Book, Beach, Boerhurst

9 Dec 2005

Book, Beach, Boerhurst

...

The family Kumara had their first visit to the beach last week. Junior was in utero, of course, but will have enjoyed it’s mother increased endorphins from the swim, being for a while weightless, cool and free from the burden of the burgeoning belly. We went to Mairangi Bay which, like Browns Bay seems to be over run by South Africans. The Burger bar even had a Boerhurst-something burger with all known meat forms on board, and an appropriately excessive calorie count.
9 Dec 2005
There is a small op shop in the village there and Mrs K cannot walk past one without looking in.
I could tell straight away, that for the old lady behind the counter, ‘charity’ came with a few proviso’s. She gave me a disapproving look when I walked in and her crusty, hair laden upper lip, hardened from years of pious judging, formed into a harsh disapproving scowl.
It was a face that had long forgotten the joy of smiling.
I went out of my way to be friendly which always annoys people like that.
“Hi! Nice day isn’t it?”
“A glorious day for ice cream!”
"Or Boerhurst!"
She busied herself grumpily, so I had a look around.
I am usually bored with looking at clothes within seconds these days, but there was a time when I could spend hours trying crap on in the op shop. That was in the 80’s when I would literally wear anything. I would put on a baby nightie, a strange old lady hat and a pair of tights, and come out of the changing room and ask the op shop ladies;
“What do you think?”
“Does this work?”
In those days many op shop workers were kindly, even nana-ish and they would laugh at my outfit, like I was a silly nephew, or a dangerous mental patient who needed placating. Their breath carried the pungent aroma of strong tea...
ahh those were the days.
The other thing I would do was whistle really out of tune and badly. I am a master at it, even now. It really pisses people off but they never say anything.
Bloody childish.
I love it.

Back at the high velt of Mairangi Bay my wife had struck gold, a straw hat, $1. I decided to check out the books. I can always pick up some of the classics at the op shop very cheaply to add to my collection. This place was no different, even though there are South Africans here with high cholestrol.
Soon I struck my own kind of gold, paper gold..with a great bird book, with illustrations and a good version of King Lear. Then I found a fine copy of greatest book ever written.
I went up to the counter to share my good fortune and attempt to cheer the old lady up;
“Were in luck. The greatest book ever written”.
And held up the book – Ulysses by James Joyce.
She glanced at the book and fixed me with a look that said ‘what about ‘the Power of One’ by Bryce Courtney.
Then she said simply.
“50c”
“Not a bad price, considering.”
I felt like telling her how it had been banned from being published for years by the pious and ignorant, but left her alone.

THE BEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN - 50c

I have never read Ulysses because it had always seemed like a pretentious thing people would do to impress people.
“I read Ulysses in two days, it’s brilliant.”
Not having read it hasn’t stopped me from telling people it was over rated though. But I have never been caught out because I suspect that most of the people I have talked too haven’t read it either. Or at least hadn’t understood it fully.
Knowing my own staggering hypocracy and, the ability I have to eat my own words, expect me to declare, after reading it, that it is my favourite book.
I can hear it now, me at pub quiz declaring;
“Molly Bloom’s soliloquy is the finest thing ever committed to paper!”

What I have read, is Joyce’s book of short stories ‘the Dubliners’ and it is fantastic.

The art of concise, perfect English writing, revealed.
I love the way the irish writers (not only Joyce but J P Donleavey and others) can make getting pissed and eating bacon seem exotic and cool.
It just wouldn’t seem appealing in New Zealand:-

‘ After we had finished 30 jug of beers, we smashed up the jukebox and went back to Jakes house. He got out some bacon and told his wife Beth to cook it up for us.
“Anyone want some eggs?”
Jake said, massaging his ego.
“I’ll have a poached one. But make sure they are not over done and are still a bit runny.”
“Can I have scramblers, but made with light soy milk. not So Good, Vitasoy.”
“I SO agree with you, Black Pete, Vitasoy is easily the best soy milk on the market.”
“I like the carob one, in the small container, Yummy.”
"Yes. and less cholestrol too. Although I have heard it contains estrogen which can give men breasts"
They all fell about laughing and Jake said "Breasts." again.
and the word seemed to float there, in the room, encouraging the laughter to continue.
They moved into the lounge with the clunking of boots and the squeaking of leather, being careful to step over the growing pool of blood on the floor from Beth's bleeding head.
“Let’s have a sing a long. Does anyone know any Simon and Garfunkel?.”

You see? In a New Zealand setting it doesn't seem to work there is no majesty, no fat, no guiness.

M airangi Bay was nice but the tide was out and the water was full of jellyfish. I stayed on shore and read the liner notes of the greatest book ever. The activites on the beach were slightly disappointing.
Last time we came over this way we went to Takapuna Beach.
Now, there’s a beach which knows how to put on a show. It was like a live episode of the young and the restless. Prancing overexcited boys, preening coy girls. Older men in speedo’s, who did a bit of preening and tried their hand at prancing but failed to realize speedo’s are an object of either horror or ridicule. Testosterone and the female equivalent filled the air.
As groups of boys circled groups of girls I felt like a social anthropologist, maybe Desmond Morris - the Human ape.
Why don’t they just go up and say hello? It all seemed so simple.
And all I have to do is hold that thought for 18 years until our kid is that age and I will save him/her all that heartache and fucking around.
Of course it will never work, because while some things change and they will probably have video beamed straight into your brain by then , some things never will..
and when I stand up at Takapuna a beach in 2023 and say to my son
“Take you bloody speedo’s off and go and talk to them boy!.”
The endless cycle of parental embarrassment will, once again, be complete.