A Short Thing

My mother phones to ask me the time in New Zealand.
&;quot;Just a quickie, dear&;quot; is how she prefaces such calls
which will inevitably have me reaching for a recipe book that she
remembers slipping a handwritten recipe for mincemeat into in 1972 or a
trip into the loft to check on the make of Uncle Stan's portable
typewriter or possibly some other nutty errand involving a pattern for
crocheted antimacassars.

I don't know why my mother
thinks I will know the time in New Zealand. Possibly due to a long ago
dalliance with an aussie? I don't know but fortunately I am online and
manage to google &;quot;time new zealand&;quot; and come up with
a site which displays the current time in New Zealand. There follows
some conjecture about what time she SHOULD ring Auntie Trixie. Mental
arithmetic was never my strong point and I am trying to calculate the
best time my mother should telephone New Zealand while she expresses
her surprise at the 11 hour difference which she thought might be
nearer to nine but then she hadnt really accounted for our clocks going
back.

The entire family imagine I know everything and
are always phoning me with daft questions whenever they feel like it. I
am sometimes sorry the telephone was invented. Auntie Linda it was last
with her query about where to buy face paints. The last time I bought
face paints was eleven years ago but I tried to suggest some places.
&;quot;Oh they only have those up the west end,&;quot; she
complained agreeably. &;quot;I aint trekkin all the way up
there.&;quot; I suggest she gets her son to buy some online which
would be very easy and she just says &;quot;yes ...&;quot; like
you say yes to people who suggest you might like to strip naked and
have your chakras realigned with a feather.