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On with the show (trial)
I cannot say it enough: this is messed up. In confidence for my paid subscribers.
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Average
The year was 1991. It was the last time the Red Hot Chili Peppers would have an original musical idea. Terminator 2 came out, and everyone loved it, because back then an apocalypse created by rapacious humans and unfettered machine intelligence seemed like a bad thing. I got what was
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This one goes out to all the dropkicks
Some people in this life have their shit together naturally. They are not dropkicks. My sons are two of those people, and their brains fascinate me. They’re neurodiverse, and that comes with its quirks and limitations - but both have an intuitive drive to map stuff out, everything plotted
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Ray of hopelessness
It was Ray Chung who pushed me over the edge. This is not an honour the man deserves. Less stupid politicians have taken me to the brink, but I somehow held it together. Ray’s masterstroke was complaining about the councillors who betrayed him by sharing his email about Tory
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The angry dudes got something right. We don't have one person, one vote.
Fuelled by grumpiness, I set out to explore claims that Māori have special electoral privileges. I discovered privilege, alright - but it's not for Māori.
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Thought for the day, 7 July 2025
Honestly, I've had the most extraordinary day. You wouldn't believe it. It started first thing, when I got on the train. 'Tickets, please', said the clippie. I fumbled with my wallet. 'Hurry up, dickhead', the clippie sneered, and laughed. Shaking my head,
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Heroes and zeroes
This sounds like it's going to be boring or just about numbers, but I hope you'll be surprised. As always, I'm writing in my personal capacity.
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My pitch
I'm testing an idea quietly with my paid subscribers.
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Fit and proper
For months, I’ve been working on a piece about firearms, and I need to thank my paid subscribers especially for giving me the space and grace to do it. I thought the piece would be straightforward - more fool me - but I hope that when I finally deliver,
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Immigrant song
How quickly we forget that most of us were immigrants once, if you go back. My mum’s side arrived first, generations ago. They made their way with an enviable canny and hard work, as farmers and then truckers, but on Ngāi Tahu land. A gravel road with the family
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Our disposable boys
Three things have bothered me these last few days, although they're really just symptoms of a bigger thing. The first is an underground fighting event called King of the Streets. It involves competitors smashing each other in someone’s backyard, in the hope of a $50,000 prize.
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We know the drill
In strict confidence for my paid subscribers.