Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind.
- Bob Dylan
Wanganui ladies and gentlemen, that’s where I was. Funny place to go I know, but I felt the call of the old town and simply could not resist. That river. Those people. Michael Laws.
Actually I didn’t see the mayor, he’s probably still recovering from his frankly humiliating exit from Treasure Island when Toddy’s jaw told him to get lost. Either that or the local brethren have gagged him with a headscarf, holding him ransom beneath the railway bridge.
I didn’t see the mayor, I didn’t see many of the people and saw but a glimpse of the river, but no matter, I was in Wanganui on family business. My dear cousin has had a couple of babies since I’ve been away and yesterday was the time for me to go ga-ga over them. Except they got in first and went ga-ga over me. Within minutes I was muckier than an Old West spittoon and making desperate glances at anyone to whom I might offload the offspring – but to no avail, I was Ronald McDonald, Bob The Builder and both Mickey and Maisy Mouse all rolled in to one. Glasses pulled off? You betcha. Slobbered upon? Uh-huh. Zip-fly played with? Yessiree bob.
I find that like cats, kids apprehend your discomfort and take a certain glee in leaping once more onto your britches and no matter how often you say ‘Oh ho, yes, nice now settle down kiddo’ they do the exact opposite. Until yesterday I thought house husband may be viable career, but no way Jose, when it comes to kids, Chuck’s checking out. Which he duly did while wiping gooey strands of snot from his shoulder.
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying 'cause it's tearing up my mind.
- Bob Dylan
Wanganui ladies and gentlemen, that’s where I was. Funny place to go I know, but I felt the call of the old town and simply could not resist. That river. Those people. Michael Laws.
Actually I didn’t see the mayor, he’s probably still recovering from his frankly humiliating exit from Treasure Island when Toddy’s jaw told him to get lost. Either that or the local brethren have gagged him with a headscarf, holding him ransom beneath the railway bridge.
I didn’t see the mayor, I didn’t see many of the people and saw but a glimpse of the river, but no matter, I was in Wanganui on family business. My dear cousin has had a couple of babies since I’ve been away and yesterday was the time for me to go ga-ga over them. Except they got in first and went ga-ga over me. Within minutes I was muckier than an Old West spittoon and making desperate glances at anyone to whom I might offload the offspring – but to no avail, I was Ronald McDonald, Bob The Builder and both Mickey and Maisy Mouse all rolled in to one. Glasses pulled off? You betcha. Slobbered upon? Uh-huh. Zip-fly played with? Yessiree bob.
I find that like cats, kids apprehend your discomfort and take a certain glee in leaping once more onto your britches and no matter how often you say ‘Oh ho, yes, nice now settle down kiddo’ they do the exact opposite. Until yesterday I thought house husband may be viable career, but no way Jose, when it comes to kids, Chuck’s checking out. Which he duly did while wiping gooey strands of snot from his shoulder.
