Well, Well, Well.

Some dozy little Cantabrian bastard tried to steal my feckin bike today.

Well I suppose they do say that Christchurch is the most English of New Zealand cities, and the English did filth off with vast swathes of land, commonly known as countries, despite the former owners being somewhat inconvenienced.  So I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

However I was.

BUT you can all relax in case you think I am now riding Shanks' Pony.  (In fact I haven't ridden a thing in a very loooooooong time, there may even be cobwebs.)  The thief was unsuccessful in nicking the bike, though he did manage to slice my first lock in two.

PS In case you were pondering the origin of the term Shanks' Pony, as I was just this second then click HERE!

BUT in a bid to outsmart the dimwit I had also attached a canny decoy lock to the bike, which obviously foiled him.  However if he (again it had to be a he) had applied some pressure to it, it would have given way to his advances like a rufied girl on Prom Night.  Either that or some artist type, as it was at the ARTS CENTRE for fuck's sake, scurried by with an easel and beret and put him off his game, causing him to scarper off like a rufie dealer in police lights.

SO luckily I was able to cycle home and regale my father with my tales of clever thwarting of brigands and fuckfaces and I live to cycle again.  So much for the spirit of goodwill to all men.

BUT I shall not be jaded by these events.  I still love Xmas and all those whose fairy lights shine upon us.  I will instead amend that section of the Xmas Constitution and declare goodwill to all men and women, except thieving bicycle cockknobs.

Ho Ho Ho.

PS The Bicycle Thief sounds like a good name for a movie I reckon.

SOOOOOO THE time is fast approaching.  That's right people you better batten down the hatches because tis the season for the Annual-ish Ashton residence Karaoke Karnage!!! (tm)

Yep it's the season (I just created a facebook event, which makes if official) for THE Karaoke Party of the century at my parent's house this Xmas.

I fly down to Christchurch next week, so what else to do but trash my olds' house for the festive season.

But wait, you ask, a Karaoke Party at your parents house.... how, you ponder.

Well my Dad isn't any ordinary Dad.  Oh no, not only was he Super Condom Vending Machine Man until he retired, but he's also Super Owns His Own Karaoke Machine Man!

Watch him slaughter Amore in a single bound, see how he rends I Got You Babe limb from limb, listen as he assaults Blue Suede Shoes with a deadly weapon.

Actually he's not bad at all, it's just funnier if he is.  He's really quite good and I know harbours a deep down belief that he is Dean Martin.

He has squillions of songs programmed into his TWO different units.  He has a glossy folder with them all listed and has even highlighted the good ones.  Well, what he thinks are good ones anyways.

I beg to differ.

According to Old Dad Eyes highlights include Danny Boy, Irish Rover, Jailhouse Rock and the grand-daddy of them all, New York New York.  He's even been known to highkick, when his gout allows.  

When the younguns come home however we seek out such gems as Smells Like Teen Spirit, Sweet Child O Mine, Killing in the Name Of, and other songs with fuck in them.  There is much marauding all over the living room and pogo-ing of the likes you just can't do to Mull of Kintyre.  In short, it's choice.

Though Dad and I have been known to bust out the odd duet as well, usually Cabaret or Tonight I Celebrate My Love For You.  And yes, that last one is a bit weird but don't call CYFS just yet as we look away on the line "And I make love to you....tonight" which makes it totally legit.  Well that's what we tell ourselves anyways.

So if you're going to be in ChCh for Xmas get in touch and get ready to Jingle Your Balls at Chez Nous.

It'll be wucked.