Written By: lprent - Date published: 11:31 am, December 21st, 2020 - 30 comments
From a few days ago (it seems like an eternity), RNZ reported “Govt to pump almost $3 billion into its Covid-19 response after report identified failings”. There were several points I’d make about the border controls and generally with our border and the long slow years in constraining this pandemic. But the Sydney outbreak and the UK Xmas Grinch appear to be making them for me already. Written By: Eddie - Date published: 7:17 am, November 30th, 2010 - 65 comments
The annual roll-call’ from the extremely pro-Nat Trans-Tasman says: “Key needs an agenda, not just the consensus he is building around personal trust.” In other words: �
Europe still has community transmission and an inadequate covid response.
I mean, I m all for lessening flights further due to climate change, also happy for NZ to be forced by covid into a more regenerative way of living, but those are different rationales.
Cricklewood 2.2.1
Ive been thinking about international air travel, I like the idea of a progressive taxation system as you dont want to make it impossible for people to visit family etc so for example you get one free flight per year then for every subsequent flight you are taxed at an ever increasing percentage of the ticket value say 10 20 40 80 160….
Nicolas Reid reviews Letters of Denis Glover, an archival collection published by Otago University Press
12 Dec, 2020 05:00 PM
3 minutes to read
By: Nicholas Reid Denis Glover s place in New Zealand literature is assured. Along with R.A.K. Mason, A.R.D. Fairburn and Allen Curnow, he was one of those who revitalised New Zealand poetry in the 1930s. The Magpies still takes the prize as New Zealand s most-often-reprinted poem. In founding the Caxton Press, Glover turned this country s publishing industry in a new direction, making it possible for poetry and fiction of high quality to reach a wider readership.
Denis Glover.
A tunnel is the escape route north, steep hills to the south. Everything feels a long way away. We need a reason to leave town. My father thought anything south of the Bombay Hills was the South Island. His kāinga was Pakiri, north of Auckland, with its loose-metal roads and indolent river, its cowsheds and scorching beach. Now there are better roads but many more cars. I visit the cemetery at our marae just beyond Leigh: this is our ‘meeting-place past the end of the world’ where my father waits for me. I rarely make the drive over Pakiri Hill to the valley of ghosts and fragmented memories, of disappeared buildings, of unanswered questions. The beach and the steep island in the distance – Hauturu, or Little Barrier – are contested land.