When Stuck Home Twenty Four Seven

When stuck home twenty four seven you get sore, fat, depressed and a bunch of other really unhealthy sounding things. Things the powers that be probably neglect to take into account when judging you. They expect you to enter this limbo state and appear to the world that you are happy, stable in doing something with your life. What’s the point? You aren’t. You may as well just be getting really fucked up. No one is around to care. Makes no difference to anyone how you spend a few months on your own.


textWas a little surprised when my tattooist mate contacted me earlier today. Have signed up to NETFLIX and was up until 3am watching latest series of MAD MEN and a new discovery, HOUSOS, which is bloody funny if you happen to be from New Zealand and spent a little time in Australia. Which, funnily enough, quite a few people in the near vicinity have. We were cracking up.

As it happens, getting the bottom of your foot tattoo’d is a bloody sore thing…. Who would’ve thought?

Making the world a better place, one step at a time.

fixing_back_5July2015Am feeling reasonably good right at this moment. Having started to see growth around the stomach region am considering

They didn’t warn me about that when signing the papers for Electronic Monitored Bail. Any idiot in the world would realise being trapped at home for months on end will lead to comfort eating and many many many extra hours in bed watching complete TV series or films.

Really am in a limbo.

A serious one at that.

Waiting until SEPTEMBER for next meaningful court appearance which may result in freedom from ankle ball and chain.

And that is it.

Waiting. In limbo. For god knows what.

Since Thursday I have been looking forward to tomorrow excitedly. For tomorrow is a big day… Am out the door at 10:45 to attend a Probation Service meeting at 11am.

They wanted to come here. NO FUCKEN WAY!

Jeeeeeeeezus. You are not going to come here and prevent me from having a fifteen minute walk outside the confines of this cell.


Just give me a little break. Just an incy wincy one.

Am sure that giving a little bit of happiness and a little chance of helping me to help myself is not that far removed from a positive thing.

How the hell the CORRECTION DEPARTMENT claim to be “reducing re-offending” with this sort of attitude is beyond any logical argument.

Love to you all.

Board Shitless

Stuck at home, ankle bracelet attached, house a mess, bored. Some people come to visit… Which is awesome. Without them would have no food or happiness… But some random girl at 8am in the morning demanding breakfast and coffee when you’re asleep in bed?

Note to self – Start remembering to shut the front door…

Family Court papers need to be done, but have issues with that too . It is so upsetting that taking a million valium and sleeping until my kid is sixteen is a consideration. Right now it is my football teams training. And this… Well… What the hell…


Cannot go to the court in order to get their new requirements for submitting affidavits and the like. My criminal lawyer has all the paper as he used part of it to help get bail. I have to learn to put my foot down. Have two days to file 100 pages and don’t even have the documents that I am supposed to be replying to.

Have finally got appointment to get a Winz benefit... Having no income at all for 7 weeks before this happens is not good.

And then the 0800 EMBail “team” did not answer the Winz ladies telephone advances, so have not been able to confirm any of this. The Electronic Monitoring Bail requires all appointments to be confirmed and approved with days notice.

You know what… ?
(You don’t know what…)
almost guarantee it…

Being a druggy and having no life outside of drugs seems quite attractive just now. You may not deal with life on life’s terms, but at least you’re numb to all the pain.

I am lying in bed, pretty close to throwing in the towel.

Am used to confining myself to this flat to avoid trouble. Now it appears being confined here could result in worse.

Wonder if my old Spiritual Advisor (TM) is still talking to me?


Life is a shambles. 

With, or without, the gear.

All these little moods, depression and feelings of being worthless will pass.

The shambles may not.

Cauda Equina, but it’s all about the Football and N.A meetings, of course (splutter)

Am useless and down on myself quite a bit.

Cannot move my car parts, engines and the odd whole car out of peoples properties, can’t work on my cars and am sick of it. Seems that as soon as I start getting on top of things, the damn spine is out to get me. Evil bloody thing it is. Not that is entirely my fault the spine is crap in the first place. Who would have thought multiple motorbike crash at various speeds, including some quite high – (see what I did there, two birds with one stone and all that?)…

na_logoWent along to an N.A meeting two days ago. Was in the neighbourhood to visit something five foot ten, with legs and arse that would challenge mine for looking good in a tight black skirt (yeah yeah, send all the abuse, criticism and scoff all you like. Do your worst… Be imaginative. Draw some pictures even) when a bloody snobby nosed prick in a BMW cut me off. My god he was driving slowly. I thought BMW was the “ultimate drivers machine”. It turns out the boffins at Berlin Motorworx marketing department would not get their capitalist yearly pay increase by using a factual statement such as “BMW – ultimately for old drivers with heart machines”. One of these old geezers with a pace maker cut me off, and before I could control my middle finger, the old geezer turned out to be a character known to the good likes of I and Wellington in general. The N.A meeting is very near my friends house so, unlike me (for those not capable of reading sarcasm, that was a little example) I sidetracked to the meeting he was going to. It was a guys first birthday. Other people were there aplenty. Having met most of them before, I was not surprised when the first speaker babbled on with no discernable point at all for 13 minutes. He did this in his “bed time story” voice the ladies like. For there were some ladies present. The one opposite me openly scowled at me. She is the one whom always questions me about having had sex with a couple of N.A girl members and whom never says hello. I even say hello to her – she ignores me and puts me in my place with that nose turn up that only girls whom think their station in life is higher than yours can accomplish with any authority. But then she see’s me talking to a couple of guys she really fancies and comes up, all bouncy and smiley and says “HI NZFIEND”. So, I say “I’ve said hello already” and she gets all shitty with me. Odd world.

I kind of needed an N.A meeting– Have been taking way less than all the pain medications they are prescribing, but still. Am not in a great place. Have not seen my daughter for six days and it has been easter. I love easter and hunting eggs with my kid. Easter is the one time remembered as us kids being treated equal in my role as adopted sibling. (Not that Mum or Dad will ever acknowledge this)

So, am in pain, taking a few opiates and am quite bloody touchy and sensitive. If it happened to be my one year clean birthday I would have liked to have been asked to speak at the meeting. But the chairperson got “Mr Slow and Pointless” to open and then got “Mr Complete Do what I say, not what I do” to close the meeting. Birthday boy has shared with me many times how he hates the guy doing the closing speech.

My head is telling me —


Seriously, that is what I am thinking. One guy sitting in front of me, whom is pretty much always the first to jump in and shout out “Hi, I am ______, and I am an addict” as soon as the chairperson opens the floor for the general riff raff to speak, jumps in to speak before the chairperson has even finished the last remnant syllable of “the floor is now open…” He talks about a guy who tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus.

This guy tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus” says this guy “the thing was, the bus was doing ZERO KILOMETRES AN HOUR.” (pauses whilst waiting for the hordes to errupt into thunderous laughter for his astounding comedic speech and subject matter are deserved at none less than the Royal Gala. Or, perhaps, more Ricky Gervias at the Acedemy Awards. Taaaaa-dddddaaaaaaaa, thump. A couple of snickers from the more emotionally deprived members, and a sneaky smile from the lady sitting opposite who maybe quite cannot get her head around the fact I do not find her appealing and have never made a move on anyone at N.A. Ever. Full stop.)

This sharer continues to tell us the tale of the guy who stood in front of the bus screaming that he wanted to be run over, and the bus driver would shout at him to get out the fucken way. According to the speaker this was worthy of humour as it was a rather interesting “game of chicken where neither was moving at all” (again, thankfully, the meeting did not erupt into fits of laughter). “It was over when this suicide guy sat at the side of the road with his head in his hands crying his eyes out. Everyone on the bus laughed at him. But I didn’t

As the meeting had been showing signs of being about empathy I could not suppress a cough of the most incredulous nature at this. Only just managing to resist the urge to interrupt and tell the room what wankers they were for not helping others (they say stuff like “I don’t want to get involved helping so-and-so because it will not help me with my recovery), I made sure I was next to share.

For those really interested in their own recovery – Please define, very carefully what you are recovering from, and what you are recovering to. Simple answer is to be a better person in all regards, and all your affairs. Being so self centred and greedy for your own recovery that someone actually kills themselves or goes back to drugs due to you turning your back on them makes you a complete asshole. 

Hi, NZFIEND, Addict“, as usual not waiting for the “HI NZFIEND“, I just pile on the next paragraph…. “Happy Birthday… blah blah blah… If I was on that bloody bus, I would have empathy (really identified, to be fair) with the guy and would have GOT OFF THE BLOODY BUS AND TALKED TO HIM. Just five minutes out of my day to see if he could be pointed in a better direction. MAYBE HE NEEDED A BLOODY N.A. MEETING? I would have been five minutes late to this meeting by getting off the bloody bus and maybe helping out a guy intent on suicide.

Amanda Cumming Suicide by BUS

But the N.A meeting doesn’t care. I am talking quickly and making many points. They cannot comprehend. NZFIEND must be totally fucked up on drugs. He is not thinking of others by talking quickly and getting through many subjects – it is a large meeting and many many people want to share – NZFIEND is just wasted on drugs, not “in recovery” and, therefore, not worth listening to.

Is SUICIDE worse than DRUG ADDICTION? Can you possibly be “in recovery” from suicide? How about looking at people worse off than you. No one is ever going to be perfect. No one is ever going to “recover” from addiction. You are always “in recovery”. But that doesn’t mean you are no longer a self centred ass wipe. I would ask AMANDA CUMMINGS for her point of view, but – oh damn – too late. She killed herself by stepping out into the path of a bus. 

They cut me off after three minutes thirty. But, didn’t I just hear Mr Sloth himself talk about nothing in a bed time monotone for thirteen minutes? Here I am telling the world how teaching kids football soccer is actually teaching them all about life, and the chairperson cuts me off in no uncertain terms.

Luckily I have just enough feeling left in my legs to walk out sans stumbling.

You know that is the best thing..
Knowing your legs have gone numb, you might fart and piss yourself standing up, but managing to make it out the door without losing too much dignity?!
In their eyes, probably just drunk. Or totally fucked up on something. Or something.

So, the group of N.A people close ranks and exclude the acknowledged fuckwit once more. I sure hope Mr Savage doesn’t rip off anything I said and claim it as his own in the future (as he has in the past…) Someone should teach him some ethics.

But even with all that failing, and feeling completely down on myself…  I go visit the tall blonde lady, whom gets a few of the N.A boys reversing their cars when they spot her legs. Really don’t think they were reversing to say BYE BYE NZFIEND. But, maybe they were….. A nice young lady I know cheers me up when one N.A guy says “what’s up NZFIEND” and I say “nothing.”…. She says “NOTHING INDEED, YOUR COCK IS NOT UP MY ARSE, COME ON, HURRY UP, LET’S GO” and started slapping each other on our relatively lightly clothed bottoms….

So, was starting to find my natural silly sense of humour and twinkle. Rapidly. Being in too much pain for satisfying hanky panky, home beckoned loudly.

Received a text or two, an email, a phone call. From parents of kids in my football teams. Some from last years team. Some from parents of kids I have not met from this coming winter team.

Cauda EquineThey know the coach is “bit sore”. They don’t know about Cauda Equina
or how lucky their coach has been throughout his life of non stop stupidity. 

They know the coach has had issues of various kinds, they know he speaks his mind, he has always been up front and honest with them and their kids. He is not afraid of anyone when it comes to standing up for his team, or the players of teams they come up against.

The parents have sent odd messages such us “damn, our kid, xxxxx, is not in your team, hope he has a great coach like last year“… “my girl is a bundle of fun and energy, but no one can ever teach her anything, for some reason she really get’s you, she has learnt she can apply herself, THANK YOU” … “we owe you Tony for all your hard work and dealing with those awkward parents“….

People say it is not just about the football. I say it is.

If I can teach a totally autistic kid, who does not communicate, how to kick a ball reasonably well in a two hour training session with other kids, I reckon that my life is bloody well okay after all. And the kid is genuinely happy, encouraged and proud of coping with something new. His Mum has been in contact a bit, full of beans about the simple fact her kid is stoked to be taken seriously and not put in a box in the corner. Am so glad to be me sometimes.

Have been trying to convince a very nice young lady (herself a NZ FOOTBALL rep, co-incidentally) to help coach sometimes. She has earned my total respect and amazement for the way she jumped in and helped me when noticing things that I struggled with. Real things. Like, with her around, I did not have to ask for my keys as she carefully watched where I put everything down. She saw my cars and instantly started making lists “for us to get both cars up to scratch”. We were an asset in each others lives, and could have been more so. I am sad she had to run away from the Wellington scene. But totally understand. She was going through some stuff which she would not share with me. She sent me a message on Facebook last night – You are one of the best and most reliable and trustworthy people I have ever met. You are so cool in so many ways, remember that. I just think sometimes you are badly unlucky. She did not even know I was feeling down. She is on the same wavelength. Promise you.

I disagree. Sure, am unlucky sometimes. I don’t think the young lady fully understands the term “I should be dead”. Many times over. A little risk management going in my favour have meant two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears and half a working brain are all still mine to own and abuse. It could be worse. I don’t know of many fourty something guys with little hair, no teeth, pimples and a “character nose” (at best) whom have had the honour of spending time with the likes of her and others.

We have football training today. In three hours. The coach is having trouble getting shoes on, so it is lucky he still has no football boots and is comfortable playing in bare feet. He has managed coaching a training session in worse shape. But not with a bunch of new players and brand new strange parents. The parents will probably think him stranger. Guess they may have a point.

If I let the kids play a game for an hour, my back will “warm up”. Am sure of it. A little worried to be fair. Last couple of days have been crap, but then I think of all the kids. I think of the parents appreciation. I think I do a good job in a hard environment with no money, no real support and no instant reward.

And then I think it is all about the football. Spine or no spine.


Am in a uncomfortable limbo.

Seven years ago, I met a young girl. 21 years old or something. Sure, my ex-Spiritual Advisor would have approval issues, but we did not have sex. Really odd actually, she started rubbing my back, found it was screwed and we became secret massage and care buddies. Oh, and we liked the same drugs. Although never did that either 😉

Seven years is a while. Some people say life goes in seven year cycles. I think more “seven year spirals”. So, CO-INCIDENTALLY, a dark face approached from the bright sunlight just as the barrista handed me my small soy latte with extra shots of coffee. The dark face started beaming beautifully and a female voice was greeting me with such positive vigour that coffee staff and customers all raised their eyes to process this unfolding interaction.

The face cleared the fog that bright sunlight creates by arguing with dimly lit private coffee shops. It was a the young girl, now about thirty, whom I will call UPWARD SPIRAL for now.

UPWARD looked at me, remembered my back, remembered a lot of things. Smiled, took her bags and jacket off and smiled even more when I held eye contact, without looking down as she adjusted her slightly too tight t-shirt. 

Seven years is a while. She happens to be studying acupuncture now. A perfect thing for her. Holistic healing type things. She was a nurse. We are still comfortable in each others company. I refrain from hugging her. Somehow.

Leaving the coffee girls to process what the hell our relationship was. Girls of 25-30 have nothing better to do with their time, after all……….

Co-Incidentally her school is straight across the road, where, on Wednesdays only they accept $5 for a full on acupuncture session to teach advanced students.

“Bugger, I will go there on Wednesday, I promise” says me.

“It is Wednesday… And, oh my god, have you got a tattoo below your belly button? Hell….”

I kid you not. ACUPUNCTURE was awesome. Within half an hour there was walking and stretching that has not been done normally in years. Standing on one leg and stretching the other out in front of me, without any balance issues.

They also noticed my dislocated right shoulder, broken ribs and even asked if my foot was okay and if my left leg was weak. YES, YES, YES and YES. Broken bone in foot, etc etc etc.

THANK YOU SO MUCH UPWARD SPIRAL GIRL. What a fucken coincidence.

I tell you, PEOPLE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH create co-incidence. 

Einstein would explain it better than me. My explanation lacks graphics and math.

Was about to leave to visit tattoo guy… And knocked a bottle of the top shelf, have been doing a lot of this lately. Had to buy a brush and dustpan to pick up all the glass and broken china from the kitchen floor. Kept cutting my feet.
I knocked a bottle off. And, just like used to do three weeks ago, I CAUGHT THE BOTTLE AS IT FELL and stopped another glass smashing by putting my boot in the way of it before it hit the floor.
Put it down to these guys and their head man. Brilliantly clever and aware.
THANK YOU. I have not walked that well in years. Am WALKING BY CHOICE to the tattoo shoppe.



Note to KARMA GIRL….

Anyway, my door is always fucken open for you. I was only half joking when saying you could have daughters room when you needed it. And hell, if I could have got you moving at 9 in the morning for a few days, the creativity and positivity would have happened. But fuck me, whatever.

One of the kids in my new football team has full on AUTISM

HELL, am I a football coach or a kid mental health worker? –BOTH– Seem to be good enough at it. Just wish I could be more of a coach!

Stay in contact, or don’t. Catch up when you want, give some gas money and learn to drive your ass in style.


 FORGOT TO SAY WHITE RABBITS first thing on the first of the month.
a few seconds ago
Good luck Karma girl. You don’t need luck, just some good management!!
I just got out the cells again. Got another stupid assault charge, police came this morning…. The postie rides his motorbike down the pathway outside my door and almost run over my kid in the weekend. I saw him today and hit him up about it. He tried to ride off, so gave his helmet a clip on the way past. Now the neighbours (nutcase old jail Maori lady) tells the B.Power that I was yelling at their kids. FUCKEN DRAMAS. So I get arrested. taken away and MORE court and P.D probably for telling this fuckwit postie to slow down on his motorbike. He shouldn’t even be riding through the property. It’s not a road or footpath…. Wanker.

So, quite a bit going on. I am still really useless at controlling impulsive things when not given a little respect. The postie is on a motorbike and riding in a private property. He rides too fast and almost clipped my daughter. I tried talking to him, he didn’t want to know, basically called me an idiot, and tried to ride off, accelerating towards me. He was not concerned in the slightest with running into me, and showed no concern for my daughters safety. Instantly I reached out and slapped his full face motorcycle helmet as he reached me. He then took the helmet off and approached me. I ended up walking inside and having a shower after some neighbours tried telling him to back off.

At this point another neighbour started yelling that I was yelling at the kids. The kids now get upset as people are arguing about them. I did not yell at kids, but now they are crying. Fucksakes, now I am in trouble with a large local gang for abusing their five year olds! My life, do you want it? hahahaha

I go inside, have a shower and get out the shower to the sound of #nzpolice pigs trying to enter the front door.

For the first time in my life I do a VIDEO INTERVIEW at the Police station. No need for lawyer, no need for anything…

I am in pain. My poor old back is really ruining me this week. Taking Codeine, Tramadol, Gabapentin and Paracetamol on top of Ritalin.

DRUG FREE LIFE is, currently, not on the menu. Wish it was. It’s not.

When reading a book to my child last night as she went to sleep I felt like a real Dad. Woke her up, made breakfast, got her on the bus to school. All good healthy stuff.

Walk home and end up with arrest, cells, court and stress.

I am me. And that is not all bad.

It’s not all good either.

The drugs had not kicked in at 8.30am. Usually this time of the day sees old broken me trying to climb out of bed. Today I was up, walking home and sore.

The police told the postie not to come through this way.

I just wanted to tell him to slow down, as there are genuine safety concerns.

He ignored me and got a slap on the helmet to show him I was serious.

He rings police and now has been told NOT to take shortcut through property at all… Due to my policy of always going NOT GUILTY and taking everything the whole way through, witnesses and everything…. well…. he will have to come and waste a day in court too.


The time in the cells told me I was in pain. Had a lot of pain killers and yet could not work out what to do with myself. Stand, sit, stretch, hunch, relax, tense. Nothing really escapes me from the confines of annoying pain.

If I slow down, I am stuffed. When poos and wee’s come out all on their own I get my sorry arse to hospital.

Presently, I am just stuffed. No other thing sums it up.

LIMBO between able and unable. Just hanging there. Have been dropping things, knocking things over, just been pretty useless. So much has been happening, but there is no energy left to bother. Have not even met my mate for coffee recently.

Am not right.

Am not left.

Am in central limbo.

Got let out of police station by the same police guys whom have dealt with me many times over the years, and the same guy whom did my prints and had a good old yarn with.

He’s not bad. Getting arrested just to have a chat about life and politics is stupid.

Need coffee. Head to the nearest coffee shoppe and buy a coffee with a bunch of young ladies looking at me carefully, for their usual customer is not me. It is the city business crowd. They show signs of recognition even though only going there three or four times a year…. I am not being narcissistic, merely observant.  And that is another story…


Poor old Willy lad got his sorry ass kicked off New Zealand X-Factor. His wife, a lovely lady by all accounts, lost the guts and threw her toys out the cot when she was presented with a rather low class version of her husband to judge.

She judged.

Willy judged.


They judged. They did.

The TV executives then did judge the judges. They did.

And fired the poor fuckers.

My high esteemed and respected goodself and Willy could see eye to eye on a few things here. Sometimes, just once or twice every while, you have to let your slightly more uncaring and psychopathic nature out for a play. I am sorry the guy in for criticism had mental health concerns, but you are being judged on what you put forward as part of the judgement process. If I judged women differently from guys because they had perceived frailties, that would make me what ________________________? Just saying.

It could certainly be unhealthy to keep all that goodness bottled up for ever.

The world needs to see this shit, although Willy really stuffed this one up.


Simon Cowell never apologised. Nor did the ginga cook who swears a lot. Whats his name…? You know, the ginga guy who is also quite capable of psychopathic diagnosis being high on most peoples favourite outcomes with their local bookie… Ramsey. Gordon Bloody Ramsey.

My ex spiritual advisor ™ once commented that the unbecoming amusement I got from watching Gordon was due to the fact we were the same.

This spiritual advisor is a lot cleverer than she looks. She is the one person on this planet who even came close to really knowing me.

And, guess what mental diagnosis one could apply to JEREMY CLARKSON without too much effort? In fact, maybe it was JEREMY CLARKSON my ex spirtual advisor ™ likened me to. Probably both, for I am a person proud of his fuckwitism. A slightly good I.Q with no self worth. Loverly juberly.

And now, Willy old bean, just quietly, one WELLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL dropout to another…

WILLY BOY. Are you back on the drugs or something?

Fucken apologising for saying what was on your mind without editing it down to complete drivel and bore inducing crap?

Dude. Come on.


Went for another epidural as part of a relatively drug free pain management strategy. Who the hell would have guessed having a adult life full of chronic pain may have had something to do with “drug use.”

FFS people.

And then…. The epidural went quite rankly. A big needle poked through your disk, into your spinal chord thing… Bugger me with a pitchfork, they got it wrong multiple times during the first half an hour of agony and crying. My blood pressure was 150/90 for hours after. I was happy to get out.

But then the next day… I went and got a tattoo done. Tattoo took well over two hours… In fact, here it bloody well is….

Board Shitless Tattoo

And those two hours were okay. Bloody sore. The tattooist knew it. I knew it, everyone knew it.

But, it was less painful than sitting up and walking afterwards.

The tattooist asked me to get his camera (he keeps it under the table). I could not get it. He winced, and said “oh fuck, sorry mate, yeah, your back…”

That night I had my kid. I got caught leaving a young ladies house by her on again, off again, very serious and very very hard man father of her kids. Just saying. I am an addict after all.

Excuses are everywhere. Claiming to be an addict of everything – sex, smack, sugar, being smacked – get’s you a one way ticket to a recovery industry. Maybe, if you don’t swear and play your cards correctly, a real publishing deal maybe. Call yourself Russell Brand.

Fuck that. Idiots.

The next day went a little pear shaped. It ended with me spending six hours in accident and emergency with a line in my hand and pain relief pushed into my oh so unwilling body.

And today I awake and cannot afford the prescription costs to get more.

Fuckit and Fuckme. For I have sinned. And really, I don’t want your forgiveness. I want you all to piss off, have a real think and throw in your silly jobs that support this silly capitalist system that consistently creates more addicts, adhd owners and idiots.

One day the balance of power will fall into the hands of the idiots.



Song of the day —

There is no depression in New Zealand (extra points for guessing where the coastline is in the opening of the video…)

There is no depression in New Zealand;
there are no sheep on our farms,
There is no depression in New Zealand;
we can all keep perfectly calm,
Everybody’s talking about World War Three;
everybody’s talking about World War Three,
But we’re as safe as safe can be,
there’s no unrest in this country
We have no dole queues,
we have no drug addicts,
we have no racism,
we have no sexism, sexism, no, no
There is no depression in New Zealand;
there are no teeth in our heads
There is no depression in New Zealand;
we sleep in a well made bed
Oh but everybody’s talking about World War Three,
yes everybody’s talking about World War Three,
But we’re as safe as safe can be,
there’s no unrest in this country
We have no SIS,
we have no secrets,
we have no rebellion;
we have no valium, valium, no, no no fucking valium
There is no depression in New Zealand;
there are no sheep on our farms,
There is no depression in New Zealand;
oh we can all keep perfectly calm,
perfectly calm,
perfectly calm…

Went to PD on Tuesday

So… Went to P fucken D after finding some ADHD medications to help through the day. Was an hour or two late and did fuck all.

Some large Samoan idiot see’s me doing fuckall and says….

“You the cook?”
NO, says me.
“What are you doing then?”
FUCK ALL, says me.
“Huh? You need to work.”
NAH, TOO FUCKED, says me.
“You lying, you need god and work. All us work, you work” says large able bodied Samoan.
“You a liar”

He started walking off. I walked about two feet behind him staring at the back of his neck trying to talk myself out of punching it.

I followed him for about thirty metres like this. Everyone saw it. The patched white gang member kicks me in the ankle and throws a rock at me.. I walk in and talk to the girls cooking instead, as I am prone to doing.

I walk out the shed just in time to catch him looking at me. He is my age, an inch shorter, but I am 80kg. He’s more…. Well…. FIT AND LARGE.

I stare at him. I say to no one in particular….


In situations like this, my idea of self preservation goes out the window. I see neck, cheek or nose. And I will have a bit of that neck, eye or nose. No problems. I may get slaughtered in the process, but I promise you, the nose, eye or neck is going to be joining me.

The Samoan guy turns and walks off. He walks 50 metres to the van and sits in it for the whole of morning smoko break.

The other Samoans and Wellington rugby player types go and sit by themselves about 20m away watching the rest of us and laughing at me.

I walk over to them, making eye contact the whole way and start laughing with them. They are laughing at me, a skinny white ass fuckwit with a stupid attitude. So, I laugh at myself with them. They get all confused. I say “stupid fucken palangi aye” and grin from ear to ear right in the face of the biggest, hardest one.

He stops laughing, looks down, and looks very very confused.

I turn my back, fart loudly and walk slowly off without looking back.

After half an hour talking shit with the remaining folks, one of the P.D bosses suggests I should go home.


I end up in hospital instead.

SIX HOURS LATER, I am home. A small script of morphine, tramadol, ibuprofen, and two other pain killers.

Have had 100mg’s of morphine and a bunch of other shitty pain meds (200mg of tramadol, 2000 paracetemol, gabapentin…….) AND STILL FUCKEN SORE.

The EPIDURAL I had on Monday was shitty. The lady fucked it up twice and caused me major internal pain.

Luckily I had a tattoo done yesterday that took two hours. The other 22 hours of the day sucked ass.