Beer Window

Our neighbours are weird. On New Year's Eve, they completely upstaged the end of decade firework display (that "awed and thrilled the good folk of Auckland" / "was a national disgrace"- depends on who you talk to) with their own home made back garden conflagration that looked like the scene from Platoon where Willem Dafoe cops it. Only with R’n’B music instead of Samuel Barber’s Adagio For Strings.

Last night, they got up at midnight to do some gardening. Yeah...midnight.
At the sound of spadework, the wife and I peered from our bedroom window as the male neighbour (by lantern light) dug around in his front garden. He was either burying the three tons of weapons grade explosive that he didn't use on December 31st, interring a family pet out of sight of the kids or is Auckland's answer to Dexter. I might venture over one night and see what is unearthed, but if I end up missing, dial 111 and report my suspicions to Columbo Baggins.

I saw my first Kiwi transvestites the other day. Though I have never been one for cross dressing myself (apart from one or two isolated incidents that had perfectly good explanations), I do understand that some men can carry it off with taste, dignity and poise.

These two, however, looked like gorillas which had rampaged through the bargain bin of a TK Maxx carrying a random selection of clothes with them as they fled tranq gun wielding zoo keepers.

The looker (and I use that in the broadest possible sense) of the two, a 6'2" behemoth, had the most tasteless dress sense since Prince Harry decided on the Swastika look for that infamous party. The behemoth might have carried it off had he not possessed a face that looked like it had been set on fire and then enthusiastically put out with a golf shoe.
His partner in drag was an elderly gentleman that bore an uncanny resemblance to Wilfred Bramble decked out in a blonde wig and a very feminine pink mini dress with silver shoes. He completed the look by carrying a 12 pack of Speights beer under one arm.
As I stood, jaw agape, they turned briefly in my general direction to look down their noses at a jabbering mental patient who was making a nuisance of himself near the cut price calendars, possibly in his search for the missing LUFC specimen that I buried a while back. Then, they turned on their heels and tottered away into the Auckland sun.
Unbefrakinglievable.