I am sorry: sorry you have come in for this burden: sorry about everything. Don't adventures ever have an end? I suppose not. Someone else always has to carry on the story.
The other day I said I thought Sam Neill was Australian. Nope, he is in fact “New Zealandish” or a kiwi as they like to be called. I assume the reason why New Zealandish is not a proper word is because the abbreviated form of New Zealand is NZ and NZ-ish starts to look a bit like Nazi-ish. (Verb: a bit like a Nazi). Since most people in New Zealand don’t want to be like Nazis, a bit or otherwise I suppose it is better to be known as a kiwi and be either a loveable bird that is awake a maximum of 4 hours a day or a hairy fruit. More on kiwis in a future blog. I think they probably deserve their own.
So sorry Sam Neill, I am sorry that I said you were Australian when in fact you were born in Northern Ireland, and your family are from the South Island. I am now aware that you merely lived in Australia and never became one of them. A bit like Jane Goodall.
Sorry Sam Neill.
Sorry I said in a previous blog that there was a sign in the swimming pool warning about Campylobacter when in fact the sign warns about Cryptosporidium. The difference is clear. Campylobacter is a gram-negative, microaerophilic bacteria with either uni-or bi-polar flagella, while cryptosporidium is a protozoan parasite from the phylum Apicomplexia. Everybody knows that. How could I be so stupid?
Sorry to the New Zealand education system. I was in the library the other day when I saw a young boy carrying a certificate that he had clearly been given by his school. It said “Kindest Boy in Class”. I thought this was a good thing although I had no idea how his teacher could legitimately judge such a thing. The boy suddenly starting pointing and laughing. “What are you laughing at?” His mother asked. “Look at that fat man in the wheelchair” the boy continued to chuckle. While his mother gave him a deserved talking too, I considered that this at least answered the question in my previous thought. How did the teacher judge this boy to be the kindest? He was obviously in a class of two. Him and Little Phil the Ripper, recent winner of “Boy Most Likely to Do A Murder” Certificate. And here’s me thinking you didn’t have a method.
Sorry New Zealand education system.
Sorry to the man I met when I was with the medical team on-call last week. When I asked you if you had any salt in your diet (because as we know for various reasons your systems can’t handle it) and you said that there wasn’t, I didn’t believe you. It was only because I was tired and there was a recently emptied McDonalds bag on the table in front of you. It was wrong of me to judge.
Sorry man who said he hadn’t had salt but who clearly had.
Sorry New Zealand. I mispronounce just about every place name that you have. I will try and learn that “wh” means “f” and that “a” (as in the sound the Fonz makes) sounds like “uh” (as in the sound someone who hasn’t heard someone else might make). I will learn and recant my ignorance. No matter how embarrassing it is to ask directions to Whakatane.
Sorry New Zealand.
Sorry Australia. I recently compared Sam Neill coming to live in Australia to Jane Goodall. And we all know who she went to live with. No offence was intended. I have never been to Australia other than a brief stopover on one of your airports and have only witnessed your culture by watching Crocodile Dundee and Neighbours. You can see where mistakes could be made.
Sorry to anyone that read this. For obvious reasons.