Mr. Errors and I had a talk about my column on his blog. Actually, he did most of the talking and I listened (he certainly has a high opinion of his opinions). He has suggested that I am taking too long to read each paper from 1912 and therefore I am not producing articles for his blog regularly enough. He suggested that I just focus on one or two things. Then he told me what those things were going to be: anything I could find on page nine of the Evening Post.
I went and looked at page nine. It is the page that features stories for women and advertising (mainly for women). I protested. He insisted. I asked for an explanation. He said that I needed to broaden my horizons. I protested quite vigorously that having been born in 1860, killed by a tram on a Wellington street in 1929 and suddenly resurrected in 2012 to write a column for blog meant my experiences were already quite broad. He relented a little and said I could also review popular music in New Zealand every week because, “I know how much you like music”. Yes, I said, I like music, but what is on the top of the pops now is certainly not music. He looked at me quite grimly and said: “only female artists. You can only review female artists on the top twenty.” Then he smiled and said,
“If I created you… it’s easy enough for me to uncreate you.”
I went and looked at page nine.
Good lord. Imported human hair? Washable hair pads? Quite a startling beginning to my attempts to understand women.
Aside from a piece about how to wear a scarf (there are a bewildering number of ways), and how to manage your servants, there is this little piece on children.
Now, Mr. Errors has two daughters, one aged five and half, and the other one and a half. They are rather unruly examples of their sex, but charming in their way. As I am a bachelor of 152 years it is perhaps not my place to comment on child-rearing, but it is my distinct impression that Mr. Errors is being reared by his daughters and not the other way round. I had thought this was due to natural flaws in his character, and these certainly abound, but perhaps it is to do with the number of toys his children have and that devilish box they call a TV. Surely all these moving pictures and jarring sounds are leading to a gross over stimulation. Much better, the writer of this article suggests, that the infant simply look at the world around them.
Mr. Errors has a garden. The principle purpose of which seems to be for him to complain about. Perhaps he should let his children roam more in it. This would certainly stop them barging into my room at all hours and asking if they can play the drums on my head. Impertinent.
Let him alone while he is good. Splendid.
Finally, this young New Zealand lady has had a popular song in this country recently. I draw your attention to it because Mr. Errors has recently taken up lawn bowls.
Her name is Anna. She has an “h” at the end but I cannot bring myself to do this to a perfectly good name. She appears to have a tattoo, and like wearing shoes called stilettos. Lawn bowling, like everything else in the world, seems to have changed.
Mr. Errors assures me that if you “click” on the picture it will display the “video”. I have seen this “video” and it is hard to decide which is more appalling: the antics of youth or the antics of the elderly.