Living in a house full of women is enough to send any man off his chump.
So says Amyas Crale, the victim in the classic whodunit, Go Back for Murder.
I appreciated the Shoreside Theatre's adaptation, full of saucy cheek and innuendo.
It started with the flirtations of a suave solicitor and his client and ended with the indiscretions between a would-be victim and his mistress.
It's wartime Britain and an M.I.5 solicitor has been employed by Crale's daughter Carla to piece together her father's final moments in 1927.
The victim's wife Caroline was sent to prison for poisoning him but Carla has received a letter claiming her mother's innocence.
Carla's rounded up the witnesses, her father's mistress included, to step back in time and relive his last moments to try and identify the real killer.
The stand-out of this production, for me, was the casting.
The accents were near flawless, the male characters were physical and strong while the women were appropriately sassy, silly or stoic.
And it could easily have come across as a cheap laugh but the occasional slapstick was enjoyable. Think of a doddery old man getting tangled in his scarf or a lovesick solicitor trying to look cool while tripping over a desk. Giggle, giggle.
When it comes to live theatre, you can't go past a good murder mystery. Especially one told by renowned playwright Agatha Christie.
The idyllic 190 seat historic PumpHouse Theatre on the banks of Lake Pupuke has been full with fans of the macabre 1940s tale.
Adapted from her best-seller, Five Little Pigs, the story delves into the seemingly unsolved case and pledges to tell it backwards. Backwards in that, the victim is already dead.
The silver-tongued mistress, the down-trodden wife, the colourful and humorous boffin, the precocious and hyperactive little sister and the kooky admiral are all suspects. Christie's 'five little pigs'.
One went to market, one stayed home, another had roast beef…
On entering the final scene it is still too hard to say who actually dunnit.
We all have our suspicions but to be sure, you will need to see it for yourself.
My Son, My Hopes, My Fears
Our image of South Africa is all too often skewed by the desperate actions of a few. The portrait is overshadowed by darkness, her grand beauty all but forgotten. A wavering economy and outpouring of skilled migrants, South Africa has struggled to find its feet. But if you know the right places to go, the rainbow nation can be a traveller's paradise as you make the most of the low rand*, friendly locals, and generous sights to behold, as Michelle Robinson discovered. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION A rhino crosses the road at Schotia Private Game Reserve. To me, South Africa has always been about the Cape. The colourful history and exquisite beauty under the watchful eye of Table Mountain. My father's family reluctantly fled its shores to escape Apartheid, 45 years ago. This year I took my Kiwi mother, husband, and 18-month-old to explore the places we had only heard about. Situated on the western side of the southern coast, Cape Town is hom
Rose Matafeo knows she can't play the cute young thing forever. "I know I can't . . . I'm tall and I have wide shoulders, that's not very cute." The two-time nominated Billy T Award comedian has come a long way from the frizzy haired, nervous ball of energy who cut her teeth in the Auckland standup scene at just 15. Previous stories on the Grey Lynn comedian of Samoan, Dalmatian and Scottish descent have referred to her nervous habit of playing with her hands and her polite, self-effacing manner. Just a couple of years later, her growing confidence is evident but low key. Sitting in her bedroom in the weatherboard Grey Lynn flat she shares with comedians Joseph Moore and Nic Sampson, the now 22-year-old Matafeo isn't sure how she got here. "I don't know why I started out in comedy, I don't know why I'm still doing it and I don't think I'm funny." Instead, she takes her hat off to other girls pursuing comedy.
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Two healthcare workers who forged prescriptions for three years to obtain medication to send overseas have kept their jobs. Joel Razon, 39, and Carlo Manlutac, 27, are still employed by Te Puna Hauora Primary Health Organisation on Auckland's North Shore despite being convicted of charges involving thousands of dollars worth of medication. Health Minister Tony Ryall and Waitemata District Health Board officials both said the men's employment was none of their business. Te Puna Hauora general manager Lyvia Marsden said the organisation had "put policies in place" to prevent further offending, and the Ministry of Health was satisfied. Asked why the pair were still with the organisation, she said: "Why shouldn't they? Where else are they supposed to work?" Marsden said the matter had been dealt with confidentially and she had no concerns about the way it had been handled. "We have not broken the law," she said. "All is well."
OPINION: I have to dig deep to show emotion when a friend's upset. Adult tears are mesmerising. It's not that I don't feel their sadness, oh I do. It's just that I had to cope with intense grief as a child. I was 11 and Dad was supposed to live forever. Losing a parent when you are young can make you resilient in many ways. Over time though, resilience can morph into hardness. It's taken years of watching the close bond between my husband and his dad to realise a father's role doesn't diminish at the end of childhood. That bond was what pulled my husband, and our young family with it, back from Auckland to New Plymouth last year. There were a number of reasons for this move, but most pressingly has been my husband's need to spend quality time with his father before age and ailing health rob them. Through seeing my husband snuggle up to his dad like a boy and ask him for advice, I've learned that the role of a father is one intended to guide
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It's been 12 years since I have heard the voice of anyone from my father's family. Now suddenly I have the cacophony of dozens of rolled 'r's and hearty, shrieking laughter in my ears. My cheeks are warm with pressed kisses, my limbs are wary from countless hugs and my soul is fulfilled with the love of a family I never knew I had missed. Four and a half decades on from when Dad left Cape Town's shores, I have returned without him, with the hope of meeting him. I was entering my awkward adolescent years when he left me behind in this world and his father, his brother, followed him out of my grasp. The freshest memories are of my oupa or Papa as I called him. It's his voice that lingers, his arms that last held me. I saw him, I heard him in my great-Aunty Alice as I embraced her tiny frame and in the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled at me. "I never thought I would meet you," she cried, clasping my hands in hers. I could tell this moment was as
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