I begin this orgy of irritation with a volley at the impenetrability of modern packaging. It used to be that only the cellophane wrappers on packets of airline cheese and biscuits were tricky to open. Now it takes a hammer and chisel to prise a toothbrush or a battery from its packet. If you rely merely on teeth and fingernails, you’re likely to starve to death before you gnaw and claw your way into anything edible.

I little more irritating are phone help lines. You’re routed to a call centre and talk to someone called Patricia or Steven. Their real names are probably Pratibha and Sandeep. They are patient and polite. It’s not that they’re Indian, or talking to you from Mumbai that’s the problem. It’s just that they can’t give local service from somewhere so totally foreign to your situation. 
When it takes six phone calls to a a call centre just across town to resolve something easy, the Bollywood Call Centre is a bridge too far. 

1: FEAR OF FLYING
Nelson airport. Almost successful in limiting obsessive compulsive rechecks of ticket, hand luggage, and departures board. Board plane. Turn off phone and fasten seat belt. Close ears to the flight attendant’s safety instructions. Especially the sequence which begins “in the unlikely event of an emergency”. Refuse to hear gratuitous reminders that emergencies, however unlikely, might occur whilst I am in mid-air.

2: ASPIRATIONAL READING
Flick through Air New Zealand’s in-flight magazine. Distract myself from frightening expanse of cloud and blue sky outside the portholes by counting references in magazine to wine, wristwatches, flash cars and food festivals. Discover adverts or advertorial references to 9 luxury cars including Rolls Royce Ghost and a car which can “parallel park all on its own, hands free”, 7 watches, 18 different wines and vineyards and 5 wine or food festivals.

Wonder how young woman seated next to me can possibly be content with the McDonald’s hamburger and fries she’s smuggled on board. Taps not working in plane’s toilet but luckily the economy pack of hand-wipes lolling in the hand basin promises to “Eliminate Bacterial Contamination”.

3: ADVENTURES IN REAL ESTATE 
Visit friend at her jazzy apartment block, a stone’s throw from Ponsonby Road. It’s just a teensy bit leaky. The balconies are elaborately propped up. No one allowed to venture onto them until repairs completed. On plus side, brothel in the ground floor apartment has shut up shop. Friend relieved that drunk and lovelorn men are no longer disgorged from taxis outside her address at all hours of night. Friend reports that in clean-up operation, intrepid contractor discovered 21 pairs of women’s underpants and a bucket of used condoms. Local real estate values apparently unaffected.