How to survive the apocalypse from the comfort of your own kitchen

Kyle Chapman wants to be mayor. Yeah, good
luck with that.

Every time there is an election, be it for local or central government, Kyle Chapman makes a $200 donation to the Electoral Commission. Strictly speaking this is a deposit that designed to weed out frivolous candidacy that the candidate will get back if they receive 25% of the votes of the eventual winner. Kyle Chapman is a good example that this doesn't necessarily work, but the Electoral Commission has his money and doesn't care. This year Kyle has decided to throw his hat in the ring for the Christchurch mayoralty and for a seat on the council in the Hagley-Ferrymead ward bringing to mind such phrases as 'pissing in the wind', 'a snowball's chance' 'about as likely as Elvis landing a UFO on top of the Loch Ness Monster's forehead' because Kyle, bless him, is a knob. The studious of you will have read his wikipedia page that states that he is the leader of the Right Wing Resistance and is a survivalist intent on creating a 'European land base'. Let's just think about that for a minute... survivalist... European land base. Kyle thinks that we are still one step away from oblivion and he and the other survivalists will be all that is left in a world that closely resembles Mad Max. If cockroaches and Kyle Chapman are all that are left, then I'll be glad to be dead. 

But then, I am going to survive the apocalypse. You see, I learned how to survive a nuclear, biological or chemical attack when I was in the Army. I also know how to purify water, build shelter, navigate through a minefield without being blown into purple mist and I learned to handle weaponry should Kyle and his mates come knocking. However, the real reason I am going to survive the apocalypse is because I can live off the land and make stuff in the kitchen. Well any fool can make stuff in the kitchen, even if it's toast you say. What happens when the bread runs out? I can bake more. Pasta? I can make that from scratch too. Other provisions I can turn my hand to and make from raw ingredients are sausages, beer, marmalade, pickled onions, chutney, fruit leather, in fact I am probably only limited by my imagination and the tools I have in my kitchen. My pantry is replete and when I open the door I smile. I get enormous satisfaction from making and consuming my own food, however this stops short of posting photographs of said food on facebook, although I have to confess to once taking a photo of some sausages I had braided simply because I was proud of myself and wanted the world to know how clever I was. 
A self-braided sausage is a beautiful thing. 
You ought to try it.

George and Michael deep in discussion about submitting a
name change by deed poll.
I suppose I could have called them Kyle and Chapman.

Further to my kitchen-based pottering, my flash new garden has more fruit trees than I could ever possibly handle once they are in fruit. Purely for my own edification, here is a shortlist: three apple trees, a pear, two limes, three lemons, three large feijoas, a nectarine, a peach, a quince, seven olives, a grapevine, a passionfruit vine, a papaya, three blackcurrants, boysenberry canes, two kiwifruit vines, a mandarin, a large strawberry bed, a cranberry and a cherry tree. What I don't make into cider will become jellies, jams, more marmalade and unwanted gifts for those unfortunate enough to know me.
It just so happens that there are extensive vegetable beds and we have a couple of new inmates in the form of hens named George and Michael. More birds will be arriving named Elton and John, Lionel and Ritchie (Yes I know that hens are female and those are all male names. We thought it would be funny and the hens have not framed a convincing argument illustrating their opposition to their monikers). It seems that Atilla the Wife and I didn't buy a house, we've inadvertently bought a very small farm (738m²) that happens to have a house on it. So come a nuclear armageddon and the resultant shriveling of the food supply, we'll be fine thank you very much and Kyle and his survivalists in North Canterbury can eat shit and die.

LLB: a study in futility or a passport to greatness?

Just because you have a law degree, it doesn't
make you Rumpole. God, I wish it did.

This post is brought to you by the letter L and the number four and a half. I was tempted to muse on the L that I have just been working on, which is Lime and Grapefruit Marmalade, but this is not the sole source of my joy this weekend. You see, I found out on Friday that after four and a half years of dutifully turning up to lectures, only half listening to them and then panicking when it came to exam time, I have now completed my law degree. I have finished and bring on the lawyer jokes, because until I pass the bar exam I cannot be called a lawyer and I still have my soul in my possession. A law degree is a funny thing because it doesn't enable you to do anything you couldn't do without one except sit the bar exam, and even then, you still have the additional proviso that in New Zealand you have to have passed the legal ethics paper. So if you aren't contemplating becoming a lawyer in New Zealand, you may have letters LLB after your name, but it entitles you to bugger-all.
Those undergoing the arduous slog of their law degree can take some comfort in the fact that once they have been admitted to the ranks of LLB holders, they are entitled to describe themselves as 'esquire' rather than 'mister'. You can do this, but no-one does. Why? Because you'd have to be either Bill.S Preston and about to undergo a big adventure or a bogus journey, or you'd have to be a massive, massive tool.
The only other thing holding an LLB allows you to do is to fold it into a $45,000 paper dart and see how far it flies.

So, unless you become a practicing lawyer, your shiny new LLB is of no use whatsoever, so what does a law degree actually teach you? Does it teach you what the law is? Behave. The law is viciously convoluted: many brilliant minds have been working for thousands of years and creating millions of laws by legislation, precedent and action that if Methuselah himself had started trying to describe it as a fresh faced young student, he wouldn't have finished in his 900th year. I think it politic to adapt PG Wodehouse' description of futility for this one. You've as much chance of describing what the law is than a one armed blind man has of getting half a pound of melted butter into a wild-cat's left ear with a red hot needle. It just can't be done. So, does a law degree give you a basic handle on what the law is in a specific area? Well, yes and no. I have a friend who happens to be a partner at a Christchurch law firm and he said that everything he learned at law school twelve years ago is now completely and hopelessly out of date.
So what the bloody hell have I been doing for the last four and a half years that was so arduous except for the cryptic crossword?
Logic, old thing. Logic.

Shotguns at the ready... pull!

My degree announces to the world that I have reached a standard in expressing logical thought. I can approach an issue from several angles, break it down into its elements and then solve each element until an overall solution manifests itself. Then I can walk away and hopefully email a bill to someone. You know what else four and a half years at university has taught me?
Not to do it again.
It's also taught me to be slightly more dangerous in a pub quiz, however, I hope that my new found qualification can be used properly in arenas other than answering trivia questions in a pub, although that's a pretty good start.