The PR Blog

I received this by email this morning. It is worth sharing.

photo of HMS Manxman

My late father passed in 2015 aged 89. He was a veteran of the Royal Navy and, while in the New Zealand Navy, he spent time in the South Pacific. He was a proud Manxman and a damned fine bloke.

He contracted polio and TB in his war years and never even knew, until years later. I do remember him always having one smaller calf muscle than another and didn’t understand why. It must have been his brush with polio.

But he never complained. Not once. After all, he was a Real man, not a modern soyboy with limited tolerance to Reality. 

Harry Markle, the soyboy previously known as Prince – seems to have very heartfelt lamentations over this poor little place being plundered by Global Mining companies at the expense of the trapped, tortured and sad citizens and hopes that President Trump realises that it is all his fault.

Chunga Changa? Did Harry have his gullibility guage set to Off?

I was 7 years old when the war broke out.   I don't remember much of those years except they just rolled along  but I do remember when the American Soldiers arrived in Auckland and a very fancy ice cream shop was opened in New Market  and sold ice cream in a cone and  with all  sorts of fancy  toppings.   

The very first ice cream I  had ever seen or tasted.  

A giant Kangaroo has been terrorising the residents of an isolated outback Australian Community and locals fear it is the first of a new super breed of Rogue Roos infected by a mutant strain of Covid-19.

The town, situated on the edge of Sturts Stony Desert in the arid South West of Queensland, had its first night of horror in December last year.The Local Police Officer, who has requested anonymity , said that he received a phone call at the station at 2am on the morning of December 2nd.

"At first I thought it was one of the lads who'd had a few too many beers" he stated. 
"But then I realised this guy was for real - he was genuinely scared."
The officer sped the 50 kilometres from his station along the track that led to the isolated barren homestead. What he saw will stay etched in his mind forever.

When I was a kid, I used to go to the movies on a Saturday morning. Or, as my late Uncle used to call it, The Flicks. Others called it “ The Pictures “ or “ The cinema” … no matter, we went to see a movie and it cost a shilling.

We would all sit down in our seats, the lights would dim and a movie of a Lady on a horse would appear.  We would stand up for the Lady on the horse and sing about saving the Queen.

Only then could we sit down again and wait for the Lady with the Ice creams to come around. It was magical. The crowded theatre; the Lady on the horse, the lady with the ice creams and the lady with the torch that led latecomers to their seats.

The room would hush as the feature started. A sense of excitement; trepidation and awe as we  allowed our eyes to adjust to the dim within and the curtains to part.  That was a moment of magic to me: the parting of the massive drapery that shielded the screen from view until it was time to behold the wonder of the Flick that would flicker and send us to another world.