It’s over. The Murderer is dead. For once, I understand the rush media must feel, chasing a story that keeps getting more extraordinary. Crazed murderers who think they are starring in their own Rambo movie don’t come along every day – especially in your own back yard. We, the homeless ones, drifted back to Fort … More Even Murderers Were Five Year Old Boys Once.
It’s been twenty-four days since we had to evacuate our home. Never before have I heaped such violent thoughts upon a man I will never know. Our woods, dubbed Too Dangerous, are still a no-go zone. US Marshals have moved into Camp with infra-red gizmos, weapons, whiteboards and night cameras. They can confirm a cougar’s … More Middle-Class Refugees Is Our New Theme Song.
“It’s like we’re on the run except we haven’t done anything wrong,” said the Dimple, on our first night in a cheap motel. We were running, and there was a crime –shocking murder– but it wasn’t our doing. 911 called. They left a message that an armed and dangerous man was in our forest and … More You Know It’s Serious When 911 Calls.
I love being a New Zealander, but after listening to a lift full of Auckland Grammar school girls in Hawaii, last week, I finally admitted I speak fonny. My kiwi twang –the kwang– sounds lazy, as if my tongue is allergic to vowels. My great, great English grandparents are to blame; they lost some semantics … More I Forgot To Pack My Diphthongs