What you do in the privacy of your own homes, between consenting adults, is of no concern to the rest of us. Unless it involves farm critters or small rodents, and even then, the concern is for the welfare of the animals.
The gay folk are really keen to get married, just like real people. Apparently a union doesn’t cut it anymore. Funny, how hard they campaigned to get that right in 2004 and now it seems that isn’t enough.
Families First campaigner Bob McCroskie made a very interesting point on TV this week, asking when can we expect to see polygamist marriages. After all, he suggests, that if it’s okay for two people of the same sex who like each other enough to get married, why not three?
This got me thinking, that if it’s okay for homosexuals to marry, then it should be fine for me to marry my dog. After all, she’s pretty loyal and we like each other a lot. Please note bestiality is still illegal and it’s not something I’d want to consummate. Do not try that at home. However, if it came to being forced to choose between an animal and another man, it would be a tough choice. Those sheep around the hillsides of Te Puna are looking nervous again.
Although not as nervous as old acquaintance, Cecil the Ram on a farm near Wanganui, since the release of the beast into the neighbourhood.
But why stop at gays and animals? I have really loved some cars I’ve owned over the years. Why can I not marry my car? I probably wouldn’t marry the Nissan, that’s more of a relationship of convenience. But I would have married my Jeep. She had no class but plenty of style. I loved it when she’d drop her top, I’d slip inside and … whoa, stop there, the windscreen is fogging up.
Then there’s bicycles. Some people have a special relationship, which, while not regular, still affords them enjoyment when getting in the saddle now and then. There’s nothing quite like getting a leg over when the mood strikes.
I can’t get away from the thinking that marriage is, pretty much as Bob McCroskie views it, something between a husband and wife, with making babies and raising families in a stable unit, an integral part of the whole concept.
Any other spins on formalised relationships really should fall in the territory of the civil union, which the country went to a large amount of expense and moral thrashings to establish back in 2004.
Except for a few unhappy people out there, who are in the category of uncivil unions.
Whatever you want to call it, just love each other and be happy. Peace, man.
Meanwhile, Auckland (Motto: “city of assailants”) is launching a new marketing drive to get more people to visit.
They might, if only they could move when they got there. Quite apart from the devastatingly slow roads, there are other problems. For starters, the place is full of Aucklanders. And John Banks.
Personally, and I’m speaking for just, say the other three million people of NZ, we don’t want to go there.
Auckland (new tourism motto: “only when we have to”) is the sort of place best avoided.
This will be a tough concept for the Auckland promoters to swallow. But the rest of New Zealand is quite happy being The Rest of New Zealand.
Possibly the only exception would be if you lived somewhere really undesirable. Hamilton, for example. I could understand that going from the Tron to Auckland could be construed as an improvement in one’s circumstances. Even The Beast of Blenheim chose Wanganui over Auckland. Tim Shadbolt couldn’t wait to get as far away as possible and ended up mayor of Invercargill.
There’s a huge marketing opportunity here for Tauranga.
“Fancy some time in Auckland? Yeah, we thought not. Just as well there’s Tauranga.”
Finally this week: We like short sentences. But this is ridiculous. The skipper and navigator of the Rena were let off the rest of their sentences and deported home to the Philippines. We’re hoping that on the way to the airport, when the driver heard a voice from the back saying, “I know a good shortcut”, that he just ignored it.
That’s it from me. Off now to counselling with the car and to buy a copy of the Self Righteous Brothers’ new album. (see Tony Moon’s review, page 44)
Our general manager Ross Brown didn’t want too much of a fuss about turning 60 this Sunday, so do your best to keep it quiet, eh?