I'm not at all disappointed the heatwave of the past few weeks is over. In fact I'm delighted. I can put up with a certain amount of warmth but it's the searing sun that has accompanied it that makes me scuttle for cover.
This last weekend in Christchurch was so hot - 32degC on Saturday and 31degC on Sunday. Too hot for gardening or many outdoor activities. So I spent most of it inside with the heat pump on air-conditioning mode. Not a great way to occupy a weekend.
And now the big blocking anticyclone to the east that has dragged all this very warm air from further north and across the Tasman Sea from Australia is waning, for a few days at least. Enjoy the cooler weather and the spells of rain as they come through.
Let me know about the hottest days you can remember in Otago and where you were at the time.
Eww, you've had pertussis
More from the dirty-old whooping cough files. By the way, if you're feeling slightly smug that you haven't had this, but have managed to shake off something called the ``100-day cough'' instead, well, just guess what that's a euphemism for?
So I got a letter with ``To The Editor who replaced The Wash Column'' written on the envelope and at the top of the notepaper from ``Susan''.
``Dear Sir: Whooping cough - a notifiable disease - that is why people may shun you!!'' (errr, OK, thanks for that).
The letter then very helpfully outlines an old World War 2 herbal recipe, involving breathing in the fumes generated by five drops of Friar's Balsam mixed with hot water in an empty 425-gram tin. You do this twice a day, or more if necessary, breathing in and exhaling slowly (but NOT DRINKING IT).
``Mother was an NZ Army nurse in Egypt during World War 2. I use all her old ideas from the days before penicillin.''
D'Ath not De'Ath
Robert Wilson, of Vauxhall, has this great story to share about the appropriately named Prof Eric D'Ath - apologies for the mispelling yesterday - the professor of pathology at the University of Otago's Medical School from 1929-62.
``His Gladstone Road, East Taieri, residence had a superb rose garden flanking both sides of the gravel drive leading up to his impressive home. The care of those roses commanded much of Dr D'Ath's leisure time.
``On one Saturday morning - sometime in the 1950s or early '60s - Dr Eric with his impressive mane of white hair, and in rough gardening clothes, was tending those roses and had quite forgotten that an eminent pathologist was to visit him from overseas. This personage, chauffeur-driven, arrived, stopped in the drive and imperiously said to the `gardener': `My man. Will you please inform Professor D'Ath that I have arrived.'
```Certainly, sir,' said the gardener, `I'll inform him immediately.'
``Whereupon the visitor was entertained in the drawing room by the professor's wife, Ena, until an immaculately attired Dr D'Ath came into the room and greeted the visitor, who remained totally unaware of the `gardener's' identity.''
What a wonderful story. Thanks Robert for sharing.
Incidentally, I also found evidence of Prof D'Ath's parsimony on the website of Otago University's department of pathology.
Apparently, ``probably as a consequence of the Great Depression, D'Ath required staff to present the `stub' to him personally when they required a replacement pencil''.
He obviously liked to lead by example.