off that was always as brave as brave was. It seemed so high, clearly its about 2 meters tops

So next then my First school.



And when I'd grown up the local pub :-)



So nice to know that some things haven't changed so much

In the land of the lost

Long story long - Close friends of ours have a few domestic issues.
These mainly are the youngest daughter - 15 - not getting the direct attention she needs.

Lots of indirect attention - but sometime money can't fix it all.

In context of a kind the mother died a year or so ago, but at no point were the children much more than accessories.

The oldest daughter has been fobbed off by money as a substitute - she is more worldly than the youngest - who clearly felt the loss of a mother very keenly and with no real guidance has gone off the rails

In one of the money things the oldest was brought a newer car - replacing the other one that was brought for her. The idea being youngest could learn to drive and assert her independance. But it was never got around to, other things more important were always cropping up.

Daugther plays up somewhat including absenteeism from school, leading to a change of school after claims of bullying.

But this was never going to end well, and a second stint of running away from home (we'll gloss over the first time) and surprise she skulks around one day, gets into the house and makes off with "her" car.

The police do their thing and she's stopped, makes up some story to cover the event, and ends up in care, (lets gloss over that).

A lot of weeks past and I bring up the subject of the car - like "where is it". Well after a few more weeks I declare my interest in buying it for my own daughter (I have an outstanding bet I need to pay off).

I ring the police - who tell me to ring the towing company - who tell me they don't have it. The local council dont have it, it's not been towed for no warrant and no reggo. It's missing in action.

I call the social worker - google is great - and he can't tell me where it is - can't legally and he doesn't know - I'm sure he would have if he could. It's missing in action

So it's parked by the road somewhere or up a driveway and fat chance of ever getting it back unless by some miracle it's being driven or someone gets a warrant and rego you'd think.

And then I had occasion to drive by the local cop-shop - on the way to the new food place that I mention in another post. And I spied a car in the car park - on a whim I drove through the public car park at the front of the cop-shop - and lo! the car, parked in carpark 13. Has been for weeks and weeks.

No one thought to report it as being abandoned - it's hidden then in plain sight.

Getting it back however is going to be tricky - they have the key and the person responsible may be on holiday. Still at least we know where it is and that if we can get the key and get it home I can pay off my bet :-)

In the land of the lost

Long story long - Close friends of ours have a few domestic issues.
These mainly are the youngest daughter - 15 - not getting the direct attention she needs.

Lots of indirect attention - but sometime money can't fix it all.

In context of a kind the mother died a year or so ago, but at no point were the children much more than accessories.

The oldest daughter has been fobbed off by money as a substitute - she is more worldly than the youngest - who clearly felt the loss of a mother very keenly and with no real guidance has gone off the rails

In one of the money things the oldest was brought a newer car - replacing the other one that was brought for her. The idea being youngest could learn to drive and assert her independance. But it was never got around to, other things more important were always cropping up.

Daugther plays up somewhat including absenteeism from school, leading to a change of school after claims of bullying.

But this was never going to end well, and a second stint of running away from home (we'll gloss over the first time) and surprise she skulks around one day, gets into the house and makes off with "her" car.

The police do their thing and she's stopped, makes up some story to cover the event, and ends up in care, (lets gloss over that).

A lot of weeks past and I bring up the subject of the car - like "where is it". Well after a few more weeks I declare my interest in buying it for my own daughter (I have an outstanding bet I need to pay off).

I ring the police - who tell me to ring the towing company - who tell me they don't have it. The local council dont have it, it's not been towed for no warrant and no reggo. It's missing in action.

I call the social worker - google is great - and he can't tell me where it is - can't legally and he doesn't know - I'm sure he would have if he could. It's missing in action

So it's parked by the road somewhere or up a driveway and fat chance of ever getting it back unless by some miracle it's being driven or someone gets a warrant and rego you'd think.

And then I had occasion to drive by the local cop-shop - on the way to the new food place that I mention in another post. And I spied a car in the car park - on a whim I drove through the public car park at the front of the cop-shop - and lo! the car, parked in carpark 13. Has been for weeks and weeks.

No one thought to report it as being abandoned - it's hidden then in plain sight.


Getting it back however is going to be tricky - they have the key and the person responsible may be on holiday. Still at least we know where it is and that if we can get the key and get it home I can pay off my bet :-)