I suspect Friedrich Hundertwasser is having a good old laugh at the drawn-out process that the Hundertwasser Art Centre proposal for Whangarei has become.

In the end, I couldn't watch. Or listen. I turned the radio off, driving into town.

Straw polls, critics say, have all the power of the material they are named after.

They're back! Nuggety international tourists, they are the cast members of the original biological real life epic: Mission Impossible.

Making an exception to strict house rules by turning on the telly to watch America's Cup racing last Sunday morning, proved just how dangerous daytime television can be.

One of the most despicable things around is when people put pressure on family members-particularly older parents-to part with their money.

Life is filled with sweet moments and we can find them hiding in the smallest, most unlikely of places, or in the more obvious.

The public response to the arson attack and burglary of 92-year-old Pearl Sanger's home was unlike any I have experienced as an editor.

I'm feeling passionate. Passionate about heaps of stuff. Also I think it's really important to move forward. Go on a journey. But I'll lead from the front. Passionately.

The H Word. Hundertwasser. More specifically, the Hundertwasser Art Centre.

Many years ago when I lived on the West Coast, the local Trustee Savings Bank took up the slack when the big banks pulled out of the small towns.

In an analogy that is no doubt wildly offensive to postpartum mothers the world over, it occurred to me this week that long-haul flying is a not entirely dissimilar to giving birth.

I like lists. I found my "February list of Things to Do" last week and quite a few items remained unachieved.

In reply to Keith Hartley's letter (August 16) about the printing of money, he should do some study as to how the money he uses comes into existence.

Who knew putting the babies to bed could be so gawd-damned difficult?

It is continually surprising what lies beneath our seas.