BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXIV, Issue 946, 16 December 1933, Page 13

BY THE WAY.

Some Collections and Reflections. BY OXE OF THE BOYS. Judging by the remarks of Mr Benson. the surf clubs are in a bad way. llow about calling themselves Serf Clubs? Mary Pickford says she tunes in to the infinite. She’s lucky. With our old two-valver we can’t get further than 2YA. The latest kind of shirt is now out. It is called the “ Rainbow ” shirt. It does not offend anybody’s political opinions. A lady writes: “ Dear Touchstone, while out recently I heard quite a number of new words.” She ought to keep away from a golf course. The Waikuku Gala Committee advertise : “ Come to Waikuku Gala Boxing Day. If wet New Year's Day.” What we want to know is how you are going to know on Boxing Day if New Year’s Day will be wet or not. Mr A. F. Wright considers handwriting as necessary for success in life. 1 dunno. And pound notes that we have managed to get hold of have proved that bank managers did not f their jobs on their handwriting. “My son, I see you did not get a prize. What any other boy can do, you should be able to do—and better.” Son: “Yes, Dad: and didn't you say when you went to school you were in the same class as George Forbes?” Dad: “What of it?” Son: “Oh, nothing.” We have three nieces to buy presents for. Our wife gave a hand. “ Clarice plays golf,” I said. “ A whisky flask would do, and it wou:d also do for dances.” “ f rnd what for Maisie? She’s a tenrus fan.” “ They sell depilatories now in beautiful cut glass bottles.” “ Good, and now for Alvse? She only bathes. How about an oiled silk bag to carry her bathing dress?” “ Don't be absurd! They carry them in their purses nowadays. Get her a gallon of sunburn emollient.” The Economy Commission missed a great opportunity. From the middle of December till the first week in February all the school teachers, headmasters, professors of science and intellect are wasting their mighty brains on the desert air. All this vast intelligence is going begging. There is enough profound thought among these mighty men to move the immovable, to stop the irresistible, to unscrew the inscrutable, and nothing to use it on. What do they do with themselves? Where do they go? You never see about. There is a theory that ,uey go into hiding so that envious pxpayers may not enquire whether a ,he pay still continues. There may be something in it. The story was discredited at the time, but it should have been investigated further. At Mount Somers last Christmas a workman digging at the side of a cliff unearthed a cave, and going in found four or five thousand men huddled together in the darkness. Were they school teachers and professors? I do not know. Said Hezaliah Brown: “The game of bowls is a great institution, As an excuse it is the best ever. ‘My dear,’ says the wife, ‘ the lawn needs cutting.’ * Sorry,’ he says, ‘ but I have a match on.’ And he gets out among his friends, rests his tired brain, and she who has no brain to rest, gets much needed exercise in shoving the mower. What is the dread of every married woman? Waist girth. He helps her keep it down. It is good to see the bowler at play—so hopeful as he steps on the mat, so pained as he watches its progress. At United last night I watched each head—each jack sitting so lovely; and scattered over a wide area were the bowls, none near it, and I remembered the success of old Brown, the champion skip of many years ago. I hesitate to tell his secret. Why not? A great man was he: and one day' he had an inspiration. He watched his first man put the bowl yards away from the jack, and saw the reason. The man was aiming to lie close to it. So he got his team together and said, ‘ Men, as long as you try to get near the jack you will never succeed, but let us work on the law of averages. If we aim for just anywhere, one of our bowls will go near.’ So that’s how they* became champions. Every man shut his ey r es when he fired.”