FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 644, 22 April 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN” TINNY Advocating a Greater Auckland, the Mayor, Mr. G. Baildon, described outer local bodies as “tin-pot." I try not to pose as a Bumble, An effort that costs me a lot. But why don’t these settlements humble Take heed of my words, take a tumble. Instead of remaining Tin-pot? Let hamlets submit to my craving, And suburbs succumb to my chat. Then if I’m successful in staving Defeat off, you bet I’ll be waving In triumph my little Tin Hat. BEOWJJLF. IMPOSSIBLE! Newspaper heading: “A. Good Rich Man.” No, says Mr. Soapbox, of Quay Street. Such a thing is impossible. NO FLOWERS When an Auckland motorist was buying flowers, his car was stolen from outside the florist’s shop, and was later discovered in flames. He will be able to say it with flowers. WRONG NUMBER Central figures in such accidents as the disaster to the Wyndliam Street, fruit stall on Saturday morning do not always disappear with the speed exhibited .by the gentleman who crawled out from the bottom of the overturned telephone box. Instead of incontinently fleeing, he should have remained to give public thanks for his escape. He might easily have begun his call by dialling for a local number —say the City Council—and ended it with a connection on something even more infernal. KANGAROO Just to show how much Canada knows of New Zealand in spite of the number of motor-cars she sends here, a New Zealander now working in Winnipeg tells how he is unable to shake off ithe nickname of “Kangaroo,” while when two stenographers in the same establishment were informed of his origin, one said: “But you’re not a nigger,” and the other remarked that under the circumstances he spoke excellent English. ON THE LEASH The gentleman who released the toy balloons for the balloon strafing event at the air pageant is the owner of one of those noble hounds, an Alsatian. As he struggled into the teeth of the wind with his billowing cargo trailing behind him, the balloons strained strongly and onlookers almost feared that tliey would see the dog-fancier disappearing skyward under a cloud of bobbing spheres. This happily did not come to pass, but the subject of the alarm is probably now aware what his Alsatian Joels like when straining at the leash during his morning walk.

SPORT OF KINGS There is at least one man in Auckland whose official duties take him to every sporting fixture. He is the chauffeur to a noted dignitary, and beiifcg- a keen sportsman he enjoys his round of visits to football matches, cricket matches, athletic fixtures and all the rest of them. He is a sage observer of racing motor-cars on the speedways, and showed every sign of enthusiam at the air pageant. But for a moment he unbent and was confiding. “You know,” he said, “these motor races and air pageants are all right. Novel, and all that sort of thing. But you still can’t beat the gee-gees.’* SOLDIERS’ SHOOK Boots for “the bloods” have gone out of fashion. That much will be conceded on every hand. But puttees for territorials remain “as worn,” so when the bright young men get into uniform some queer effects may be noted. The military authorities presumably find it impossible to use the niceties of military dress as a lever wherewith to persuade their minions to buy heavy boots, instead of black patent leather shoes or blood-coloured affairs with strips of crocodile skin inset. Moreover, the paternal Government does not find itself in a position to supply boots with the rest of the kit. So the puttees come gracefully down to the ankles, and between the bottom of the puttees and the top of the shoe appears a section of men’s half-hose in modish hue or pattern. Possibly this was a happy circumstance considering that the parade was the trooping of the colours. But one could not help wondering if the Defence Department would not be better advised to issue the ranks with Oxford bags.