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The excitement is building. Today is the day people all around New Zealand find out who their Twitter Secret Santa is.
Twitter Secret Santa gives tweeters who sign up another tweeter to buy a Secret Santa gift for. It’s co-ordinated through New Zealand Post, so no personal details like addresses are shared, just a Twitter handle. But that’s usually more than enough for the enthusiastic and creative folks who sign up to work out the perfect gift.
This will be my fifth year taking part. I’ve given gifts to an IT geek, an opera lover and a graphic designer. I’ve received gifts that are exquisitely perfect and capture my interests and personality with uncanny accuracy. And it’s fun.
There are two highlight days in the life of a Twitter Secret Santa – the day we find out who our giftee is, and the day the gifts are received and our Twitter feeds are filled with excited tweets and photos (one of the deals is that we should tweet a photo of our gift for others to see).
More than 3500 people are signed up this year, from ordinary anonymous folks to big corporate, and even the Prime Minister. I’d love to get her for a giftee – I have quite a few cool gift ideas.
I really think Twitter Secret Santa sums up what Christmas should reflect – the pure joy of giving for its own sake. I don’t think anyone signs up purely for the gift they might receive. We sign up for the challenge of the (totally legit) social media stalk – sorry, sleuth, of working out the perfect gift for a perfect stranger, and the relief when we get it right for our giftee. It’s also an amazing antidote for some of the general horribleness seen on social media, and especially Twitter, every day.

I’ve been doing a lot of art-related things lately. As well as my own work, I’ve been co-ordinating an exhibition at the local arts centre, helping set up a small gallery, and starting work on strategic planning for the centre.
It got me thinking about the place of art in our society.
It’s something usually regarded as a luxury. We can’t spend money on the arts until we’ve done whatever else needs to be done. It isn’t seen as a valid career path – better to go into law or accountancy or teaching. Arts should be kept as a hobby. They’re something to be done when all the important stuff has been dealt with.
But what would our world look like without art? And what is art anyway? Is it just landscape paintings? Or do you include design, in which case we wouldn’t get far without it. A designer used their skills and expertise to design the page you’re looking at. And the laptop it was written with. And the seat the writer is sitting on right now.
Organising arts events, as I’ve found, involves a pile of skills including administration, project management, “dealing with difficult people”, marketing and baking. They’re all solid real-world skills. I could have spent a small fortune going on courses to learn these skills. Instead, I threw myself in the deep end, learned by doing, and helped bring enjoyment to visitors and some income for exhibitors. The strategic planning process for the centre will teach me plenty about, well, strategic planning, which is something every business needs.
So by getting involved in the arts scene in my community I’m learning valuable practical skills and contributing to the cultural life of the town.
A vibrant community isn’t just about economics. It’s just as much about the culture of a place. Supporting the arts, and creativity in general, is just as essential as supporting business. Art brings life to business, and business brings life to art. Neither one will flourish without the other.
So I’m proud to be able to spend time creating art and supporting others to create art. I’m developing my own skills, helping others develop their skills, helping create a more vibrant community, and hopefully contributing to economic growth in my region.

Today my Twitter feed included a link to an event for women which, among other things, will give me a chance to learn how to get a pay-rise and get tips on negotiating for equal treatment at work.
This makes me very cross.
Not because someone’s organising the event, but because once again the focus is on teaching women how to get fair treatment in the world.
Where are the events that teach managers and business owners how to pay their staff what they’re actually worth, and how to treat all their staff fairly and equally? Why must it be women’s responsibility to teach their managers these things?
It seems to me this is a very subtle form of victim-blaming – it says the reason women aren’t paid or treated fairly in the workplace is because they fail to ask to be paid or treated fairly. It puts the responsibility on to women to ensure managers treat them fairly, rather than requiring managers to ensure they treat everyone fairly.
My message is this – IT IS NOT MY JOB TO TEACH YOU TO BE A DECENT HUMAN BEING. It is also not my job to teach you how to look after all your staff – male and female – so you can retain the skilled and hard-working people you need to make your business successful. If you, as a manager, can’t pay me or treat me fairly in the workplace, you don’t deserve me and I will leave. Unfortunately for many women that isn’t an option. They need the job. And there isn’t always a shiny new, fair-pay, fair-treatment job waiting for them. That’s why women stay despite being paid unfairly and treated unfairly.
I know the organisers of this event have the best of intentions. They want women to have a fair deal. But by making it women’s responsibility to persuade others to give them that fair deal, they are reinforcing the idea that it’s women’s fault they’re not getting that deal already.
Also, trying to attract attendees with promises of bubbles and goody bags is pretty darn patronising I reckon. But hey, we all know that’s what us girlies really want. Not fair and equal treatment in the workplace as a basic right.

I had a lucky escape a couple of days ago.
I was out in the paddock when Fat Freddy, my wether hogget, decided he was having a bad hair day, or I wasn’t serving the sheep nuts up fast enough, or something like that, and had a go at me. He put his head down and whacked me on the side of the leg, just below the knee, and sent me flying.
So there I was, lying flat on my back and experiencing a level of pain I’ve never experienced before. I had twisted as I went down, and was seriously concerned I’d damaged my spine.
I tried to get up, but the leg Fat Freddy connected with wasn’t having any of that thank you very much.
This left me in a bit of a pickle, because there was no one around, and no one likely to be calling in for at least three hours. Of course, that in itself was a bit of luck, because normally there wouldn’t be anyone calling in at all.
But I really didn’t fancy lying flat on my back in the paddock for several hours.
I had another go at standing up, but nope, not going to happen. So eventually I managed to get myself on hands and knees and crawled inside. Through the paddock, wet grass, sheep droppings and thistles. It seemed to take forever, and when I got back to the house the final barrier was the two steps on to the deck. I hadn’t realised they were so high.
Still, I managed to get inside and to a phone to call for help. My family were there in a matter of minutes with the ambulance not far behind. Apparently I was listed as a Code Red, Dangerous Animals, even though I’d told the comms centre the sheep was firmly contained behind a fence and gate.
I was very lucky, again, that the ambulance was available. Like many small rural towns our ambulance service is limited. There is one ambulance, and if it’s already out on a call you can wait up to half an hour or more for someone to come from further afield.
Glenn and Lance, the two paramedics, were top-notch blokes. They gave me my first taste of morphine, then another dose, then unlimited access to the laughing gas. That was great, because there are an incredible number of potholes and rough surfaces on the road between my place and the hospital.
At the hospital, again great service. X-rays were taken and the fabulous news was nothing broken. I was given crutches, and prescriptions for enough painkillers to keep me going for a couple of years. I’ve spent quite a bit of time Tramadol-dreaming in the past couple of days.
So I’m counting my blessings. I’m incredibly grateful there was no serious damage, that people were there to help me when I needed help, and that our health system, for all the criticism it cops, was there for me.
I’ve graduated from two crutches, to one, and none when I’m just wandering slowly around the house. I tested out driving, and got the car out to the letterbox and back without drama. There’s still pain, but it’s gradually dropping away. And Fat Freddy will soon have a date with the homekill bloke.

I live in a small cottage on a farm. The house is surrounded by trees and bush. And often people comment to me that it must be wonderful to live in such a peaceful place.
On some days they’re absolutely right.
But this is a working farm, and sometimes I have a parade of stock trucks rattling up and down the access road that goes past my front gate. Sometimes the maize harvester is working day and night in the surrounding paddocks. Sometimes helicopters spend the day buzzing my home as they drop fertiliser on the crops. Newly weaned lambs or calves have a particular cry that is impossible to ignore.
It doesn’t bother me much – well the helicopter does sometimes – because I grew up on this farm and I understand that it is a working farm, that it’s a business, and that farm life is seven days a week. I realise the occasional busy or noisy time is the price I pay for quiet mornings like today, where there is no sound except for some distant traffic on the road, birds, and the wind.
Sadly, there are some who move to the country with romantic ideas of an idyllic and peaceful life, and don’t understand the realities. They start lodging noise complaints when the cows come in for milking next door at 4.30am, or grump about the smell from the piggery next to the house they just bought – the piggery that has been there for decades.
The thing is, a farm is a business. It’s busy. And noisy. And smelly. And sometimes just plain annoying. But that’s the nature of the work. If you want food on your table that’s the price to be paid.
If I lived in the city I’d have traffic, sirens, drunks having screaming matches at 2am. It’s all a matter of what you’re used to.
As more city folks flee horrendous house prices, traffic jams and a fast pace of life for what they perceive as a rural idyll, rural real estate agents really need to be on the ball. They are often the first point of contact for these refugees, and they’re the ones who sell the property. I know they need to make the sale, but they have the perfect opportunity to educate people about the realities of rural life. Maybe even a simple brochure outlining the possible downsides of rural life – is there such a thing already? I’ve been googling furiously but haven’t found anything yet.
Perhaps that should be my next project.

Well that’s 2016 over and done with. I have to say though, even with all the wonderful people who left us last year, and the many terrible things that happened around the world, it wasn’t all doom and gloom.

Personally I had a very interesting year. It was challenging at times, and there were certainly lows as well as highs, but looking back on it I think 2016 was a year of opportunities for me.

Now it’s time to look forward to 2017.

I’ve seen lots of comments on my Facebook feed along the lines of “it can’t be any worse than 2016”. My challenge is to make 2017 even better than 2016, for me and for others.

That means working on my business but also making time for the things and people I love. All work and no play is a dodgy road to follow. There must always be time for friends, family and fun. I want to spend a lot more time in my garden, and keep up my art journey, which made a spectacular start in 2016.

Making some time to do something useful for others is also important. A few years ago I was a Meals on Wheels driver. It was only an hour or so out of my day once or twice a month, but it made a huge difference for the people I delivered to. I’m pretty sure the Meals on Wheels driver was often the only person they saw each day – it’s about much more than just a plate of food. It’s human contact and knowing someone cares.

If 2017 is going to be a great year, it’s up to me to make it that way. Doing the same old thing won’t work – I’d just get the same old results. So it’s time to be brave and bold, embrace the challenges, and make life the best it can be.

What will you be doing to make 2017 a memorable year?

It’s pretty exciting really, starting a small business. But there’s a lot to think about and lots to plan – sorting out an accountant and lawyer, getting the office set up, sorting out all the advertising and marketing and all those other things. And the budget is tight – really tight.

Once the accountant and the lawyer and the landlord and the office supplies and the advertising bill have all been paid, there’s not a lot left.

So why would you spend any of those valuable dollars on a writer? You can write, right? You learned that in primary school. Anyone can write– you just put the words on the paper and there you are.

And then someone points out a spelling mistake in your advertisement.

And all those flyers you spent hours dropping in letterboxes – not one phone call.

And the press release you sent to the local paper–it never ran.

What’s going wrong?

Maybe it’s the writing.

Because yes, most people can write words. But writing the right words, that’s a different matter.

A professional writer specialises in finding the right words to get the job done, whether it’s getting your press release followed up, or capturing people’s interest in your flyers, or even just making sure there are no spelling mistakes.

An incredibly important thing for your company – for any company – is credibility. Potential customers need to believe you are professional and can do what you say you will do. Your expertise might be in building, or accounting, or graphic design. And you do that amazingly well. But if your writing isn’t up to scratch, your professional image can be dented. It might not even be conscious. People don’t necessarily think “I won’t hire that hairdresser, she can’t spell”. But the subconscious message is that maybe that hairdresser isn’t quite as professional as the one up the road.

Most writers these days are freelance, so you can often get someone to work for a few hours or days. And it is worth it. Well-written advertising and marketing material will help attract new customers, and add an extra layer of professionalism to your business.

You pay the accountant for their skills. You pay the electrician for their skills. You pay the graphic designer for their skills. Try paying a writer for their skills, and see what sort of difference it can make.