Why economists should like booze
Consider the economics of the restaurant industry. Alcohol offers higher profit margins than food as it requires less labour to prepare. Indeed, using official American data, your columnist estimates that booze accounts for all the profits of the restaurant industry. Drinkers subsidise non-drinkers. Those who order sparkling water can feel sanctimonious in the short run. But if no one orders a bottle of Bordeaux, many restaurants will go under.
Be interesting if this data is the same for New Zealand.
Second, abstinence makes people lonelier. For centuries alcohol has served a social function. It helps people relax. Taking a drink also signals to others that you are happy to be slower and more vulnerable—that you have left your weapon at the door—which puts them at ease. A study from 2012 in Psychological Science found that alcohol increases social bonding. Robin Dunbar of Oxford University and colleagues find that frequenting a pub improves how engaged people feel with their community, in turn raising life satisfaction. It is not a stretch to say that alcohol has played a big evolutionary role in fostering human connection.
Many couples credit alcohol, at least in part, for bringing them together. So it may not be a coincidence that the alcohol-shunning young are lonely.
People do drink to relax and socialise.
For centuries creative folk, from Aeschylus to Coleridge to Dickens, have relied on alcohol for inspiration. In the 1960s, when productivity was soaring, everyone was drunk all the time. No other drug has played such a consistent role in human innovation. Being intoxicated opens up the possibility of accidents of insight. Purely rational, linear minds have fewer of the flashes of brilliance that can turn an art form or an industry upside-down. It allows brains to disconnect. A study of American painters in 1946 by Ann Roe of Yale University noted that 'a nightly cocktail before dinner may contribute to the avoidance of a state of chronic tension, especially…when creative activity is at its height.'
Studies suggest that alcohol, deployed judiciously, can aid the creative process. Andrew Jarosz of Mississippi State University and colleagues have found that intoxicated people solved problems faster and 'were more likely to perceive their solutions as the result of a sudden insight'.
Fascinating.
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NZ Herald
3 days ago
- NZ Herald
The legacy of Sir Michael Hill: Jeweller, violinist, philanthropist
And now he's gone, aged 86. Despite the green smoothies and the vigorous health regime, cancer sadly caught up with him in the end earlier this week. Hill's story is so familiar that most Kiwis from his era will know it: The shy, picked-on boy who hated school but found solace learning the violin at primary school and later at Whangārei Boys' High. He went on to build a multi-million business with 287 stores in New Zealand, Australia and Canada. He dreamed of becoming a professional violinist, practising up to eight hours a day after he dropped out of school. Hearing about a Herald violin competition, his parents agreed to support him if he won. Young Michael played a Haydn violin concerto, came fourth and that was the end of that. Young Michael Hill dreamed of playing the violin as a career. He was put to work as an apprentice watchmaker in his Uncle Arthur's Whangārei jewellery shop. Uncle Arthur thought his nephew was pretty 'useless' and eventually sent him out to the shop front instead, a move he might one day have lived to regret. The teenage Michael loved the retail side, the thrill of a sale. He might have stayed there forever – he endured it for 20 years – had it not been for a devastating house fire. By then Hill had met the love of his life, Christine Roe, a young arts teacher from Yorkshire. They met in November 1964 and married four months later. Sir Michael and Lady Christine Hill shared a love of art and music. Photo / Mark Hill They had two children, Mark and Emma, and slowly built their Claude Megson-designed dream home, inspired by American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, on the Whangārei Heads. The family went to the movies one night and came home to find it ablaze. Rescuing the violin and the jewels Shocked at the sight, Hill rushed inside to rescue his 150-year-old violin and his wife's jewellery. Those rescued items were to dominate the rest of his life. Devastated by the smouldering – and uninsured – remains of his house, he vowed that things would change. When his uncle refused to sell him the business, he opened his own shop – Michael Hill Jeweller – five doors away in 1979. But this shop was nothing like Uncle Arthur's or any other jewellery shop at the time for that matter. Gone were the traditional clocks, china, crystal, trophies, china and silver. Michael Hill Jeweller would sell only jewellery and watches. The shop had a wide entrance and the goods were temptingly displayed in generous-sized glass counters. Michael and Christine Hill, with their children Mark and Emma, outside their first shop in Whangārei in 1979. He did a turnover of $400,000 in his first year; six years later the turnover had increased to $7 million with the help of six shops and 70 staff. Hill might have had a late start but the 'useless' jeweller was on his way. He wrote in his book Toughen Up, by which time he was a multi-millionaire, 'I took him [the uncle] at his own game ... and I won.' The school drop-out went on to build a global business which made him rich enough to own a Stradivarius violin, build a beautiful home near Arrowtown, and establish The Hills, an 18-hole championship golf course and a nine-hole course known as The Farm, built on a 200ha estate dotted with stunning sculptures. The Hills golf resort near Arrowtown showing the clubhouse and the 18th hole. He used to drive his Aston Martin very fast on the private road between his home and the golf club, just for the thrill of it. Hill named his first superyacht (34m) VvS1, a jewellery term for an almost flawless diamond. That was something he had learned in life, he said. 'Nothing is perfect, that's what keeps you striving for more.' Sir Michael Hill on board his super yacht VVSI in Auckland's Viaduct Harbour in 2015. Photo / Nick Reed Some wacky ideas Hill's ambition was limited only by his imagination and, by all accounts, he had plenty of it. Family friend Anne Rodda described him as 'an entrepreneur, a dreamer and a big thinker'. 'There was a lot to Michael. That fizzy brain, the one that's always coming up with ideas, some brilliant, some absolutely unattainable and wacky. One out of 10 of his ideas would be absolutely brilliant and we'd go with that.' Rodda, a trained classical cellist, met Hill 25 years ago in her role as artistic manager for the Auckland Philharmonia. She heard he wanted to organise a violin competition and she helped make it happen. Since then she's been the competition's executive director. Anne Rodda, the executive director of the Michael Hill International Violin Competition, pictured with Sir Michael in 2023. Photo / James Robertson The resulting Michael Hill International Violin Competition (the next one is in May 2026) is now recognised as one of the most important events in the cultural calendar. Sixteen competitors, selected from 160 applicants around the world, are flown to Queenstown to audition in front of seven international judges. The finalists then perform in front of a packed Auckland Town Hall audience and the judges. In 2023, 350,000 people watched the livestreamed finalists' performance, and the competition auditions attracted 1.3m views online. Hill was not just invested financially in the competition but on a deep personal level, Rodda says. 'He was sitting in the front row of every competition. He would bounce up in the interval full of enthusiasm, sure that the last one he heard play was going to win. He sat through all the auditions as the panel selected the competitors.' In his own way, Hill was helping talented young musicians achieve what he had been unable to do, have a career as a professional artist. 'It's an incredible story,' Rodda says. 'The competition is what was closest to his soul and the thing that gave him the most resonance and the most joy in his life.' Although he never played professionally, his love of the violin endured. In his 80s he still practised Bach on his 190-year-old Italian violin, kayaked on Lake Hayes and played golf. Sir Michael Hill practising Bach on his violin at home in / Mark Hill In a moving video tribute to their violin mentor, the 11 first-prize winners from the violin competitions contributed to a recording of Bach's Chaconne in D minor in his memory, each playing a different part of the movement. 'Michael Hill ... jeweller' But the wider public rarely saw the dedicated violinist who practised for hours. Instead. many will remember Hill from his excruciating TV ads that ran through the 80s. 'Hello,' he'd say in his best nasal tone, smiling at the camera, 'Michael Hill ... (pause) jeweller.' He'd purse his lips to emphasis the 'M'. The ads were irritating, to the point where DJs would mock and impersonate him. The jeweller even tried to teach his daughter Emma to impersonate him, but no one could quite pull it off. "Hello, Michael If anyone pointed out to him how awful his ads were, Hill would laugh. He was the first to admit they were 'unbelievably boring and amateurish' and that he looked 'terrible' in those early ads. But the point was, they worked. Everyone in New Zealand knew who Michael Hill was and what he sold. And they came to buy his jewellery. In 1987, Michael Hill International listed on the NZX, buoyed by steadily increasing sales and successful shop openings. Four months later the stock market crashed, a day that became known as Black Monday (October 19). Kiwis investors lost fortunes overnight and billions of dollars were wiped off the value of New Zealand shares. (The company had a less eventful listing on the ASX in 2016). It could have been the end of Michael Hill, jeweller, but no. Several smaller jewellery businesses didn't survive and Hill saw it as an opportunity to pick up new business when the economy recovered. That year he won the Air New Zealand enterprise award for business entrepreneurship and made it to the big smoke, opening his largest shop in Auckland's Queen St. And he started moving into the Australian market. Sir Michael Hill at the company's flagship Queen St store in Auckland. Photo / Brett Phibbs Not one to arrive quietly, a September 1989 newspaper clipping trumpets: 'Michael Hill's sale a riot.' And indeed it was. Hundreds of bargain hunters broke into a Canberra shopping mall at 4am, eager to get first dibs on $1 diamond rings, stock that Michael Hill International wanted to clear from a shop before displaying its own range. By the time the shop opened, 700 people were crowded outside and a woman punched a shop assistant when she was told she could only buy one ring. It took four carloads of police and the mall security guards to clear the crowd. Australians were also incensed to see a series of jewellery bargains scrolling in a TV ad, accompanied by the piercing sound of a bugle playing The Last Post. The ad caused pandemonium at the Michael Hill head office as complaints poured in, the Australian Ministry of Defence was enraged, there were bomb threats in Sydney and it made front-page news. But, as Sir Michael said at the time, 'sales went through the roof'. In his own way, he was a showman, full of ideas – often quirky - designed to make a splash. In 1988, he hired a woman, clad in a black sports bra, a striped bikini bottom and black tights to show off $450,000 worth of jewellery at the maiden annual shareholder meeting in Whangārei. Hill wasn't one for clustering his shareholders into boring meeting rooms. Instead, he'd take them for a joyride on the Waitematā Harbour, entertained by a jazz band; or a cruise to a vineyard on Waiheke Island, or to Pakatoa Island, or to the Ellerslie Racecourse. Sir Michael Hill entertained his shareholders with a jazz band on the Quickcat catamaran in 1989, with his accountant John Ryer (left) and joint managing director Howard Bretherion (right). One time his shareholders met in an aircraft hangar in Auckland's Museum of Transport and Technology (Motat). At each AGM they were usually told the joyous news that the company could expect another tax-paid profit, and that new shops were about to be added to the fast-growing chain. For the company's 10th AGM in 1997, 250 shareholders were loaded onto a train in Auckland bound for Waimauku. Hill, nattily dressed in pinstriped pants and sporting a red tie decorated with yellow worms, served bubbly and wine on the journey to his faithful followers. Again the news was good: a plan to open 100 stores and move to other countries as the market became saturated. Former Herald writer Bernadette Rae was on the train that day. As she put it: 'So many fingers to ring, so many necks to chain.' In the early 1990s, everything Michael-Hill-jeweller touched seemed to turn to gold. (He famously sold his wife's engagement rings four times after they were admired, each time replacing it with a bigger stone). Sir Michael and Lady Christine Hill at the opening of their revamped Whangārei store in 2013. Sir Michael famously sold his wife's engagement ring four times. Then came the stumble of the shoe era. He bought the assets from a Christchurch shoe company and by 1992 had added nine shoe shops to his 41 jewellery stores. The trouble was they not only didn't make money, they lost money, a lot. By 1994 all nine shoe stores had closed and 'Michael Hill ... cobbler' was no more. He later acknowledged that the foray into shoes was a 'disaster' and that the company needed to stick to jewellery and watches. Undeterred by the footwear trip-up, the group continued to expand. Well on his way to saturating the Australian market, Hill based his family in Queensland's Sanctuary Cove in the mid 1990s, with his launch Rough Diamond parked at the back door. 'A wimpy thing to do' He couldn't understand why more people didn't want to get into retail. By 2009, he had 250 stores in New Zealand, Australia and Canada, opening new stores so fast he couldn't find enough staff to fill them. He was puzzled why Kiwis were willing to work in hospitality but thought a male working in a jewellery shop was a 'wimpy, poncy thing to do'. So he wrote Toughen Up (the proceeds of which went to Cure Kids) as a recruitment tool. He told me during an interview that his CEO earned three, possibly four, times more than the (then) Prime Minister John Key. Don't ever suggest working in a shop is a dead-end career, he said. By then he had invested in Joe's Garage in Arrowtown and had no shortage of applicants wanting to work in the cafe, but he was struggling to find good people to join his jewellery empire. Take his group diamond buyer at the time, Galina Hirtzel, he said, a girl from Invercargill who stated on $10 an hour. She was now (in 2009) flying round the world spending $100m of the company's money on diamonds every year. He thought her hippy long hair and floaty dress tricked merchants into not realising she was a tough negotiator. Knighted in 2011 for services to business and the arts, Hill was exhilarated by the company's growth and didn't mind talking it up, describing himself on one interview as 'the Ferrari of the jewellery business'. He was a businessman in the quick lane overtaking the rest of the jewellery world. At the same time he told business journalists he wanted 'controlled, sensible growth'. He and Lady Christine built a home on land that used to be a deer farm. Locals nicknamed it 'Hillbrook' and some took exception to the building, complaining it was too 'pink'. That caused the council to request a colour change; the Hills held firm. The 'terracotta' house later won the South Regional Architectural Award (for its colour scheme), a victory that used to make Hill chuckle. The Hills are a close family. Children Emma and Mark, and the four grandchildren, all live on the estate, with sculptures by Mark Hill among other artworks strategically placed through The Hills. Sculptor Mark Hill with his sculpture "Emergence", made from hand-forged corten steel, at The Hills Golf Club. He preferred to be low key and with the family when he was on holiday, often escaping Otago's winter to cruise in the Pacific on The Beast, his 40m adventure catamaran. In the summer The Beast's captain, Andy Grocott, who has worked for 'the boss' since 2006, would sail to remote places in New Zealand's Far North so the Hills could fish, swim, hike, dive and kayak. Jetskis were not their style. Sir Michael Hill and family preferred to explore remote places on The Beast. Photo / Michael Craig As tributes poured in this week, members of The Hills golf club penned their own. 'Rest peacefully Sir Michael,' it said at the end. 'You will forever be part of The Hills.' Beneath is one of the many cartoons he drew for his own and others' amusement. It shows an aviator clinging to a rocket as it zooms into space. Underneath Hill has signed off with the quote, 'Live every day as if it was going to be your last, for one day you're sure to be right.' Jane Phare is the New Zealand Herald's deputy print editor. Sign up to The Daily H, a free newsletter curated by our editors and delivered straight to your inbox every weekday.
NZ Herald
21-07-2025
- NZ Herald
Advice: Should I see a sex therapist? I don't know how to satisfy my wife
This is such an interesting question, and must be the bread and butter of psychosexual therapists. As you say, you're in a rut. It's not a drought (you can both have sex if you desire to, even if it's unsatisfying) but it's gone off the boil and you're blaming yourself for the fact that when you make love, she knows what's coming next – and it's not her. I'm sure many couples will relate to your letter on a deep level. Let's face it: in a relationship that lasts more than a few months, or even years, sex can stop being the glue that sticks you together. As the decades pass, it can stop being the solvent that sunders you apart, too. To your great credit (you don't say how long you've been together), you have acknowledged the problem and want to tackle it. Or you want your partner to, it's not clear. Whatever, you want to get your sex life done, as if it's Brexit, or smashing the gangs. It may be more complicated than that. Or, indeed, more simple. It could be that you're just not that into each other. As I've said before, there is nothing so capricious as Cupid. We can have fantastic sex with people we despise and terrible sex with people we adore. Chemistry, innit. This is where, I suppose, stimulants and sex toys can play a role to bridge the animal attraction gap. I've deployed the experts to answer, and useful websites are at the end. Sophie Laybourne, a relationship therapist, says: 'An unsatisfying sexual experience is the best predictor of future unsatisfying ones, unless you take stock – because fearing that things will go wrong generally becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy in this particular department.' She suggests that old favourite – self-focus exercises: cuddling, soapy showers, stroking. 'They might then move on to graded sensate focus exercises, where penetrative sex is initially taken off the table and the hectic pursuit of orgasm replaced by no-pressure touching and stroking of different parts of the body,' she says. Sexual desire in the female is not 'uni-directional', and can be turned off by small things. Dirty sheets, even a bad haircut, can send a woman toppling backwards down the old 'Ladder of Desire'. To make sure you're on the same rung, you need to communicate. It's not always a simple case of, 'Go and brush your teeth, darling'; it's to do with accelerators and brakes too, she says. Accelerators can be a quiet dinner together where you ask her questions, laugh at her jokes, and listen. A brake is expecting her to be up for it when your mother-in-law is staying, children apt to break in at any moment and the dog barking. You know. Laybourne explains: 'Most women, as [American sex educator Emily] Nagoski points out, experience what's known as 'responsive desire', which means that they are not like three-day eventers waiting for the off but more likely to experience desire in response to something like, say, a fun night out with a man who asks them lots of questions about themselves and displays a side-splitting sense of humour.' It was the turn of the married therapists David and Ruth Kern next. 'The role of a sex therapist is to understand and work through various areas of a couple's life, to pinpoint where the block is and then help the couple work through this – often with the use of exercises, although this is not effective without the deeper psychological work first,' they say. 'Before any real work can start, it's important to rule out any underlying medical/biological problems that may affect sexual connections. If there are no underlying issues, then there is a need to look at and understand the psychological aspect to this problem' – stress, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem and, of course, loss of attraction. They dig deeper, too. This blockage could track back to your childhood, which is father to your adult attitudes to sex and relationships. 'A lot of psychological blockages to sexual connection can be due to loss of control: during orgasm, the body and mind have to completely let go to achieve climax. Losing control can be scary and feel vulnerable, thus 'not letting go'. It's understanding the deeper reasons for this that may include negative reinforcement of sex and relationships as a child; sexual abuse in any form; over-smothering from mother as a child; your personal space not being respected, which can lead to intimacy issues later on; or being raised in a family system where you felt unheard, unseen and not given choices.' Ah, the traditional, old-fashioned childhood, then, could be to blame for your shared experience of repression now, and the tendency of many to lie back and think of England for as long as it takes. The Kerns go on: 'With Jim and his partner, it will be good to work through the above points to see if some of their issues lie in those areas. This is about both of them and how they relate to each other sexually; unless there is a medical issue, both partners have a role in why their relationship is where it is. One thing that we do advise is to take sex off the table completely for a month or so. This takes the pressure off and gives some breathing room to talk and discuss what the underlying issues may be for them both.' Back to me. You say you love each other dearly. Have you ever talked about this issue, or is it too painful to acknowledge that you don't click in bed? My instinct is that it is something you can't change – love and sex not always being on the same page – but if you do love each other and want to stay together, that may be more important in the long run than the earth moving every time for you both. Oh yes, websites: to find a therapist working in your area, visit the College of Sexual and Relationship Therapists' site: If face-to-face is not important, try for a psychosexual therapist to work with online. Thank you for your letter, Jim – you sound nice and, most importantly, kind.
Otago Daily Times
18-07-2025
- Otago Daily Times
Battle-damaged log books back together again
Sergeant Charlie Cronk's log book and other possessions were sent back to his family after he was killed during a landing when his plane crashed into a fuel tanker in India four months later. Now his great-nephew, Gradon Conroy, who lives in Christchurch and has had the log book since 2005, has decided it is time to pass it on to the Air Force Museum of New Zealand in Wigram. His grandmother Marjorie Prince, Kronk's sister, gave it to him when she moved into a rest home for safekeeping. "Donating the log book is a great way to share his story and preserve his memory. The logbook was a prized possession in the family," he said. Kronk, 23, was posted to No 243 Squadron RAF in Singapore in late 1941. Made up mostly of New Zealand pilots, the squadron was equipped with obsolete Brewster Buffalo fighters. Their airfield at Kallang came under heavy bombing and a strafing attack from the Japanese in January 1942, as they softened up the British stronghold in preparation for the invasion which would come less than a month later. While on patrol, Kronk and New Plymouth pilot Bert Wipiti intercepted a lone Japanese Ki-46 Dinah reconnaissance aircraft at high altitude. The pair split up and targeted an engine each, firing both firing bursts into the aircraft's twin-engines and sending it to the ground. When he was later interviewed by American war correspondent George Weller, Kronk said: "I came up from underneath and saw the big body of the plane with its great red circles on the wing right over my head. "Then I pressed the tit and emptied everything I had into her. "I kept firing until all my ammunition was gone. "She was burning all the way to the ground." And in an uncanny coincidence, Kronk's log book has the same damage caused by shrapnel or a bullet as the log book of Kiwi airman and Nelson pilot from 243 squadron in Singapore, Flying Officer Maxwell Greenslade, which is also now in the possession of the Air Force Museum of NZ. "When he stacked the two log books on top of each other, the damage lined up perfectly. "It was quite exciting actually. Very rarely can you make a connection like this." Conroy said it was thought the two log books were on top of each other in the adjutant's hut when Kallang airfield came under attack. Conroy said news of Kronk's death would have been tough on his mother, Mary. She had lost her husband two years earlier, and her eldest son, Wally Kronk, was overseas serving in the army. "Wally came back and lived a life, so a lot of the family stories were more about him, but they were both family heroes." Conroy said not a lot is known about his great-uncle. "We only know him from his belongings, which were sent back, and from what grandma told us." He was very proud of him, with a number of reports describing him as fearless in the face of the enemy.
