The Half Gallon Jar Project: Do it yourself racket is well named.

DO IT YOURSELF RACKET IS WELL NAMED

A few weeks ago I'm sitting on a three-ply tea chest which some enemy had left at my place for kindling. I'm thinking about all thee jobs I have to do around the place,, such as dealing with the twitch and oxalis, to say nothing of the blackberry and honeysuckle which creeps on to my section from the rich pakeha coot's place at the back of the section.

I get to thinking about this and that and one thing and another and say to myself, “Is it worth it?”

More better, I think, to pay rent and let the plurry landlord keep the place in order.

To make matters worse I get to thinking about all the dough I have to find during the few weeks for rates and interest and things like that.

In this mood I don't want any problems other than getting the cork out of the half-gallon jar.

Just then the wife's mother comes up to me and says like this:

“Hori, the driveway is a disgrace to the street and the weeds are are growing up through the old bitumen. I think it's about time you put it down in concrete.”

“Spare me days, “ I tell her, “I have just been nutting it out how I'm going to pay all my bills and you come across with a new on one just about the 50 quid touch.”

“Tut, tut” she says “you must not talk like that. Don't you read the papers about all this 'Do it yourself' business?

“Look at me, “ she bleats, “I used to spend a lot of money on the perm wave but now I do it myself.”

Crikey, she does not have to call for tenders to get her hair trimmed!

It's all done up with paper clips and pipe cleaners and looks like Topsy in the book I used to read when I was a was a kid. Mind you, she is not the full blooded Maori, otherwise she would have to get the motor-mower to keep the hair in order!
Anyway I decide to give this plurry concrete drive a go and order all the shingle and cement to arrive on the Saturday morning.

When the stuff is on the job a pakeha joker with horn rimmed glasses stops outside my and says “I take it, sir, that you are about to lay a concrete drive. What, may I ask, is the mixture you intend to put down?”

“Six to to one,“ I tell him, which is better than you get when you back the plurry racehorses.

“Ridiculous, My man,”” he barks. “Just a pure waste of cement. Eight to one is plenty.”

Another pakeha walks past a bit later and asks me what mixture I am going too use, and when I tell him he says: “Not strong enough. It will never hold. You had better use four to one”

Next morning the first pakeha arrives and says he will give me a hand.

“What will you do?” I ask, and he says he will do the tamping.

He gets a box to sit on and takes a stick, then when I pour the concrete he mucks about with it and seems to be enjoying himself.

The other pakeha then arrives and tells me that he will be only too pleased to supervise the job.

“I thanks” I say. “Take the easy chair, “ and I produce another box with a sack on it.

After a couple of hours these coots' wives arrive to see that they are not getting into trouble.

All this time the mother in law and the missus are working double shifts making tea, scones and cakes for these people. After a while who should I see coming down the road but the wife's brother.

“Pardon me, folks” I say and I get under the house smartly and put my six pigs trotters and crayfish claws in a kerosene tin and mark it “Weedkiller”

I ask this brother in law if he will give me a hand. “Sure he tells me. “Where is the beer so I can help these good people?” Stiffen the crows, this coot couldn't work in an iron lung.

Well, I seem to be the only joker who is doing any work. This do it yourself racket is right and am I doing it myself!

Everybody is inside putting scones, cakes and tea where the flies can't get them, and the women are having a great time time.

Up till now I have not produced any drink stronger than tea 'cause I'm keeping a couple of half-gallon jars for Sunday morning. Do you know what? That brother in law of mine holds the floor and tells these people that I am very grateful for all the good advice I have received from these pakehas and opens a jar to give them one for the road.

That night the wife's sister arrives and says “Well Hori, it was about time you fixed that drive up with concrete. It looks super duper”

She then runs up and down it with the stiletto-heeled shoes. Well, spare me days, you should have a bo-peep at it now.

It looks like a North Auckland beach after the opening of the toheroa season.

Next morning I'm sitting at the bottom of the section opening a sugar bag of pipis which a friend of mine gave me when my small boy comes along and says “Dad, what are you doing?”

“Look, son,” I tell him. “I'm opening pipis and you can tell your mother, and your granny and all the pakeha coots from up the road that I don't want the job supervised cause this is one job where I can do it myself.”