It's not often that RR reaches crisis point for ideas for this column. Usually, you can't shut me up.
But if ever there was a time when the sumptuous font of creative brilliance runs dry, it is mid summer.

When the rest of you are living it up at the beach, the bach or the boat; or sipping kiwifruit daiquiris around the pool, I'm here providing you with witty repartee and enlightening wisdoms that will have you gasping in disbelief or chortling so much you swallow the little umbrella on the side of the glass.
This week's column would have been a completely blank page, had it not been for three people who popped into my life at the critical moment.
1. Tiger.
2. Nick.
3. Susan.
Firstly, Tiger. Some of you will be pleased to know that 2010 is the Year of the Tiger.
Which is interesting, because 2009 wasn't his best year.
In fact 2009 is one he'd probably rather forget. Unfortunately for Tiger, no one will let him. The jokes just keep on rolling.
NZ Post has a special issue of Tiger stamps. I can't see the Tiger stamp idea catching on with all. For starters, his wife is having trouble getting her stamps to stick. It appears she's spitting on the wrong side.
But back to the Chinese New Year. Here at RR we are having difficulty getting excited about it.
It's nothing personal – we love the Chinese.
Especially their takeaways.
Not so much their burns. We've heard some of their whispers but never know whether to believe it or not.
Lately we've had an issue with their lanterns.
But Year of the Tiger?
We can't really see the point of hijacking someone else's culture.
Especially to the point of have tigers on our stamps.
NZ Post is very excited about having tigers on our stamps.
We think it would be more appropriate if we had a New Zealand animal on our stamps. One of our iconic, amazing critters, flora or fauna.
2010 should be year of the Giant Snail.
Or Year of the Huhu Grub.
Or the Sea Lettuce.
Searching for Susan
The second saviour for this week's column was Nick. He introduced me to the third person, Susan. That's because she arrived in the Nick of time to end this column.
Susan has provided me with the inspiration to write this and I can't thank her enough.
In fact, Susan has coincidentally been at the centre of a lot of my social engagements this summer, including every barbecue.
The first meeting with her happened when the Sun news team were at lunch at Eastern Ocean, marvelling at the dexterity of Susan.
She was in fact in the centre of the table, being Lazy, apparently.
I guess that's why they call her Lazy Susan. And being people of words, it naturally transpired that the conversation drifted to Susan. How did she get that name?
Mental notes were made to google Susan straight after lunch.
However, our research remains inconclusive as to the exact origins. There's speculation that Susan could have been a common name for servants and therefore the Lazy Susan inherited a not-so-complimentary label.
But there's a school of thought that the first ever coining of the phrase was in the 1930s as marketing for the rotating tray. Not many households would still have had servants then, so that theory is a little dubious.
Days later, Susan turned up, again the centre of attention, at a backyard barbecue. We didn't talk, she was much too busy doing good turns around the table.
I couldn't take my eyes off her lovely rotund base and the way she moved. That was, until my better half caught the wandering eye.
A swift prod from my beloved with the barbecue fork brought me back to earth and I realised that, if I valued my kidneys, I had to forget Susan.
As the lazy, hazy days of summer worn on, I did get over the mysterious woman at the centre of the table, but still puzzled over her name.
Which lead to muse the origins of several other dubious characters who serve our language, if not our salads, every day.
Which is when the Nick of time popped back into my consciousness.
While skinny dipping off a Coromandel beach, the question arose whether there's a connection to swimming in the Nick or other Tom foolery.
Family connections
Next up is the guy who helps me out with the mainsail after every voyage: Lazy Jack. He must be some relation to Lazy Susan. All I know is he used to hang out with Jolly Roger (no relation to RR) while we Bob in the ocean above the John Dorys.
That was a question to ponder as a Bloody Mary washes over one's Adam's Apple.
From there, a whole range of proper names in phrases that appeared from the murky depths.
Mark my words
Rob the bank
Doubting Thomas
Grant a licence
Which is where this column, thankfully, will Peter out.