Bed, writing desk and drawers were all given to Mark, of Abbotsford, for the free shop he opened in that suburb on Saturday. Aaron, of Duncan St, came and took away the tinny-sounding speakers. Kylie came for the Living Art cheeseboard that was definitely not art. And nor was it living; it was ceramic.
To my old schoolfriend Kimberley I have given my prized glass chip 'n' dip, a bowl-plus-bowl contraption that revolutionised ... that revolutionised nothing, and that is its charm. It is for serving chips and dip.
I dared her to take it to restaurants and see if she can get away with eating BYO chips and dip while waiting for mains to be served. She agreed that would be funny, but did not agree to try it.
Unwanted posters and paintings I have been hanging, in the middle of the night, on the wooden part of that scaffolding between the town hall and the public library. Inexplicably, these items, meant for the enjoyment of all, are always gone the next day.
I sought advice on what to do with the old Sanyo Telecolor, of course. Someone suggested felt letters would cling in the static of the silent screen, and therefore I could write messages on it. Letters, when tested, did cling to the screen, but unfortunately they fell off too easily if a passing person created a draught.
Someone else suggested I gut the telly and use the casing for a fish tank, as is often done with old Apple computers to make "Macquariums". This sounded like a good idea, if I were into pet fish.
In the end I favoured the suggestion, by a commenter named Rawlinson End, that I simply keep an empty TV casing "for Dada evenings".
"It is, in effect, an enclosed stage from which you can present live ‘talking heads' television, probably one head at a time given the confined space. Begin with ‘Good Evening' and take it from there."
Thank you, Rawlinson End. Perhaps a whole YouTube channel could even arise from this. Stay tuned.
Jettisoning the jettison of a life requires ruthlessness. I was outrageous in my cull of family photographs, have massacred my collection of unread books, and am now turning a tyrannical eye to stacks of CDs.
Occasionally, though, something slows the rampage and recalls a little ruth. Inside a book called NBA Superstars, by Jack Clary and featuring basketball greats Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon on the cover, I found a couple of watercolour paintings, apparently scenes from the Queenstown Lakes district.
Unsigned, they were probably painted by my father, who with my mother went through a brief watercolour-painting phase in the early 1980s. From that era I have a work he did at Lake Hayes. The way he rendered the poplars is similar to the way of the poplars in the recent discovery (pictured).
The works could also have been done by my brother. He went through a brief watercolour-painting phase in the early 1990s, which is when NBA Superstars was published. The buildings in the work pictured appear to have been whitewashed with twink, too, which is more suggestive of my brother's style than my father's.
I am sure arguments will now erupt in the family as to who the artist was, but I don't care. I am taking the picture shown to Wellington, where I will hang it on a wall, and not a public wall at that. I like to think someone has painted a landscape with sensitivity. Plus, would you look at the sheep in the foreground: just pencilled adumbrations of sheep; whether they are coming into flesh or fading from it unknown.
Ephemeral, beautiful sheep.