Wit's End

So what books do you pick up for reading, when suddenly plonked into Dunedin Hospital's Ward 8c - that noble institution's cancer ward, asks John Lapsley. 

The proposed first sentence of this column got banged into my keyboard two months ago. But I'd been diverted and hadn't taken it further.

Other people - the oddballs, flakes, and Pecksniffians - often fail to live up to our expectations. They let us down, writes John Lapsley.

I'm unsure whether to cheer or boo the cheeky Chinese genetic researcher who it seems is unsuitably proud of his breakthrough in ''editing'' children before they're born.

When visiting Dunedin by myself, I head to my favourite restaurant — the estimable Two Chefs in Stuart St, writes John Lapsley. 

I suspect it's an age since anyone you know bought a section at the beach, and then built a dwelling that could fairly be described as a "crib''.

I was examining my pork sausage, writes John Lapsley.

Until this moment, it had been just another day in paradise, writes John Lapsley.

This sounds like a leg-pull, but I read the Germans have invented a new word spelled Verzweiflungschokoladenkonsum, writes John Lapsley.

It's not all cool, this being an All Black. Go out and get into the teensiest bit of bother, and the roof falls in, writes John Lapsley.

This knowledge has come rather late in life — but I find that since Day One, I have been deeply in debt to Mrs Herbert Davies, lately of Evans St, Opoho, writes John Lapsley.

Our time is up. We quivering blokes must surrender, and hand in the trousers, writes John Lapsley.

I've spent several TV dinners binge-viewing The Crown, and find it just as upsetting to my digestion as the pizza-with-the-lot.

During the wee hours of Friday mornings a clumsy fat-fingered fool sneaks into my house, and messes with my computer, writes John Lapsley.

I've been irritated by five days spent twiddling thumbs round the periodontist, the audiologist, the doctor, and the Charities’ Commission, writes John Lapsley.

As best I recall, it was the year 2000 when Mrs Harvey, the majestic Mayor of Mosman, presented me a potted wattle, and urged me to go forth, and plant the creature in my yard, writes John Lapsley.

While puttering about with Google, which has become a better time killer than the crossword, I came across The Atlantic magazine's list of the 50 inventions which most influenced the world.