CASUAL JOTTINGS?-

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXI, Issue 19032, 9 June 1924, Page 5

CASUAL JOTTINGS?-

(By “M. C. 0.”) No doubt everyone read the interest* ing article in last Saturday’s “Chronicle” concerning the forthcoming trip to the moon. It is a movement that should be encouraged, and I take this opportunity of saying that I am prepared to receive the names ef all who are anxious to make the journey. All nominations must be sent ir by Thursday at noon, in time be sent on to the American professor who haf the project in hand. As he is a rev American professor (I have forgottcr the name for a moment) none ncec have any qualms at making the trip. In fact, I will take it upon myself to give the professor’s own personal guar tee that whoever is lucky enough to visit the moon will be brought safely back to New Zealand, even if the professor himself has to go for him. Tne professor, I understand, intends land ing the return rocket at Wembley Stadium (if it doesn’t land in midPacific), but if a Wanganuite makes the trip the landing no doubt could bo arranged for Cook’s Gardens on some Sunday afternoon. I was discussing the subject with a registry officekeeper, who does a little bit of matchmaking as a side-line, and she immediately suggested that perhaps one of the spinsters on her books would like to go on the chance of catching the man in the moon. The registry officekeeper thought that men should bo barred from the journey as it opened up another avenue of escape for husbands. This was quite a new trend of thought to me, and brought up visions of great possibilities. Up till then I had thought that the volunteers w’ould most likely to be men who would do anything in the cause of science, those suffering from ennui -nd a general “fed up” feeling, and possibly footballers who had missed a trip with the All Blacks. But as an escape for a husband—that put an idea into my head. Still, there’s that guarantee that the man will be brought back, so that’s no good.

Now that Borough Council affairs are being put through the sifter, attcntic.'i is being directed to another local body, the Hospital Board, whose financial position also, it seems, needs an overhaul. Some startling figures showing the growth of expenditure have lately been published. Some rumours have also been heard and from time to tiire incipient rumblings at the Board table have found their way, in mild paragraphs, into the newspapers. For instance, one member drew attention to the size of the coal bill, but though inquiry was to be made nothing more has been heard about it. Wherever the extravagance lies, the fact appears to be that the Wanganui Hospital is the most costly run, of its size, in New Zealand. Big hospitals should be run far more cheaply, per bed, than small ones. The Taihape and Raetihi hospitals, for instance, should cost more per bed than docs Wanganui. During the last six years the cost per bed in the local hospital has risen from £96 10s to £205, which, to say the least, coils for a frank and full official explanation.

The Taxation Commissioner, Mr D. C. Clerk, has received an honour at the hands of the King. Journalists as a whole have no grievance against Mr Clark, for the hard-earned money he mulcts us of is limited in quantity, certainly not more than a few hundreds a year. Hence, we congratulate Mr Clark, for we think he does his onerous and unpleasant task in the most gentlemanly way possible. But there arc a whole lot of people who think that the Commissioner of Stamps is deserving of no other title than the Order of the Boot. (When 1 get a penalty put on my income tax 1 think so, too, at the time). I was reading the other day of a novel suggestion regarding income tax. It emanated from Mr Bernard Shaw, who pointed out that a novelist might eke out a bare existence till he was 60 and then make £20,000 by the sale of a book. He argued that this £20,000 should be treated as capital and that only the income to be derived from investing that amount should be taxed. I can imagine what the Taxation Department would say to this, but their decision is not worrying me.

If prize winners in art unions could only count up the value of all tickets they have ever bought, they would find they had paid very handsomely for their “gold nugget” or picture. In fact, people are very lucky indeed if they ever win a prize. Buying tickets in art unions is not intended to be taken quite as seriously as paying for shares in a gum or a gold mining company. There is one man in New Zealand however, who has spent £ 1 on art unions without getting a dividend, and says emphatically that he is “done with art unions for ever.” His letter to the secretary of an organisation which recently ran an art union is well worth reading: Dear Sir, —I received your list with the winning numbers and am disappointed at not getting a prize. The figures are a long way off the numbers of the ten tickets I got from you. It is hard luck on me not getting anything the second time, so I am not going to have anything to do with it again. I have had enough of it. The —art union is a thing that I am done with, so don’t send me any more tickets in the future. If you do T shall return them straight away. So that is the end of it. I burnt all the tickets I had in the fire to get it off my mind. Tt is too bad to be disappointed every time. So don’t send me any more in the future. I have had enough of it.—Yours faithfully. . . P.S., I am not saying it is any fault of yours, but I have decided not to have anything more to do with it in future.

By way of a P.P.S. written across the top of the first page, is this: “That is a pound of money gone on for me for nothing, so I don’t want to hear anything more about it. I am none with art unions for ever.” One wonders what the gentleman would? have said if, instead of the lucky numbers being a long way from his tickets, they had just missed. There is a refreshing absence of the gambling instinct in this gentleman,., I wonder if he ever tried Tatts!