THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 11, 14 January 1935, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.),

It was recently asserted by a man who said he knew, that if a person suffering from insomnia, or a person getting less sleep than he deserved, lay north MAGNETIC PULL, and, south in bed, instead of east and west, h© would snooze more soundly. And just as Doubting Thomases are smiling at the notion it is being promulgated in Britain that if you have a blunt razor blade and turn the edge towards the North role it will,regain its pristine sharpness, i One tried it with a razor blade that had been carelessly reclining with its edge turned to the South Pole, only to find that it wouldn't shave at all. Intensive inquiries elicited the information that some unauthorised person had been sharpening pencils with it. The ostensible reason for the renewed youth of a blunt razor blade when the edge is turned to the North Pole is that the magnetic pull of the said Pole will adjust the minuter particles of steel, thus producing a closer and better edge. May one recommend relict workers, on abandoning toil each afternoon, to lay the edges of their shovels, picks, mattocks, spades and grubbers facing the North Pole? Saves money in files and grindstones.

The habitual scribbler receives in the course of the year innumerable . complaints from otherwise estimable citizens of the mistakes the scribbler or the OTHER PEOPLE'S scribbler's aiders and abetERRORS. tors make. Presumably there never has been a letter-perfect paper, but eminent folks have tried hard. There Is the story of the London "Daily Mail." Lord Rothermere sent every dav to the King the first copy of the paper, printed on superfine paper. He offered (so an American magazine said) bonuses, prizes and rewards for an absolutely errorless paper, and still it remained impossible for the staff to oive the world a one hundred per cent perfection. Lord\ Rothermere called the staff together when he had decided to send a supercopy every day to the King. He pointed out that every other paper would be precisely like the King's copy—barring the jiaper it \/as printed on—and added,. "And of course the Royal copy must be errorless." The staff agreed, and tried hard. They tell you in Fleet Street that errors dropped 90 per cent. sPerhaps "Typo," who writes complaining about the presence of a comma where a semi-colon was indicated will accept this, the only intimation?

Mariners engaged in the disposal of garbage per launch arc frequently surprised at the popularity of their vessels, the average non-fisherman being disTHE BIG BAIT, posed to regard these maritime collectors with averted countenances. As a matter of fact, keen amateur .fishermen practically fight each other to obtain a passage on such a boat, and iif the absence of permission they take their own boats and hover round the vicinity of "The Big Bait" and reap a glorious harvest. Men who have been in the habit of catching a mere dozen of snapper, kahawai or kingfish return from a "Big Bait" trip to provide the whole street with fish. On a recent day an habitual fisherman in the fresh and frolicsome 'seventies, noting a refuse vessel disposing of its load off Kangitoto, fished in the vicinity, and, hanging on for a yarn later, said ho had had the best catch in twenty-seven years. It transpires that this frolicsome young fellow is in the habit of pulling a dinghy from town to a fishing ground off Rangitoto, there to bob about nil day with his "pick" down and his lines the same. With a record catch from fishing in tho vicinity of the "Big Bait," he was about to man his oars to pull back on his own to Auckland. An invitation to him to hitch his painter to the empty sea scavenger was a godsend. Ho sat amidst his great heap of finny treasures throned like a king and bobbed about at the stern of the Big Bait without doing a tap. It was his Great Day.

Acclimatisation societies will bo charmed to hear that-New Zealand boy scouts jamboroaming in Australia were more fascinated by the snakes than by SEARCH FOR anything else turned on POISON, for them by their fellowdoers of kind deeds. An Australian troop of young scouts slew a snake in the hills. The New Zealand kiddies (so many of whom have to shave twice a day) practically fought for this nasty souvenir. They offered every kind of inducement to the Australian boys to part with this serpent. One young Fernleaf offered his excellent camera— but history doesn't say if he's bringing the snake home. An Australian scribe says that a Royal Commission should be appointed to ascertain why there are no snakes in New Zealand, with immediate action to follow. If snakes will not live with New Zealandcrs and New Zealanders are so keen on snakes, Australia, ho thinks, should encourage migration from New Zealand and distribute the newcomers In the badly infested districts. A man who roamed in Snakeland for many years declares that he very rarely saw a snake in all that time and that the few he managed to sight were always more frightened of him than he was of them. New Zealanders longing to die should not seek Australian snakes as a medium, but merely go swimming in good, sharky Australian water. Even a Queensland alligator can give a scout a nasty suck. No casualty list of persons frightened to death in the Auckland Hospital by the hideous clatter of passing traffic has ever been published. Patients are hardy SH-H-H! birds. Nobody who matters has ever taken this savagery in hand, and patients certainly can't do it. They will grin and bear it —or not grin, but bear it. One of the variants of wheeled noise is the sound of the overfit reveller who |iasses the House of Pain yelling his midnight ditties. A patient lying watching the. extraordinary illuminations on the midnight walls made by passing vehicles and listening to the accompaniment of a ribald citizenry once suggested an illuminated oil painting stuck up in front of that hospital. He thought it, should represent a bedridden patient, clothed in .bandages, with a doctor and sister leaning over him in sympathetic silence (and anyhow, pictures don't sing out). The legend was to read, "Drive Quietly —It Might Be You." Curious thing that the State authorities have not yet planned machine-gun practice at midnight by our reformed army. A boiler shop on any available vacant section close to the House" of Pain would help, too. Fortnightly exhibitions of fireworks could bo added. Philanthropic citizens, not immediately needing a hospital, would present the fireworks committee with double-bangers—those at a guinea a bang. One ex-patient considers a former interior noise was an excellent seconder of the passing lorry shrieking it<s dirge and the hilarious citizenry shrieking its way home. At one time every night some powerful person 'banged an enormous entrance door .with terrific violence. It echoed deafeningly through the building—and lulled the fretful patient to sweet rest.

THOUGHTS FOR TO-DAY. Bettor the chance of shipwreck on .a voyage of high purpose than to expend life in paddling hither and thither on a shallow stream to no purpose at all. —Anon. E'en power itself has not one-half the might of gentleness. —Anon. Time obliterates the fictions of opinion and confirms the decisions of Nature.—Anon.