Paul Holmes: Thugs hit for six

I do not know of anyone who is not glad the Justices of the Peace threw the police charges against Otara liquor store owner Virender Singh straight out of court. Mr Singh, from all indications a well-liked and popular man in his community, did what he had to do when a couple of drunk young thugs came in to his store and stabbed him. He took to them with a hockey stick and bashed the daylights out of them. Suits me. I really do not have a problem with what Mr Singh did. Go for it, Mr Singh, I say.

Mr Singh appears not to have fooled around either. The JPs heard that Mr Singh might have continued his bashing while another man sat on one of the boys and when another boy came to this boy's aid, Mr Singh laid into him with the hockey stick as well. All in all, it appears Mr Singh did a good job of it and delivered some hooligans a very good lesson. He was given a triumphant reception in his street when he came back from court. Police claimed there was a valid question about Mr Singh taking justice too much into his hands and that he may have gone over the top in his dealing to the boys. Well, sorry again, but I imagine most of us would not think too much about this nicety when rampant, objectionable thugs stab us with knives. Mr Singh, as he says himself, got attacked. He defended himself. End of story. Dairy owners and liquor store owners in tough parts of the region are very vulnerable people and I am glad Mr Singh brought his altercation to a successful conclusion.

In the meantime, Mr Singh has had to go through months of hell, wondering if he was going to go to jail. The police decision to charge him sent the wrong message to thugs and ne'er-do-wells. That is why his local Sikh community come out in protest.

That protest, that indignant rallying around Mr Singh, may be indicative of the truth of something else I have wondered about over the last month. The Indian community are standing up in New Zealand and seem to have a new pride. We have seen this in spades during the Indian cricket. The Indian fans have poured along to the games bedecked in the colours of India, waving banners and flags. They have been a delight to watch. I saw them at the one-day international in Napier. They are tremendous fun. It is as if the young people are suddenly sure enough of themselves as Kiwis that they also feel free to celebrate being who they are, Kiwis who happen to support their ancient land of origin, India, in the cricket.

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My mum remains in hospital and is not happy about it at all after a bad fall a few weeks back. She has been in tremendous pain and is quite poorly. As I sat by her bed, across the room I heard a middle-aged daughter saying to her mother, "you can eat either in your bed or in the dining room". The mother was deeply suspicious and I heard her ask, "is it an old people's home?" Daughter replied: "Well, Mum, you're getting older. You need to look in a mirror and have a look at yourself." Both were then silent for a while. I suppose this is a variation on a discussion we baby boomers are now all starting to have.

Anyway, while visiting Mum last week I met a couple of her friends from the Hastings Bowling Club. They are very supportive of each other. I mentioned my spuds in the vegetable garden were not good this year, maturing late and never becoming any bigger than marbles, whereas last year they were beautiful. Mum's two friends nodded vigorously in agreement. They had the same experience, they said. I asked about their tomatoes. How had they been? Ours had been full of water and fell apart the moment you put the knife in. Mum's friends nodded in amazed agreement. Their tomatoes had been the same, full of water, no good at all.

I have spent days wondering how potatoes and tomatoes planted 20km from each other by three different gardeners should turn out exactly the same as the others. Is there a plant consciousness, a plant psychology we know nothing about? Did they all feel sick this year, the plants? Did they all know about each other? Did they all decide they could not be bothered and were not going to try? Was an order given to not perform this year? Did word go out to be midget and watery?

Mum remarked that once upon a time a potato was a potato. Now, there is a potato for boiling, a potato for roasting, a different potato for every type of potato cooking. She made a good point, Mum. We have become very flash about our potatoes. Life did seem to be simpler once. It was also very bland once, too. We were such a boring, uptight meat and spud country, deeply suspicious of the foreign and the new. Now, it is gastronomic rock'n'roll. You only had to go to Taste of Auckland and see the incredible range of foods and drinks New Zealanders are improvising and producing and to see the interest New Zealanders now have in food to be reminded of that.