Thread: In praise of Gun City

Originally Posted by shift14

Because there are no consequences for poor performance.

There's a generation out there that have been brought up to think " it's OK, at least you tried, it's all about participating "....... hold me up while I spew please.

I honestly look back with fond memories at being the hangar scrote, being called a "fuck pig young cnut ", being told to sweep the bay again, being told to clean and test another 4 sets of Fletcher plugs (16 plugs to a set ).
Because by Christ, when the work was done we had some fun. Work BBQ's , floors awash with booze, a bit of a touch with the office lady on a warm bonnet at the back of the carpark.

I look back back with fond memories lifting hay with our crew from school and a few Kling-ons that didn't last. We used to leave Tokoroa at 10.00, drive halfway to Taupo up to the Lands and Survey blocks. 40-60 acre paddocks of lucerne. "Yeah mate, around 1500 I think" , they'd tell us. The counter on the baler was alway fucked. I saw guys cry when we'd done 3000, and still be only half done....and get home at 0800 the next day.

It's weird lifting hay in sleet dressed in a swandri and wooden hat.....

Mum would ring the GF to say that she didn't think I'd make the movies that night.

It taught us work ethic, stickability, and comradeship, and how to cope.

Dad would make me drink a glass of water with salt in it, then a cuppa, and put a rug over me when I slept on sheepskins on my bedroom floor to straighten my back out.

Then we'd go and do it again, and again.... mates, comradeship, blisters, cuts, and a feed from the Managers missus if we were lucky.

"Mate, did you see her tits " .? ......... " yeah, ffffffaaaaarrrrrk".

I had another job during the May and August holidays in the sixth form, I learnt the basics of fencing. Dad dropped me off two miles south of Kinleith, I gave a mate and his dad a hand to tidy up their new farm fences and make and swing new gates, build new yards.
I worked all day, then ran home each night in my boots to town on SH 1, just in time for dinner. No cellphones to get mum to pick me up cause I didn't like it. She would've told me to just get on with it anyway.....but by Christ I was fit for footy....and a few years later an engagement ring, same GF.

It was fkn hard going for a townie kid, but I reckon I did ok, unfortunately it probably turned me into the thankless grumpy prick I am.

Now I get told by the hairys " you can't talk to me like that "........I just grin and shake my head, some of them wouldn't last 5 minutes along side my mother.

I'm more than happy to offer a "hand up", and really encourage the lads with the ethics and the smarts, but I loathe the ones that want it all on a plate.

Rant over, time to get on the crutches and shuffle down for a coffee......

B

ps, .....just realised this has got fuck all to do with GC, but it made me feel better....

Blood good stream of consciousness rant bought back some memories of doing hay and shit round kawakawa in the 70s. I too owned a swanni but never had a wooden hat.

Originally Posted by Marty Henry

Blood good stream of consciousness rant bought back some memories of doing hay and shit round kawakawa in the 70s. I too owned a swanni but never had a wooden hat.

Haha, yeah I ditched the wooden one, I use the tinfoil one mostly these days, cause they're watching us ya know..

B