No birthdays or anniversaries
Notices
Pat: Mike Batchelor has been made an honorary member of the Club. He is also back in hospital – ward 3 B. He would appreciate a visit and the Herald.
Dave Woodhouse: A friend, Mike Newton, has made a donation of $200 towards sponsoring an Outward Bound student.
Kathy Webb: Treasured Art. Still looking for someone to store the stands. If you have a spare space in your garage let her know. Also looking for VIP buyers.
Barbara Whitton: Breast cancer collection 12 October still looking for collectors.
Dan: Kiwi Can visits today. If anyone interested in the future let him know.
Eduardo: Alas the technology let him down, so looking forward to next week's report.
With apologies for the late communication, Mark Wassung has tendered his resignation
Guest speakers
Simone, Ciska and Tanya. The Incubator in the Historic Village began 5 years ago on a meagre budget of $350, the main focus being on engaging with community groups and as a platform for telling stories through creative pathways.
To make it sustainable they formed a charity with a formal board – with none other than our very own Ken and Larissa running the ship. A barn, morphing into an Artery, has grown to over 50 different groups working together.
In 2017 they launched a true gallery space – the People's Gallery. With 11 exhibitions 6,000 visitors and 304 artists, later things are going from strength to strength. The Jam Factory has just opened for musicians to work together.
The Incubator is NZ's largest creative hub this side of the Bombay Hills.
Sergeant (not sargent John Carlson) session from Ron Devlin.
Name tags changed has led to the normal confusion, numerous members lambasted from Warren Banks seen with ladies underwear, Ray Scott as head debt collector and of course our beloved mayor and councillors couldn’t get away without a fine.
Should we get ahead of the band wagon and invite Don Brash back? He has become hot property all of a sudden.
The best fine was left for President Pat and his lengthy- short speeches.
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Paaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrting thought……………………
Irony abounded. Just as Ron sat down, our very own member, friend, councillor and all round great guy Max Mason set the record for the longest ever parting thought.
In summary - Once upon a time there was a young teenage fella called Charlie Kipling who wanted to take his girl friend out. So he asked dad for keys to the car. After a lengthy diatribe his dad Rudyard relented and said yes.
The post pubescent lad was subsequently overheard talking to his mates recounting the event, which went as follows:
'Hey fellas I asked Dad for the keys to the car so I could see my missus . Well, on he went blah, blah , blah - all this stuff about some Sh###t is coming my way in a few years and I’m gonna have to deal with it.
Apparently people are gonna hate me, I’m gonna lose money on some good bets, stuff I’m gonna make gets broken, and apparently I’m gonna have to suck it up.
I think what he was really saying was don’t ding the car and replace the petrol.'
The moral of the story is - even parents in the early 1900s struggled with communicating with their teenage children.
As a post script young Charlie was so fed up with his father's high profile that he changed his surname to Chaplin to fly under the radar (??)
Anyway here was what Rudyard said to his son
'If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you.
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies.
Or being hated don’t give way to hating, and yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise.
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master,
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim
If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for folks, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build’em up with worn out tools.
If you can make one heap of all your winnings and risk it on one turn of pitch and toss, and loser and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you except the will which says to them; Hold on.
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, if all men count with you, but none too much. If you can fill the unforgiving minute.
With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it, And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son.'
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