We return to the diary of Justice Cudlip Trout, the champion of common sense, fearless justice, and the decent lunch.
Arrowtown writer and former columnist for The Australian John Lapsley muses with his golf club mates on whether the new prime minister is "Raving Left or Merely Pinkish''.
Self- made millionaires are a fervently right-wing species. They've started from scratch, stared down the big bad world, and made their motza. They have little time for "spongers" and "lefties",...
No woman will admit she snores sufficient to rattle the windows. So men, who understand delicacy, pretend to accept that officially women don't.
On Speargrass Flat it was a perfect Central Otago summer afternoon.
I was eating with good friends.
When I was 11, I wanted to ditch my dreary name John, and improve my life by taking the first name ''Biggles''.
A dodgy pub-quiz question for you: Who was the most important New Zealand rugby name during the game’s halcyon 1950s? This legend was known by everyone — his presence echoed through every...
I've spent several TV dinners binge-viewing The Crown, and find it just as upsetting to my digestion as the pizza-with-the-lot.
Once we shamble past say, 50, there is a very good case for living in the past writes columnist John Lapsley.
I've bought my first wetsuit, and there has been cause for complaint.
Stroke by stroke, day by day, we upload our souls into our computers. Their memories know more about us than our mothers forgot.
On Saturday night I got out the Footrot Plonk, and rolled up the street to my friend Simon's election night party.
Since the days when our hair was still brown, signing up as a Black Caps supporter was akin to taking holy orders.
I like to mess about with tasty lipsmacking words - with ones which look or sound like puddings.