A quirky memoir of growing up in 1960’s New Zealand.
Earthquakes in New Zealand have always been a reminder of its geological idiosyncrasies, and occasionally when the earth moved, so did our little house on Christchurch’s sandy suburban fringe.
My father – declared a near-genius by my mother – was a mechanical engineer, collector and inventor of such useful items as industrial tile cutters, lawnmower sharpeners, a hovering conveyance platform, a collapsible boat and an ingenious multi-chicken decapitator – to name but a few.
A quirky memoir of growing up in 1960’s New Zealand.
Earthquakes in New Zealand have always been a reminder of its geological idiosyncrasies, and occasionally when the earth moved, so did our little house on Christchurch’s sandy suburban fringe.
My father – declared a near-genius by my mother – was a mechanical engineer, collector and inventor of such useful items as industrial tile cutters, lawnmower sharpeners, a hovering conveyance platform, a collapsible boat and an ingenious multi-chicken decapitator – to name but a few.
My mother, on the other hand, was a complicated woman with Jekyll and Hyde tendencies, a creative bent and certain knowledge that civilisation was irrevocably doomed. There was much talk of ending up in the nut house.
Living on a shoestring required creative recycling and reimagining.
Disappointingly for my mother, her Ten Toothsome Ways with Gourmet Offal were not a success.
‘We didn’t appreciate how lucky we were’, she said. Trying to lip-read Mr Ed through a shop front window wasn’t my idea of lucky. Owning a television wasn’t hers, but she was prepared to reconsider when New Zealand got colour. Fortunately my father couldn’t wait for something that might never happen; instead, we became the proud owners of a black-and-white nineteen inch legless Idiot Box.
No more sing-songs around the piano, reading a book after dinner or lengthy debates on the merits of cod liver oil as a laxative. The world and one corner of our lounge had just become a brighter place.
Editor’s note: Cheryl Nicol was born in Christchurch, New Zealand in 1955 and gained the benefit of hindsight somewhere around 1996. Besides A Parallel Universe, she has published two historical biographies as well as international prize-winning humorous short fiction. After three decades lost in Australia Cheryl has re-embraced Kiwi life and now lives on a few acres in North Canterbury with her husband and an assortment of animals which mostly belong to the neighbours.
Mary Egan Publishing, release date August 2017; RRP $30.
To celebrate the book’s release we have two copies to giveaway.
To enter simply answer the following question in the comments section below:
Where did Cheryl’s father grow up?
The winner will be drawn and notified via email.
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