Following yesterday's photo of the guy asleep on the rubbish truck in West Auckland, here's one of a worker enjoying a break in his improvised easy chair on the North Shore.
Cool teacher in hot classroom
Alasdair Maclean of Pakuranga recalls his school days: "Due to population expansion in the fifties, the old school had many prefab buildings. These were not of the standard seen around schools today. They had no lining in the ceiling, the floor was in sections that did not always line up and they were extremely hot in summer and bitterly cold in winter. They were heated by a pot-belly stove in the corner.
"Back then, every teacher was graded by an inspector. On one visit, when it had been raining, the inspector found Pat teaching us while holding up an umbrella. This was his way of protesting.
"On another very cold day, the students had stoked up the pot-belly stove until it was glowing red hot. The inevitable happened and the prefab caught fire. Pat very calmly filed the students outside, did a roll call, counted heads and, just to make sure, called the roll again.
"Finally, he said to one of the students: 'Lad, stroll over to the office and get a fire extinguisher, and the operative word is stroll.' He then stood back and watched the prefab burn, rubbing his hands in glee.
"He later became principal of a large high school."
Red face for a good Samaritan
John writes: "So I'm walking to Waikato Hospital when I see a worried lady sitting on a low wall with an apparently unconscious guy face down on the pavement beside her. 'Can I do anything to help?' I ask. 'Nah, she's cool,' says the "unconscious" guy, looking up. 'Just trying to turn the water back on, bro.' Only then do I notice his arm down the toby hole. Doh!"
A case of mistaken (feline) identity
"Some years ago when I lived in Hillsborough and was in my rugby-playing days," writes John Barrett, "I returned home about 8pm after rugby practice (and a couple of beers) and turned into our right-of-way driveway and noticed our cat, obviously hit by a car and very dead, lying on the kerb. I parked my car and came back to the darkened road and, with tears streaming down my face, gently picked up the dead cat and carried him into the house. My wife and children were watching TV as I came in and broke the bad news. The whole family burst out laughing and pointed to our black moggy asleep in front of the fire. There I was with a wet face and a dead mystery cat. All diligent Inquiries failed to produce the mystery moggy's owner, so we buried the poor thing ourselves."By Ana Samways Email Ana