I gave him the benefit of the doubt - perhaps he had been remiss during arithmetic back in his school daze.
So I went outside and someone had parked their 4WD beside my battle-scarred old Mitsi and had clearly been remiss when it came to the parking section of their driving lessons. I had the sort of room one would generally leave for one of those catwalk wanderers you see modelling stuff few people in their right mind would consider wearing out to the pictures.
I was going to use the term "wafer thin" but that could be a bit harsh and offensive, so I won't.
So, given I have some knee issues these days (the reality of a misspent youth when I had a habit of getting off motorcycles while they were still moving) I decided not to try to bend and twist things too much, so went around to the passenger door and got in there.
I realised this was not a common experience for me after part of me introduced itself to the gear stick while taking that journey to the driver's seat.
Walking into the kitchen later, legs slightly akimbo, I lied and simply remarked: "Damned knees again."
Later on I wandered outside in the evening breeze and comfortable warmth to catch up with some reading but became a tad annoyed at the behaviour of the wind.
"One doesn't need this sort of rubbish," I murmured to myself (yes I'm still self-conversing) as I tried to smooth the magazine pages down and out of the nor'wester.
It was then that I spotted nature's graffiti nearby. My weary but favourite old black shorts were on the line and had clearly attracted the admiration of one of the many dicky birds I encourage down morning and evening for a snack of crumbs and seeds.
One had clearly enjoyed the meal provided by the hobbling human below because he or she had chosen to return it after an internal recycling process ... down the right pocket side of my shorts.
So I ventured into the shed, grabbed a cloth and wandered out and over to the hose to wet it with some cleansing water.
"Oh, flippety," I said (sort of) as the hose end connection began to leak. "Nothing is made to last these days," I lamented.
The following day started badly as some buffoon with biscuits for a brain decided to conduct a tour of suburbia in a car, which clearly lacked an effective muffler.
"For heaven's sake, you're scaring the dicky birds," I grinched, "and they need no more inducement to visit my drying shorts."
Oh and then there were spots of rain, which meant outdoor pursuits were kyboshed for the time being. In frustration I threw my hands up in the air (but fortunately was able to catch them again) and lamented the way things were going.
The following day, getting just three numbers in the Lotto and being one digit off getting four just put the sour icing on the cake.
Then I watched in muted horror as ordinary people living ordinary lives were left lifeless or savagely injured in Belgium after mindless creatures from Hell struck and I simply thought what most of us would have thought ... glad we don't live over there.
Europe is on edge, as are so many parts of this planet, but down here, on these isolated and pretty islands, we have a very good life. So I shall put two pairs of shorts out on the line and spread lots of food for the birdies, and I'll make a bodge repair to the hose and if the booming sound of a distant unsilenced car is the worst I shall be confronted with, then I will be a happy man.
Let's get things in perspective: my thoughts are with the Belgian people.-Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.
