Day 70… Morning… Yawn…

You’re my amphetamine.

Well, actually, no you’re not. I don’t have an amphetamine. That is kind of sad. Probably deserved mind you.

Found out yesterday that I could have got my licence back five days ago. Asked them to take five days of my next suspension to make up for it, but they were not interested. They then told me I had to give them my current licence and they would destroy it and send me a new one.

ME – “Oh, right. Okay. Why is that?”

Them – “The old licence is invalid Sir.”

“But, it’s only four months old. Says it’s valid until 2023.”

“You have been disqualified, so you that licence is cancelled. You must come in with photo I.D and apply for a new one.”

“Uhm, the only photo I.D I have is this ‘expired’ licence.”

“Yes sir, that is fine. Bring that in and that is fine.”

“So, you’re telling me this licence is no longer valid, but it is still valid enough for me to get a new licence?”

“Yes”

“That’s fucken nuts”

“Yes”

“Hahahahaah. You didn’t vote for John Key did you?”

“I am not allowed to have such conversations as I am a government agent Sir”

“Oh right. So your wages drop but your workload increased huh?”

“May I remind the caller that these calls are recorded for ‘staff training and resolution purposes'”

“Hahahahahahahahahahah”

“Yes sir. That is an appropriate response.”

“hahahahahahaahahahaha”

“Okay Sir, [pause for laughter to subside] you will need to pay a fee of $66.40 in order to get a new licence.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious? You are telling me that this licence I have in my hand right now is valid I.D but is worthless to allow me to drive for no reason at all other than you pushing a button on the computer and I have to pay $66.60 for a new one.”

“No sir. I am saying you only have to pay $66.40 for a new one.”

“That is no good to me. I will pay $66.60. Don’t spend it all at once.”

“I won’t sir, [laughs]”

“What bars do you drink at? I may come down and drink half of it with you.”

“Is there anything else sir?”

So I did some family court paperwork and sent an email through to my spiritual advisor containing the document. Went to get a licence, paid $66.60 on credit card and got a twenty cent coin in change (bloody nit picking government types, couldn’t even put the twenty cents into their Christmas fund – “sorry sir, we no longer have Christmas or staff funds” 

“Oh right, you didn’t vote for John Key then did you? I tell you, he’s like that dictator prick from Zimbabwe, only white… No one voted for the prick, and yet here we are…..”

Got back on my bike, got to spiritual advisors workplace, where (as always) I was greeted with looks of joy and open arms. (!)

She had deleted a lot of my good lines…

Gray was directed to write a brief according to instruction of the Judge (Gray says Judge Ellis / Powell says Judge O’Dwyer / Kristino says Judge Johnston). Personally, I think Powell has it correct. This instruction has not been made available to me in proper written form, even though a fortnight has passed, and repeated requests made. Therefore I can only work with what I think the mysterious Judge intended, not what was actually ordered.

According to one of the framed prints on the wall, this spiritual advisor person has passed a law degree of some description. Therefore I think she feels being concise is somewhat relevant. I would suggest otherwise.

One time in Criminal Court, a few years ago, I was in the dock and you are not allowed in the dock with your bags and stuff so you have to leave them elsewhere. Having your cellphone on is a NO NO.

So, I am in the dock and my cellphone rings. The judge stops mid sentence and his glasses slide down his nose as his head turns to find the cause of the commotion in his court. I jump the dock, Bounce the three paces to my bag, pick up the phone and simply throw it onto the floor where it breaks into parts and stops ringing instantly. Before the bits of phone have finished bouncing around the floor, I have already hopped back into the dock and am smoothing down tie, looking at judge to finish his sentence.

The police who are guarding the dock hardly moved and are looking quite stunned. The judge is open mouthed. For a split second I think I am going to be hung by lunchtime.

“Mr NZFIEND. I can only say that having you in my courtroom is fun.”

(Queue polite laughter from most of Wellingtons ratbag collection of lawyers whom all know having me in the court is usually anything but fun……! But then Judges would have a different view most of the time. Some of them actually like me. I have had conversations with a few of them… Usually as I have to argue with Judges who don’t know me that I don’t actually want a lawyer and that, yes, I do want to enter a not guilty plea. One lady Judge lets me get away with murder to be honest. The police prosecutions make sure my cases never appear on her court dates…)

Anyway, what was the point? Oh yeah – Some of the judges actually quite like a bit of a story to read or listen to. A bit of character, you know.

So, I submit this document to the family court and have to present copies to the other parties. I take photocopies, and then, to my great horror, the chain comes off my bike and I don’t want to wipe my oil hands on my clothes. So, seeing no alternative to this rather pressing problem of having dirty fingers, I wipe them all over the copies I am delivering to the other parties.

I then told them in half (from corner to corner) and stick them in my mouth. You need two hands to ride a bike through traffic you know.

By the time they are dropped of at the other lawyers offices a few blocks away they have also been used to wipe my nose a few times.

Must remember the N.A way and make amends to all those I have harmed.

But then again, that rule only applies to my addiction. So, doing stuff outside of addiction means my conscience is clean and serene.,.

Chuckle.

MY CAR

I can get it going again now. Well, parts of it anyways. It won’t start at the moment, so need to find someone with jumper leads and a car who can help with that bit. Then it will be straight to gas station, and then out the motorway to a battery specialist place. Then I need to get all the tyres I own into one pile and see if there are any matching sets. Then go somewhere and do burnouts until the rubber is burnt off the back wheels…. Legally of course.

Or, maybe I shouldn’t do that. The gearbox and clutch are buggered. The simple fact is that until I work out how to lathe and mill some parts to get the new V8 gearbox drive shaft into the back of my inline six motor I am relying on it to work.

Being straight sucks. If I was on drugs and needing more and more dopamine hits in my front lobes just to stay interested in life, I would be out there burning rubber.

I am not sure life is actually for everyone.

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