I have in my hand a small, warm bat. Wings folded, she fits perfectly in my palm, and her chestnut fur, damp from the evening dew, is spiky in a punkish sort of way. She is groggy with sleep; she has been napping-something bats do wonderfully well-while she awaited rescue from the benign trap set for her, this most unusual little mammal.
Dough, bread, boodle, brass, lucre, readies, folding—it doesn't matter what we call it, but it's the key to our dreams. Most of us will never get our heads on it; we'll be satisfied just to get our hands on it.
We've come a long way from the papyrus reeds of the ancient Egyptians to the galaxy of paper products we use today. But, then again, not as far as you might think. The essence of papermaking is an elegantly simple process...
More than half a million New Zealanders have received their schooling not in square classrooms but in housetrucks, boat cabins, caravans and bedrooms. Most have never met their teachers, but all praise the merits of a great New Zealand institution: The Correspondence School.
On the map it's just a speck in the vast Southern Ocean, lashed by the winds of the Furious Fifties. Yet scientists and weather staff queue up for a chance to live in this remote southern outpost. Raewyn MacKenzie went to find out what draws them there.
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