Ngockin aroung Ngunguru

We are up north this weekend visiting ex-boss Tom at his family farm in Tutukaka. But the hotel there wanted way too much for a room, so we found an Airbnb in Ngunguru, the ngext towng over. Pronungciation has beeng a topic. There’s no hard G, so no gurus in Ngunguru.


Ngunguru sits on an estuary. There’s a few hundred houses, a mix of second homes, retirees, and some people who make the commute into Whangarei. Pretty sleepy.

The next morning we went for a walk around. Despite there being nothing to see, we saw a lot…

The jandal fence.

The time capsule.

A whole series of funny little ant-themed pictures on the sidewalk.

The blue car that drove off the road.

A funny sign at the golf course and sports complex clubhouse.

And more. Would you want to spend your remaining time here? I don’t think I would, but it’s always a nice surprise to find some of the “more than meets the eye” stuff that surely exists everywhere.


I know a lot of what I publish in this blog is cryptic, idiosyncratic, an inside joke. Sorry not sorry for that. I like that kind of thing.

This little whiteboard was in the window of a construction site — well after Christmas — and even I found it to be especially mysterious.

Hu’s on first

– Hey I saw this shop for lease down in Newmarket. It would be perfect for your shop. And the agent is my friend Ken. You should call him.

– Cool, i will. Ken who?

– Right! Do you know him? He’s so great.

– I don’t know. What’s his last name?

– Hu.

– Ken, the agent.

– Like I said, Ken Hu!

– You said he’s your friend.

– …

What’s your sign?

Two handwritten signs, each intriguing and disturbing in its own way. Above, the Moonies offer a path to enlightenment (but it probably only works if your true self believes what they tell you to). Below, a glimpse into the problems lurking in leafy privileged suburbia.

Gov agents permeated into friendzone

This bizarre screed appeared on walls and telephone poles around the neighborhood recently. As far as I can tell, there’s no actual call to action, it’s just a bunch of vaguely scary words. But I wanted to be reasonably sure about that, so I actually read the whole thing. Thus the title of this post.

There’s a guy in Brattleboro who marches back and forth in front of the Post Office every day carrying signs that are eerily similar… obviously the mind control (fluoride? power lines? aliens?) works all over the world.


There’s a thing that floats around the Internet about words that don’t exist but should. Here’s my entry: catapostrope, the tragic misuse of punctuation.

Give me a sign

I was pretty excited when I found this particular corner on a recent walk… it’s actually the intersection of Vermont St. and John St.

But the signage was incomplete, as is often the case here.

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