Roots

So during Levels three and four while you women under 60 are pondering how you’re going to get your roots redone, spare a thought for Dr Ashley Bloomfield.  His roots don’t appear as if they will need redoing, but I’m deeply concerned about how dishevelled he might look before any barber can get close enough to restore his classy coif to its former glory.

Already I’m suspecting that the PM has taken to her own glossy locks with the kitchen scissors.

Having penned this pithy intro I must justify myself by reminding you what happens when one is in the public eye and doing a damn good job (as are the PM and Dr Ashley Bloomfield). 

Those who are watching, become proprietorial.  This licenses them to gossip, be proud, and/or rude, be concerned for the celeb’s welfare, and aware of any tiny thing that may put a ding in the paintwork – such as cutting the hair with the kitchen scissors – or not.  Small price knowing you’re doing a magnificent job I guess.

I wondered – fleetingly - how the rest of us might look in the post Covid environment, but I’m more interested in what philosophizers and prophets are suggesting about the new more worthy normal in which we care for the freshly rested environment, find new and innovative ways for people to earn dignified livings, and where expectations as facile as glossy topcoats have lost some of their lustre.

And speaking of roots – it seems many people have gone back to them.  There are plenty of yummy recipes, food photos, cleaning accomplishments, handling the harvest hints, and plant identification queries peppering the airwaves currently.

I too have gone back to my roots – I’ve made jelly, jam, chutney, my bed, and sauce - all of which I’ve resisted posting on Facebook.  I have also rescued my bike from the rafters and started riding it.  

I have a handy hint for cyclists in the 21^st century who do not resort to Lycra and are satisfied pedalling in an upright and dignified manner on a bicycle with less than twenty-seven gears.

Gumboots are a cost-effective alternative to bicycle clips (very 19^th century) or pegs (very passé).  Most people have gumboots and my well used red-bands mean I don’t even have to change to go to the supermarket – for essential supplies only you understand.  I’m hopeful that in the new normal and the fullness of time, people will no longer fall about laughing when they see me aboard my trusty cycle either exercising, or on the way to an essential service.

I hear today that a feature of the transition from Level four to three was queues outside McDonald's from 5.00am in the morning.  This is alarming and not congruent with the new normal I had been hoping for.  We used to have resilience, tolerance, and respect for treats.  Most of New Zealand has demonstrated itself capable of that.  Please let this alarming need for instant gratification not form part of the new currency of living well that leaders such as Jacinda and Ashley have recently demonstrated.