I think I’ve given myself RSI by doing almost 2 hours of continuous electronic filing on Friday. Another good reason to denounce office work, and luckily I have now confirmed that I will indeed be returning to the realm of home-based self-employed freelance-type workers at the end of November. Just in time for summer to really kick in.
Before you start thinking that I will be spending my days lounging listlessly in a wicker chair, languidly sipping Pimms/iced tea (Long Island or otherwise) and fanning myself with a Tennessee Williams novel, I should point out that our home office/study/spare room has the magical ability to be freezing cold all year round. Last summer I was seriously considering wearing a woolly hat and overcoat indoors, sort of like a less pointy Edith Sitwell, but instead just complained continuously (which is much more endearing). This icy-chill can mean only one of two things: it is a room possessed by the unresting & malevolent spirit of some poor unrecognised Kiwi housewife, or it gets no direct sunlight at any time of day – votes should be submitted by 6pm Friday. The 1st correct answer pulled out of a hat will win a day trip to the Albert Dock in Liverpool (at their own expense) in order to experience my suffering.
Gert, having little interest in channelling her inner Husky, usually leaves me to it and spends her day lazing on the garden bench next to the lavender bush (which is very flat as she occasionally prefers to sleep on top of it)
And to make the hours whizz by I have awaiting me the tome that is “Ancient Egyptian Materials & Technology” in all it’s 500+ page glory – apart from the 20 or so pages that are bizarrely upside-down & in reverse order (don’t worry, I’m getting a 15% refund for that bit). Plus, I’ll have earned enough money from my temping to tart up the spare room with a high-falutin’ new desk & office chair. It’s going to look v. professional and may even inspire me to finally get around to finalising the course outlines for the Egyptian archaeology courses I’ve been writing, on and off, for the last year.
But until then I will continue my contract at the SSC.
The Wellington Spring, which looked so very promising this morning, has turned into rain (with threats of thunderstorms). This, combined with still feeling tired after a 40th birthday party on Saturday night, makes me think tonight will be spent watching TV. International netball, I’m guessing, as such phenomena are often broadcast in this neck of the woods. It’s the final of 3 matches Australia vs. NZ (one all so far) so should produce a high degree of violence amongst the players – they are vicious – and unlike my recollections from school none of the goal keepers stand around looking really bored. I hated being goal keeper, it sucked. Its either that or one of the numerous CSI repeats (I’m just guessing, but that show is endemic on NZ TV, so it’s a safe bet).
I’m off now, but may well write again soon. Who knows?
Monday, October 16, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
My grandmother died today.
Well, technically she died yesterday, but I got the phone call this morning. So, for me she died today.
Jo answered the phone and it was my dad saying he had "bad news", Jo said it almost made her cry. Not because she knew my grandmother particularly well, and not because she really knows my dad particularly well, but it just pulls at something inside.
It's strange. I hadn't seen very much of my grandmother, Peg, for quite a long time, I saw her at Christmas the year before last and then again when I was over in the UK in March, but that was the most we'd been in touch for a long time. The last time I'd seen her before that was at my grandfather's funeral, and that was probably one of the first times I'd seen her in years. So. it's not as if we'd been close recently, but when I got into work this morning I realised after an hour or so that if anyone asked me how I was I'd just cry. Instead I came home, thinking I should spend some time dealing with this, doing whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better - after all it's not like I'm likely to make it home for the funeral (I'm not sure what the point would be, but I guess if was on the other side of it I might see it differently).
And now I don't know what I feel, or why. Part of me wants to "have a good cry" and part of me says "stop being so bloody self-indulgent". I guess one or other will win, eventually.
When I left the UK I was resigned to the fact that there were some people I knew it was unlikely I would see again, but this is a nasty reminder that I have moved away/shifted my life. That I'm not there, with them. And that what I left behind is moving and changing and shifting without me. I think it's easy to walk away from something and somehow think that it stays the same, unmoving and static, and that when you come back nothing will have changed. Your friends and family will still be there, and they'll welcome you with open arms because they've done nothing whilst you've been away except wait patiently for you to come back (because of course you are the most important person in the world). And then someone dies, or something significant shifts, and suddenly you realise that you're not there and there is nothing you can do about any of it. You're just on the outside now, and it was your choice to leave. All there is now are a series of intermittent phone calls, emails & promises of a visit, and the realisation that this is reality without those people you just took for granted. Loved immensely, but took for granted and assumed would always be there.
I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it may have come across. What I mean is that it is difficult and strange to start a new life in a new place without the people around you that you love and have relied on for years, the people who tell you that you are doing the right thing, that wind you up when you know you've done something stupid and that simply hang around because they like your company and you like theirs. The people whose love you assumed was yours, simply because it had been for so long.
And then something happens that reminds you of what you've given up, and you grieve for it. And with a bit of luck you pick yourself up afterwards, be bloody grateful for having had that in your life and look forward to what you might have.
But, the most important thing, despite the death that has made me get so introspective (and un-British), is that the reason I am feeling so sad is that I do genuinely miss those people (and hopefully, they will know who they are if they read this) and I know that, unless I try really hard to fuck things up, they will always be the ones I can rely on.
S
xxx
Jo answered the phone and it was my dad saying he had "bad news", Jo said it almost made her cry. Not because she knew my grandmother particularly well, and not because she really knows my dad particularly well, but it just pulls at something inside.
It's strange. I hadn't seen very much of my grandmother, Peg, for quite a long time, I saw her at Christmas the year before last and then again when I was over in the UK in March, but that was the most we'd been in touch for a long time. The last time I'd seen her before that was at my grandfather's funeral, and that was probably one of the first times I'd seen her in years. So. it's not as if we'd been close recently, but when I got into work this morning I realised after an hour or so that if anyone asked me how I was I'd just cry. Instead I came home, thinking I should spend some time dealing with this, doing whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better - after all it's not like I'm likely to make it home for the funeral (I'm not sure what the point would be, but I guess if was on the other side of it I might see it differently).
And now I don't know what I feel, or why. Part of me wants to "have a good cry" and part of me says "stop being so bloody self-indulgent". I guess one or other will win, eventually.
When I left the UK I was resigned to the fact that there were some people I knew it was unlikely I would see again, but this is a nasty reminder that I have moved away/shifted my life. That I'm not there, with them. And that what I left behind is moving and changing and shifting without me. I think it's easy to walk away from something and somehow think that it stays the same, unmoving and static, and that when you come back nothing will have changed. Your friends and family will still be there, and they'll welcome you with open arms because they've done nothing whilst you've been away except wait patiently for you to come back (because of course you are the most important person in the world). And then someone dies, or something significant shifts, and suddenly you realise that you're not there and there is nothing you can do about any of it. You're just on the outside now, and it was your choice to leave. All there is now are a series of intermittent phone calls, emails & promises of a visit, and the realisation that this is reality without those people you just took for granted. Loved immensely, but took for granted and assumed would always be there.
I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it may have come across. What I mean is that it is difficult and strange to start a new life in a new place without the people around you that you love and have relied on for years, the people who tell you that you are doing the right thing, that wind you up when you know you've done something stupid and that simply hang around because they like your company and you like theirs. The people whose love you assumed was yours, simply because it had been for so long.
And then something happens that reminds you of what you've given up, and you grieve for it. And with a bit of luck you pick yourself up afterwards, be bloody grateful for having had that in your life and look forward to what you might have.
But, the most important thing, despite the death that has made me get so introspective (and un-British), is that the reason I am feeling so sad is that I do genuinely miss those people (and hopefully, they will know who they are if they read this) and I know that, unless I try really hard to fuck things up, they will always be the ones I can rely on.
S
xxx
Monday, September 11, 2006
Misery guts
I’m starting to wonder whether Wellington, despite its capital city status and vast number of restaurants and cafes, might just be Tonbridge/Tunbridge Wells in disguise. Sometimes it just really has the whiff of town life about it. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what people do here for fun – I think they all join sports teams or do gardening. I don’t know whether to be depressed or just stop giving a toss.
It’s almost like Wellington has all of the elements of a city – bars, restaurants, clubs, loads of shops, different areas, parks, beaches, galleries & museums, universities, even parliament – but doesn’t quite have the buzz or attitude of a city. I can’t figure out quite why, but when I do I’ll let you know…one theory is that there are just far too many families in Wellington, not that I’m quite sure how that makes a difference. I suppose it might mean that people are just a bit too sensible/responsible to concoct the city ambience I am used to, a sort of disaffected self-gratification where responsibility and kids come with a move out to the ‘burbs. Mostly I find myself complaining about ugly boy racer cars & lack of a decent salad bar, rather than trying to cycle home after 2 for 1 pizza and happy hour wine. What a grumpy bastard, huh?
I don’t think it is Wellington or New Zealand that is at fault – I am still sometimes quite taken aback by just how lovely it is here – but my acclimatisation is taking a lot longer than I thought. I may have been grouchy when I was in London, I just didn’t realise I was a grouchy Londoner. At least the sun is shining & spring is on its way. I did plant a blueberry bush & some strawberry plants in the front garden, Gert discovered the joys of sunbathing on the front doorstep and I am seriously thinking of building a seat/bench out the front so I can sit & stare at people walking by.
Jo & I were meant to be going to a party on Saturday night, but the person who invited us failed to get in touch to let us know where & when, so we just went for Chinese and came home instead. That was actually okay because I got to check out a place I’d wanted to go to for ages, but burnt the holy crap out of my tongue on some “sizzling pork”, which was so “sizzling” the waitress had to shield herself from it with a tea towel. And, yes, I did mutter something about how if I was in the USA I could probably sue the restaurant – Jo just looked at me like I was a little stupid and re-iterated the danger of shoving a chopstick-full of something that blatantly scorchingly hot into your gob.
BUT…we did go for a really nice 4 hour dog walk on Saturday down to Houghton Bay, around the coast and back up through Island Bay, picking out all the houses we’d like to buy along the way (there are loads of really nice houses in Wellington). On the downside I had an allergic reaction to Nivea SPF 15 moisturiser that made the whole area around my eyes go red puffy & scaly (yum). And last weekend we had a really nice relaxing weekend at the beach (we were the only members of the Tarleton family at the beach house), so really things are pretty good. I think I just have that Monday feeling. Or I need a hobby.
Plus, Ann brought back a large bottle of Finlandia cranberry vodka for us from her trip to Fiji & we bought lots of good food at the supermarket yesterday, so I am planning a bit of a feast tonight. Hooray for me.
It’s almost like Wellington has all of the elements of a city – bars, restaurants, clubs, loads of shops, different areas, parks, beaches, galleries & museums, universities, even parliament – but doesn’t quite have the buzz or attitude of a city. I can’t figure out quite why, but when I do I’ll let you know…one theory is that there are just far too many families in Wellington, not that I’m quite sure how that makes a difference. I suppose it might mean that people are just a bit too sensible/responsible to concoct the city ambience I am used to, a sort of disaffected self-gratification where responsibility and kids come with a move out to the ‘burbs. Mostly I find myself complaining about ugly boy racer cars & lack of a decent salad bar, rather than trying to cycle home after 2 for 1 pizza and happy hour wine. What a grumpy bastard, huh?
I don’t think it is Wellington or New Zealand that is at fault – I am still sometimes quite taken aback by just how lovely it is here – but my acclimatisation is taking a lot longer than I thought. I may have been grouchy when I was in London, I just didn’t realise I was a grouchy Londoner. At least the sun is shining & spring is on its way. I did plant a blueberry bush & some strawberry plants in the front garden, Gert discovered the joys of sunbathing on the front doorstep and I am seriously thinking of building a seat/bench out the front so I can sit & stare at people walking by.
Jo & I were meant to be going to a party on Saturday night, but the person who invited us failed to get in touch to let us know where & when, so we just went for Chinese and came home instead. That was actually okay because I got to check out a place I’d wanted to go to for ages, but burnt the holy crap out of my tongue on some “sizzling pork”, which was so “sizzling” the waitress had to shield herself from it with a tea towel. And, yes, I did mutter something about how if I was in the USA I could probably sue the restaurant – Jo just looked at me like I was a little stupid and re-iterated the danger of shoving a chopstick-full of something that blatantly scorchingly hot into your gob.
BUT…we did go for a really nice 4 hour dog walk on Saturday down to Houghton Bay, around the coast and back up through Island Bay, picking out all the houses we’d like to buy along the way (there are loads of really nice houses in Wellington). On the downside I had an allergic reaction to Nivea SPF 15 moisturiser that made the whole area around my eyes go red puffy & scaly (yum). And last weekend we had a really nice relaxing weekend at the beach (we were the only members of the Tarleton family at the beach house), so really things are pretty good. I think I just have that Monday feeling. Or I need a hobby.
Plus, Ann brought back a large bottle of Finlandia cranberry vodka for us from her trip to Fiji & we bought lots of good food at the supermarket yesterday, so I am planning a bit of a feast tonight. Hooray for me.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Apparently it’s Spring…and I’m working in an office…
This was not part of the master plan. So, up I get this morning, look out the window and its beautiful & sunny, put on some nice Spring-like clothes, step outside and…freeze my arse off. As I am still learner driver, Jo & I have been driving to and from work (which has done wonders for my driving, apart from the day when we gave a colleague of Jo’s a lift home and I flaunted my skills by attempting a hill start whilst still in 2nd gear), so I only had to scamper from the house to the car, and then to the office from the car, but I still like an 18 year old sacrificing comfort for fashion. I wouldn’t mind if I actually was 18 and actually looked cool, but I’m fairly sure I fall short on both counts.
To compensate for being exposed to cold air for at least 5 minutes, I scampered into one of the 3 coffee bars that inhabit the 50m or so long block that my office sits on (this is not allowing for coffee shops/cafes along side roads – there really are a ridiculous number of them) and purchased a coffee made by a gentleman who is (according to a magazine I was reading yesterday) the best coffee barista in the whole North Island. He won a competition & everything. Not that I could tell from the coffee – it tasted okay, but didn’t blow my socks off – so I’m not sure how they judge these things. And then I went to work….only another 6 weeks to go ‘til the end of my contract.
I was thinking the other day that some of you may have the impression that I don’t like working. I’d like to challenge that. You see, it’s not that I don’t like working; it’s more that I resent spending 5 days a week being bored out of my skull (despite the financial benefits). Hopefully, my masters proves that I am not afraid to work, but I think I do have to try to find a job/role where I don’t feel the urge to go home after an hour or so. And yes, I know a lot of jobs are boring – it’s just that I don’t happen to feel obliged to resign myself to that for the next 20 - 30 years. However, there is one intriguing element to my current job. I am sitting at a desk that looks out over some car parking spaces (much like at Savile Row) and the traffic wardens here have a nifty trick of carrying different coloured chalk around with them that they use to mark the tyres of parked cars, so they can just tell by the chalk marks how long a car has been parked somewhere, sneaky…though it has been pointed out to me that you can just rub the chalk off and confuse the hell out of them.
To compensate for being exposed to cold air for at least 5 minutes, I scampered into one of the 3 coffee bars that inhabit the 50m or so long block that my office sits on (this is not allowing for coffee shops/cafes along side roads – there really are a ridiculous number of them) and purchased a coffee made by a gentleman who is (according to a magazine I was reading yesterday) the best coffee barista in the whole North Island. He won a competition & everything. Not that I could tell from the coffee – it tasted okay, but didn’t blow my socks off – so I’m not sure how they judge these things. And then I went to work….only another 6 weeks to go ‘til the end of my contract.
I was thinking the other day that some of you may have the impression that I don’t like working. I’d like to challenge that. You see, it’s not that I don’t like working; it’s more that I resent spending 5 days a week being bored out of my skull (despite the financial benefits). Hopefully, my masters proves that I am not afraid to work, but I think I do have to try to find a job/role where I don’t feel the urge to go home after an hour or so. And yes, I know a lot of jobs are boring – it’s just that I don’t happen to feel obliged to resign myself to that for the next 20 - 30 years. However, there is one intriguing element to my current job. I am sitting at a desk that looks out over some car parking spaces (much like at Savile Row) and the traffic wardens here have a nifty trick of carrying different coloured chalk around with them that they use to mark the tyres of parked cars, so they can just tell by the chalk marks how long a car has been parked somewhere, sneaky…though it has been pointed out to me that you can just rub the chalk off and confuse the hell out of them.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
For your information
I won't be doing much in the way of blogging for a couple of weeks because I have (gasp! the horror!) gone and got myself a short contract job working at the State Services Commission until the end of October. I started yesterday & I am bored already...but they are paying me a fair whack of money, so I guess that's better than nowt.
Adieu.
Adieu.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The legendary sprain
by the way these were taken 4 days after Jo sprained her ankle - pretty impressive, huh?
Monday, August 07, 2006
All quiet on the western front.
Yes, Gert & I are taking full advantage of having the house to ourselves. We've ensconced ourselves in the study/spare bedroom/room that desperately needs re-organising & tidying, the heater is switched on, I have a cup of tea and the newly donated cordless phone is on my desk, so I only have to leave the room to use the loo and/or get more tea (the two seem oddly connected). This is the only really sensible course of action as a steady rain is falling outside (G & I have already fearlessly ventured out for an hour of vigorous yomping up & down the hills of Melrose) and a particularly unpleasant & chill southerly wind is due to hit Wellington later on. Which sucks because I have to return a couple of DVDs (Brokeback Mountain & The Brothers Grimm - an accidental Heath Ledger marathon) before 6pm and that means going out in the rain.
Brokeback Mountain. Can't say I was too excited by it, didn't find it anywhere near as affecting in the banality of tragedy/tragedy of banality stakes as The Remains Of The Day or Vera Drake, but I guess it would have annoyed many a manly man. And the 'ageing' make-up was shocking, looked really like something out of a school play. The Brothers Grimm just had an awful lots of distractingly 'northern' accents considering it was meant to be in Germany.
The steady rain that is falling is causing some concern as an equal amount of it seems to be coming through our laundry ceiling - about 2 inches yesterday & an inch & a half so far today - and the crack in the ceiling is getting significantly larger. I did the obvious thing of getting out the ladder and climbing up to peer at the roof and though there don't appear to be any holes the roof is not sloping as it should. So the water is just pooling and seeping through. And the weather forecast is for rain for the rest of the week. Somehow we're going to have to fix some temporary tarpaulin to at least try to stem some of the flow, otherwise we're going to be in big trouble. Christ alone knows how though.
So. Jo & I went snowboarding for a few days up at Turangi. I can now officially state that I am a much better snowboarder than I am a skier, but that isn't saying much because I was a terrible skier. Really appalling. But when it comes to snowboarding I managed to not only get down the kiddie slope without killing myself, I also managed to stop, do at least one turn and was able to get up when I fell over. Hooray for me! Jo is very pleased that we may finally have a winter sport that we can both participate in, but I'm thinking I'll need at least a few more days practising before I'll be able to do anything much more than just slowly creep downhill with a scowl of grim determination. After a couple of days the weather got a bit grotty, so we decided that we would drive back down to Waikanae to meet up with Len, Amy & Gertie, giving me ample time to do some driving practise. I managed to get us safely to Wanganui via State Highway 4 despite the rain, landslips (one clipped the back of the car) & trees in the road. Very exciting. For anyone who is interested, SH4 is one of those winding, hairpin, up hill & down dale, only driven by the people who own farms up there, take this corner too fast & you'll end up in a field 40 feet below type of roads. And of course we went down it after heavy rains.
Once back in Wellington Jo spent a the next few days helping Amy finish off her packing and get ready for her departure to Auckland, all of which was pretty straightforward despite Amy misreading her ticket and arriving at the airport as her flight was departing. Actually that was just as well because she'd left her purse in our kitchen & it gave Jo time to drive back home & pick it up before her brand newly booked flight left at 4pm. A couple of days later Jo Ecclestone headed back up to Auckland prior to her onward journey to LA, and Jo & I had the place to ourselves. Unfortunately, Jo went to play netball that lunchtime (Thursday) for the Telstraclear company team and managed to spectacularly sprain her ankle (though she did drive home - no one knows how). It puffed up quite magnificently and by Saturday she hobbled to the hospital to get it looked at, they promptly signed her off for another week. But it meant that we had plenty of time to finish watching Bleak House on DVD.
Jo finally got back to work today, ankle still swollen (the physio says it may take another couple of weeks to get back to normal) and the grot & I are languishing in the silence of the house, just the rain to keep us company and only another 2 hours before I have to take the DVDs back. Might wear my waterproof trousers, should do the trick.
Adios!
Brokeback Mountain. Can't say I was too excited by it, didn't find it anywhere near as affecting in the banality of tragedy/tragedy of banality stakes as The Remains Of The Day or Vera Drake, but I guess it would have annoyed many a manly man. And the 'ageing' make-up was shocking, looked really like something out of a school play. The Brothers Grimm just had an awful lots of distractingly 'northern' accents considering it was meant to be in Germany.
The steady rain that is falling is causing some concern as an equal amount of it seems to be coming through our laundry ceiling - about 2 inches yesterday & an inch & a half so far today - and the crack in the ceiling is getting significantly larger. I did the obvious thing of getting out the ladder and climbing up to peer at the roof and though there don't appear to be any holes the roof is not sloping as it should. So the water is just pooling and seeping through. And the weather forecast is for rain for the rest of the week. Somehow we're going to have to fix some temporary tarpaulin to at least try to stem some of the flow, otherwise we're going to be in big trouble. Christ alone knows how though.
So. Jo & I went snowboarding for a few days up at Turangi. I can now officially state that I am a much better snowboarder than I am a skier, but that isn't saying much because I was a terrible skier. Really appalling. But when it comes to snowboarding I managed to not only get down the kiddie slope without killing myself, I also managed to stop, do at least one turn and was able to get up when I fell over. Hooray for me! Jo is very pleased that we may finally have a winter sport that we can both participate in, but I'm thinking I'll need at least a few more days practising before I'll be able to do anything much more than just slowly creep downhill with a scowl of grim determination. After a couple of days the weather got a bit grotty, so we decided that we would drive back down to Waikanae to meet up with Len, Amy & Gertie, giving me ample time to do some driving practise. I managed to get us safely to Wanganui via State Highway 4 despite the rain, landslips (one clipped the back of the car) & trees in the road. Very exciting. For anyone who is interested, SH4 is one of those winding, hairpin, up hill & down dale, only driven by the people who own farms up there, take this corner too fast & you'll end up in a field 40 feet below type of roads. And of course we went down it after heavy rains.
Once back in Wellington Jo spent a the next few days helping Amy finish off her packing and get ready for her departure to Auckland, all of which was pretty straightforward despite Amy misreading her ticket and arriving at the airport as her flight was departing. Actually that was just as well because she'd left her purse in our kitchen & it gave Jo time to drive back home & pick it up before her brand newly booked flight left at 4pm. A couple of days later Jo Ecclestone headed back up to Auckland prior to her onward journey to LA, and Jo & I had the place to ourselves. Unfortunately, Jo went to play netball that lunchtime (Thursday) for the Telstraclear company team and managed to spectacularly sprain her ankle (though she did drive home - no one knows how). It puffed up quite magnificently and by Saturday she hobbled to the hospital to get it looked at, they promptly signed her off for another week. But it meant that we had plenty of time to finish watching Bleak House on DVD.
Jo finally got back to work today, ankle still swollen (the physio says it may take another couple of weeks to get back to normal) and the grot & I are languishing in the silence of the house, just the rain to keep us company and only another 2 hours before I have to take the DVDs back. Might wear my waterproof trousers, should do the trick.
Adios!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
It's December in New Zealand.
A slight variation on something a friend of mine was asked by an American - "When it's June in America is it December in New Zealand?".
The answer, of course, is "yes". Well, almost. When it is July 8th in America, it is December 25th at our house.
The thought process behind this slight bending of the calendar was inspired by my inability to get into the festive spirit at Christmas, for the simple reason that I couldn't get my head around Christmas being during the summer. For me, and for many of us Northern Hemisphere-ites, at Christmas it should be dark, dank, cold, wet, and downright miserable. An ideal excuse to shut yourself in the house and eat & drink way too much whilst watching dubious 'sitcoms' & old films. Just what those pagan folk were thinking when they invented it...
So, we came up with the genius idea of having a birthday christmas, seeing as my birthday has also transformed from a summer BBQ event to a wintery sludge. Hooray! Of course I forgot the vital element - I don't usually actually have to organise or do any of the work at Christmas, that's what mums do. Then, I decided that it should be split into two elements - a couple of mates over for lunch and a party in the evening. Has anyone actually done this on Christmas Day? No. Why? Because it is knackering and almost impossible to be jovial & sociable for that long (approximately 14 hours...)
Being MY Christmas I then decided I wanted to be all flash & roast a goose for lunch, just because I'd never done that before. But my plans were thwarted when I discovered that you cannot buy goose in NZ. No idea why, you just can't. Turkey isn't too common either outside the actual festive season (when Jo asked one supermarket assistant if they sold turkey he looked at her blankly and said "but it isn't Christmas".). Luckily, el fancio butchers shop in town sells boned, rolled & stuffed turkey, so panic averted. Phew.
Friday 7th July saw the early morning arrival of Jo Ecclestone, 'fresh' off the overnight bus from Auckland, and she was immediately thrown into a day of faffing about, collecting aforementioned turkey, making egg-nog & gluewein, and decorating. By the evening we had almost convinced ourselves it was really Christmas Eve - yes, we are that gullible. Up & at 'em the next morning, we steeled ourselves for the day ahead by watching "Olive, the other reindeer" on DVD & playing dodgy Bing Crosby christmas songs, peeling potatoes and being merry. I was forced to open my present a day early (my birthday isn't actually until the 9th) - a fine set of Global kitchen knives, which are terrifyingly sharp - and lunch went relatively well despite the oven pissing about and taking about an hour longer to cook everything than I had planned. I decided to skip the traditional apologising for the lateness of lunch & went straight into arsey "you'll get your bloody food when it's ready" mode. It seemed to work.
So, lunch over, we whiled away the afternoon watching "The Vicar of Dibley", "The Great Escape" & playing Trivial Pursuit, until someone got out the Live Aid DVD and much very bad singing began. One guest, being a mere 27 years old, was most bemused and traumatised us all by admitting to having never heard of The Thompson Twins. The horror.
By the time our evening guests started appearing, at about 8pm, we were fairly 'merry'. Most people, being under the impression it was a normal party, arrived after 9pm by which time I was knackered & decided upon the 'steer them to the kitchen, give them a drink and then head back to the sofa & let them fend for themselves' tactic. I hope it worked. It was always effective in London, let's hope it travels. The rest of the evening is a blur of red wine, crisps, pickled onions, loud music, sofa hand-jiving, Gertie trying to pretend there was no one there and sleeping, varying degrees of inebriation & lots of laughing. Jo E commented that it was just like our parties in London, but people seemed less drunk. Must have been the lack of Scandinavians or Vicky/Keiran/Sib...
As is traditional at my parties, I called an end to proceedings by going to bed & hoping that everyone else would get the hint. It worked.
The next day consisted of a very long dog walk - to the Mount Vic lookout & back - "The Sound of Music" and lasagne.
5 days later & I'm still tired. Is it because I am 36 now? Or just because I am crap?
The answer, of course, is "yes". Well, almost. When it is July 8th in America, it is December 25th at our house.
The thought process behind this slight bending of the calendar was inspired by my inability to get into the festive spirit at Christmas, for the simple reason that I couldn't get my head around Christmas being during the summer. For me, and for many of us Northern Hemisphere-ites, at Christmas it should be dark, dank, cold, wet, and downright miserable. An ideal excuse to shut yourself in the house and eat & drink way too much whilst watching dubious 'sitcoms' & old films. Just what those pagan folk were thinking when they invented it...
So, we came up with the genius idea of having a birthday christmas, seeing as my birthday has also transformed from a summer BBQ event to a wintery sludge. Hooray! Of course I forgot the vital element - I don't usually actually have to organise or do any of the work at Christmas, that's what mums do. Then, I decided that it should be split into two elements - a couple of mates over for lunch and a party in the evening. Has anyone actually done this on Christmas Day? No. Why? Because it is knackering and almost impossible to be jovial & sociable for that long (approximately 14 hours...)
Being MY Christmas I then decided I wanted to be all flash & roast a goose for lunch, just because I'd never done that before. But my plans were thwarted when I discovered that you cannot buy goose in NZ. No idea why, you just can't. Turkey isn't too common either outside the actual festive season (when Jo asked one supermarket assistant if they sold turkey he looked at her blankly and said "but it isn't Christmas".). Luckily, el fancio butchers shop in town sells boned, rolled & stuffed turkey, so panic averted. Phew.
Friday 7th July saw the early morning arrival of Jo Ecclestone, 'fresh' off the overnight bus from Auckland, and she was immediately thrown into a day of faffing about, collecting aforementioned turkey, making egg-nog & gluewein, and decorating. By the evening we had almost convinced ourselves it was really Christmas Eve - yes, we are that gullible. Up & at 'em the next morning, we steeled ourselves for the day ahead by watching "Olive, the other reindeer" on DVD & playing dodgy Bing Crosby christmas songs, peeling potatoes and being merry. I was forced to open my present a day early (my birthday isn't actually until the 9th) - a fine set of Global kitchen knives, which are terrifyingly sharp - and lunch went relatively well despite the oven pissing about and taking about an hour longer to cook everything than I had planned. I decided to skip the traditional apologising for the lateness of lunch & went straight into arsey "you'll get your bloody food when it's ready" mode. It seemed to work.
So, lunch over, we whiled away the afternoon watching "The Vicar of Dibley", "The Great Escape" & playing Trivial Pursuit, until someone got out the Live Aid DVD and much very bad singing began. One guest, being a mere 27 years old, was most bemused and traumatised us all by admitting to having never heard of The Thompson Twins. The horror.
By the time our evening guests started appearing, at about 8pm, we were fairly 'merry'. Most people, being under the impression it was a normal party, arrived after 9pm by which time I was knackered & decided upon the 'steer them to the kitchen, give them a drink and then head back to the sofa & let them fend for themselves' tactic. I hope it worked. It was always effective in London, let's hope it travels. The rest of the evening is a blur of red wine, crisps, pickled onions, loud music, sofa hand-jiving, Gertie trying to pretend there was no one there and sleeping, varying degrees of inebriation & lots of laughing. Jo E commented that it was just like our parties in London, but people seemed less drunk. Must have been the lack of Scandinavians or Vicky/Keiran/Sib...
As is traditional at my parties, I called an end to proceedings by going to bed & hoping that everyone else would get the hint. It worked.
The next day consisted of a very long dog walk - to the Mount Vic lookout & back - "The Sound of Music" and lasagne.
5 days later & I'm still tired. Is it because I am 36 now? Or just because I am crap?
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Sarcasm will get you everywhere.
In response to the cheeky git who commented on my extreme lack of blogginess - I have been thinking about blogging for some time now, but have been distracted by the vile weather & severe lack of heating in the house (note how close G has to get to the old heater to reap any benefit).
The heating situation has now been resolved and I may well blog next week. Until then I am busy organising my birthday extravaganza this weekend, which will be taking the form of a mid-winter knees-up. We're even making egg nog. I shall attempt to record the aftermath early-ish next week. Maybe.
S
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Mice are tenacious wee bastards, aren't they?
And they don't seem to understand that they are supposed to go into the mousetrap, instead of prancing about our kitchen.
Having said that I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and discovered our mousetrap did indeed contain a willing victim (who has just been relocated at the bottom of the street).
Let me begin at the beginning. A few weeks ago, in a land far far away (depending on where you live) we began to suspect we had a mouse problem. When I say "we began to suspect", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mice in our kitchen. Well, when I say "we kept seeing mice in our kitchen", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mouse arses/tails disappearing down the back of our oven. In fact some of these critters had actually taken to pooing on roasting trays left in the oven (clean ones) and larking about in the cupboards and pooing in my wok. Annoying. So it was decided that something had to be done and, after much searching, I finally found some humane mousetraps. Jo was favouring the 'splatter them all over the place' traditional trap, but I thought that a little harsh seeing as they were only doing their mousey thing, so we bought the humane one.
This took some negotiation as they were really pushing their luck with Jo by holding little soirees in the crumb tray of her Dualit toaster. They don't know how close they came. My campaign against them began quite gloriously. In fact, I caught two of the wee buggers in a single evening. Hurrah for me!!! And then it all went quiet. Not being foolish enough to think it could be that simple, I left the trap in situ.
For the last two/three weeks at least one mouse has been merrily partying away in the kitchen without even as much as poking its nose in the trap. Damn. Jo's patience with both the mice & the trap was wearing thin and there was talk of "bait" & "poison" being bandied about at the dinner table (very Borgian - and yes I did check that this is an actual word. Its used by the Vatican, no less.). The conflict was about to escalate.
Then the impasse was finally broken. Yesterday (Easter Monday), following an epic dog walking adventure of almost 4 hours, Jo & I were both in a state of minor collapse on the sofa watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on DVD (just giving you a visual) and having just consumed a fine lunch of fajitas when Jo claimed to hear a rattling in the kitchen. Off she went to investigate. The trap was indeed closed, suggesting a prisoner, but it can be a bit temperamental so I asked whether she was sure there was something in it. I usually test this theory by giving the trap a bit of a shake to see if it has anything inside (probably defeats the 'humane' aspect a bit), but Jo had tried the failsafe method of actually opening the lid and peering in. She offered to let me have a look, but I had visions of high velocity mouse leaping to freedom in my face, so declined. Off I wandered to the long grass behind the church hall to release the beastie.
Once a safe distance from our place I opened up the end of the trap and gave it a little shake to encourage our little friend out. Normally at this point a high speed leap is the chosen option of the mouse, but nothing. Strange. So I peered into the trap only to see a very wide-eyed vermin beast using its paws to wedge itself against the end of the trap in a style I can only imagine it had picked up from James Bond films - you know that classic using your hands and feet to wedge yourself on the lift ceiling so you can drop on your enemy. Nice try sonny. A firm flick of the wrist dislodged the mouse and I must confess it was quite athletic in its leaping through the undergrowth.
Back to the house and all is calm. Jo's now finely tuned mouse detecting ears were ready for any further encroachment, and later that evening something caught her attention. Off to the kitchen to investigate. No sign of the mouse/mice, but one giveaway clue. Gert hadn't eaten all food that evening - she doesn't like the new dog biscuit stuff we bought at the weekend, I don't blame her it does smell a bit like disinfectant - so there were some left over biscuits in her bowl waiting to be chucked away. Now these are quite chunky biscuits, I'd estimate at least a couple of centimetres square, but one of our combatants had managed to get one out of the bowl (which is polished metal and pretty slippery), past the sink edge and to the edge of the bread bin. Jo saw this as a blantant act of defiance, yet I had to grudgingly respect such initiative. Plus it gave me a massive hint as what to use as bait in my trap.
My first capture just now confirms that Gert's yucky dog biscuits do seem to be effective. I'll keep you updated.
Having said that I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and discovered our mousetrap did indeed contain a willing victim (who has just been relocated at the bottom of the street).
Let me begin at the beginning. A few weeks ago, in a land far far away (depending on where you live) we began to suspect we had a mouse problem. When I say "we began to suspect", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mice in our kitchen. Well, when I say "we kept seeing mice in our kitchen", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mouse arses/tails disappearing down the back of our oven. In fact some of these critters had actually taken to pooing on roasting trays left in the oven (clean ones) and larking about in the cupboards and pooing in my wok. Annoying. So it was decided that something had to be done and, after much searching, I finally found some humane mousetraps. Jo was favouring the 'splatter them all over the place' traditional trap, but I thought that a little harsh seeing as they were only doing their mousey thing, so we bought the humane one.
This took some negotiation as they were really pushing their luck with Jo by holding little soirees in the crumb tray of her Dualit toaster. They don't know how close they came. My campaign against them began quite gloriously. In fact, I caught two of the wee buggers in a single evening. Hurrah for me!!! And then it all went quiet. Not being foolish enough to think it could be that simple, I left the trap in situ.
For the last two/three weeks at least one mouse has been merrily partying away in the kitchen without even as much as poking its nose in the trap. Damn. Jo's patience with both the mice & the trap was wearing thin and there was talk of "bait" & "poison" being bandied about at the dinner table (very Borgian - and yes I did check that this is an actual word. Its used by the Vatican, no less.). The conflict was about to escalate.
Then the impasse was finally broken. Yesterday (Easter Monday), following an epic dog walking adventure of almost 4 hours, Jo & I were both in a state of minor collapse on the sofa watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on DVD (just giving you a visual) and having just consumed a fine lunch of fajitas when Jo claimed to hear a rattling in the kitchen. Off she went to investigate. The trap was indeed closed, suggesting a prisoner, but it can be a bit temperamental so I asked whether she was sure there was something in it. I usually test this theory by giving the trap a bit of a shake to see if it has anything inside (probably defeats the 'humane' aspect a bit), but Jo had tried the failsafe method of actually opening the lid and peering in. She offered to let me have a look, but I had visions of high velocity mouse leaping to freedom in my face, so declined. Off I wandered to the long grass behind the church hall to release the beastie.
Once a safe distance from our place I opened up the end of the trap and gave it a little shake to encourage our little friend out. Normally at this point a high speed leap is the chosen option of the mouse, but nothing. Strange. So I peered into the trap only to see a very wide-eyed vermin beast using its paws to wedge itself against the end of the trap in a style I can only imagine it had picked up from James Bond films - you know that classic using your hands and feet to wedge yourself on the lift ceiling so you can drop on your enemy. Nice try sonny. A firm flick of the wrist dislodged the mouse and I must confess it was quite athletic in its leaping through the undergrowth.
Back to the house and all is calm. Jo's now finely tuned mouse detecting ears were ready for any further encroachment, and later that evening something caught her attention. Off to the kitchen to investigate. No sign of the mouse/mice, but one giveaway clue. Gert hadn't eaten all food that evening - she doesn't like the new dog biscuit stuff we bought at the weekend, I don't blame her it does smell a bit like disinfectant - so there were some left over biscuits in her bowl waiting to be chucked away. Now these are quite chunky biscuits, I'd estimate at least a couple of centimetres square, but one of our combatants had managed to get one out of the bowl (which is polished metal and pretty slippery), past the sink edge and to the edge of the bread bin. Jo saw this as a blantant act of defiance, yet I had to grudgingly respect such initiative. Plus it gave me a massive hint as what to use as bait in my trap.
My first capture just now confirms that Gert's yucky dog biscuits do seem to be effective. I'll keep you updated.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I just bloody deleted my 1st blog entry for months...bugger!!!
So...you get the gist...and it was really funny/witty/urbane...arse.
I'll give you a summary in bullet points and write a better one next week, honest.
- I am not dead/ill/traumatised in any way, just lazy/busy.
- Our washing machine broke, but we bought a new one. And now I keep getting that very strange Kate Bush washing machine song in my head. We had to cut away part of a door architrave to get it to fit - annoying.
- I chopped down a tree in the front yard because it had fallen over.
- Gert tried to choke herself on a piece of chopped down tree wood. She's fine but had to have 2 antibiotic jabs.
- Gert's disgusting ear scab/growth is being surgically removed on April 21st.
- Tennis ball chuckers are great - every home should have one.
- The weather here is getting quite wintery - mainly wet, cold & windy.
- Luckily I have a new Drizabone raincoat, so I don't care. ($100 off in a sale)
- We have mice, but I've caught 2 of them in my brand new humane mousetrap & relocated them behind the church hall at the end of the road. Jo thinks I am a soft git for buying a humane trap.
- I have been busily writing my Ancient Egyptian Archaeology course, but am already a week behind schedule (I've only been working on it for 3 weeks).
- If anything dramatic/traumatic did happen to me, rest assured Jo would let you know.
- I went to a Gay Ex-Pats club & spent the entire evening talking to a bloke from New Zealand. It was crap.
- Our pub quiz has disappeared, which sucks.
- I am now working 3 mornings a week at the Drama School cafe.
- I have got a Kiwi hooked on 'Heat' magazine, which is bad as it costs $9 over here. But its nice to know what Kerry Katona is up to.
- I'm getting my bi-annual haircut tomorrow.
- I'm listening to the Martha Wainwright album, supposedly one of the albums of 2005 but I'm not so sure.
- Jo is trying to teach Gert to play dead. I am trying to encourage the use of the command word "blam!" with matching gunfire hand actions.
that should keep you going for a couple of days at least...
Adios!
S
I'll give you a summary in bullet points and write a better one next week, honest.
- I am not dead/ill/traumatised in any way, just lazy/busy.
- Our washing machine broke, but we bought a new one. And now I keep getting that very strange Kate Bush washing machine song in my head. We had to cut away part of a door architrave to get it to fit - annoying.
- I chopped down a tree in the front yard because it had fallen over.
- Gert tried to choke herself on a piece of chopped down tree wood. She's fine but had to have 2 antibiotic jabs.
- Gert's disgusting ear scab/growth is being surgically removed on April 21st.
- Tennis ball chuckers are great - every home should have one.
- The weather here is getting quite wintery - mainly wet, cold & windy.
- Luckily I have a new Drizabone raincoat, so I don't care. ($100 off in a sale)
- We have mice, but I've caught 2 of them in my brand new humane mousetrap & relocated them behind the church hall at the end of the road. Jo thinks I am a soft git for buying a humane trap.
- I have been busily writing my Ancient Egyptian Archaeology course, but am already a week behind schedule (I've only been working on it for 3 weeks).
- If anything dramatic/traumatic did happen to me, rest assured Jo would let you know.
- I went to a Gay Ex-Pats club & spent the entire evening talking to a bloke from New Zealand. It was crap.
- Our pub quiz has disappeared, which sucks.
- I am now working 3 mornings a week at the Drama School cafe.
- I have got a Kiwi hooked on 'Heat' magazine, which is bad as it costs $9 over here. But its nice to know what Kerry Katona is up to.
- I'm getting my bi-annual haircut tomorrow.
- I'm listening to the Martha Wainwright album, supposedly one of the albums of 2005 but I'm not so sure.
- Jo is trying to teach Gert to play dead. I am trying to encourage the use of the command word "blam!" with matching gunfire hand actions.
that should keep you going for a couple of days at least...
Adios!
S
Friday, January 20, 2006
We made it out alive!
I feel it is my duty as an ex-pat to flaunt my sunny Christmas by letting you all know that I did indeed manage to get myself sunburnt on Boxing Day. I'm not sure how because I did go through the ritual of dunking myself in enough factor 30 sunscreen to cover an entire British summer, but guess that's just the way it is...
If it's any consolation Jo & I will miss the best of summer over here by coming over to Finland/UK and freezing our butts off. Great.
Back to Christmas/New Year - we arrived at Jo's folks place at Waikanae on Christmas Eve all ready for a few days of R&R, dog in tow (who Len had very kindly built a rather fabulous kennel for - it even has her name on it), and proceeded to raucously celebrate pre-Christmas with much alcohol and a surprisingly vocal game of Scrabble. Jo & I had brought our tent as we realised that if we were planning to go camping over New Year then we should check that it was still in one piece and, sensibly, had put it up before we began our Scrabble frenzy. So off we staggered, clutching torches, into the pitch blackness of the back garden (sending the dog off to her new kennel for the night), and crashed out. Not for long though, for mysterious snuffling noises awoke me from my slumber. Feeling courageous I flamboyantly unzipped the sleeping section of the tent (our tent is really quite roomy) to find out what kind of beastie had dared to sneak into the entrance bit only to find myself up close & personal with Gertie's nose. She'd figured out that she could easily crawl under the flysheet and was making a valiant effort to claw her way through the inner tent to get to us. Jo was adamant that Gert shouldn't be allowed in the sleeping bit with us, but seeing as there was sod all we could do to make her go into the kennel, she spent the rest of the night sleeping in the central part of the tent, stretching the inner liner as far as she could in an attempt to be as close to us as possible. Considering how knackered she was the next day I'm guessing it wasn't the best night's sleep she'd ever had. In fact, Jo's grandad spent most of the day suggesting that there was something wrong with our dog seeing as she was practically comatose.
The rest of Christmas passed without anything significant happening and we headed back to Wellington so that Jo could savour the delights of work before we went a-camping for the New Year. Which would have been great if we hadn't arrived back at Green Street and realised that we'd left our house keys at Waikanae...luckily we had the spare keys for Jo's folk's place and were able to hide out there until Amy returned to town.
Thus, on Friday 30th Jan we found ourselves once more heading north (stopping briefly at Waikanae to leave Gert with Jo's folks) to the heady delights of Vinegar Hill's annual New Year gay extravaganza - woo hoo! Now I really do not have the energy to go into any gory detail about Vinegar Hill, so I shall summarise our trip in a series of bullet points.
. It is not advisable to camp in close vicinity to the campsite's giant bonfire - people/cars/tents all end up with a slightly updated Pompeii theme
. Really good earplugs = essential
. if entertainment is voluntary/free expect little in terms of quality, but the predictable in terms of range ie. drag queen, lesbian singer/songwriter guitarist (even the 'love' songs were depressing), drag queen, buttocks & boobs, elderly drag queen, drag king, Guns 'N Roses karaoke, drag queen, disco (Hi-NRG/Euro).
. if entertainment is voluntary & gathered from a pool of about 500 people expect the worst. You won't be disappointed.
. Bring your own teabags
. Don't drink the majority of your booze on the first night, despite the temptation/feelings of desperation
. Kiwi lesbian campers (I can't comment on the blokes for obvious reasons) seem to have very low squeamishness thresholds when it comes to campsite toilets
. they also seem to have a very low cold temperature tolerance when it comes to river swimming
. Jo is very very good at hitting leaves with pebbles in fast flowing water
. Glow worms are very pretty
. Kiwi lesbians seem afraid of London S&M ladies (clearly not versed in the old 'just maintain a disinterested eye-contact & keep walking/smile politely and decline' protocol)
. People who park their motorcycles right outside my tent and then decide to start them up at 4am are wankers
. Repeatedly playing 'Push the Button' by the Sugarbabes doesn't make it any less crap
So, having realised that 3 days was our limit, we headed back to Waikanae to collect Gert and then back to Wellington. Upon our return to Green Street this time we noticed that one of our living room front windows had fallen out, frame and all. Luckily no one else seemed to have noticed and everything was intact, and lucky we came back that day because the overnight weather was a shocker and would have wrecked the downstairs of the house if we hadn't boarded it up. Well, if we hadn't asked the bloke next door to do it for us and paid him in beer. Just to confirm our weather worries one of the neighbour's windows went kablooey too.
Since then we've been pootling around the house making the place look half-way decent, drove to Auckland & back to attend a wedding party (great party, bloody long drive), Gertie passed her puppy school grading with flying colours (and has since been a pain in the arse - we are still working on getting her come back everytime she's called rather than just wehn she feels like it), and we've just had a long weekend in celebration of Wellington Day (?). We hightailed it out of town, but there was some extreme sports BMX/skateboard thingy on in the city for the young folk. I noticed them building the ramps etc for it as I cycled past on the way to the gym last Friday, but thought I'd best leave it to the professionals.
Only 3 weeks until we hit Europe now. Scary. But hopefully I'll get back in the blogging zone and be ready for some more Monday updates.
Adios!
If it's any consolation Jo & I will miss the best of summer over here by coming over to Finland/UK and freezing our butts off. Great.
Back to Christmas/New Year - we arrived at Jo's folks place at Waikanae on Christmas Eve all ready for a few days of R&R, dog in tow (who Len had very kindly built a rather fabulous kennel for - it even has her name on it), and proceeded to raucously celebrate pre-Christmas with much alcohol and a surprisingly vocal game of Scrabble. Jo & I had brought our tent as we realised that if we were planning to go camping over New Year then we should check that it was still in one piece and, sensibly, had put it up before we began our Scrabble frenzy. So off we staggered, clutching torches, into the pitch blackness of the back garden (sending the dog off to her new kennel for the night), and crashed out. Not for long though, for mysterious snuffling noises awoke me from my slumber. Feeling courageous I flamboyantly unzipped the sleeping section of the tent (our tent is really quite roomy) to find out what kind of beastie had dared to sneak into the entrance bit only to find myself up close & personal with Gertie's nose. She'd figured out that she could easily crawl under the flysheet and was making a valiant effort to claw her way through the inner tent to get to us. Jo was adamant that Gert shouldn't be allowed in the sleeping bit with us, but seeing as there was sod all we could do to make her go into the kennel, she spent the rest of the night sleeping in the central part of the tent, stretching the inner liner as far as she could in an attempt to be as close to us as possible. Considering how knackered she was the next day I'm guessing it wasn't the best night's sleep she'd ever had. In fact, Jo's grandad spent most of the day suggesting that there was something wrong with our dog seeing as she was practically comatose.
The rest of Christmas passed without anything significant happening and we headed back to Wellington so that Jo could savour the delights of work before we went a-camping for the New Year. Which would have been great if we hadn't arrived back at Green Street and realised that we'd left our house keys at Waikanae...luckily we had the spare keys for Jo's folk's place and were able to hide out there until Amy returned to town.
Thus, on Friday 30th Jan we found ourselves once more heading north (stopping briefly at Waikanae to leave Gert with Jo's folks) to the heady delights of Vinegar Hill's annual New Year gay extravaganza - woo hoo! Now I really do not have the energy to go into any gory detail about Vinegar Hill, so I shall summarise our trip in a series of bullet points.
. It is not advisable to camp in close vicinity to the campsite's giant bonfire - people/cars/tents all end up with a slightly updated Pompeii theme
. Really good earplugs = essential
. if entertainment is voluntary/free expect little in terms of quality, but the predictable in terms of range ie. drag queen, lesbian singer/songwriter guitarist (even the 'love' songs were depressing), drag queen, buttocks & boobs, elderly drag queen, drag king, Guns 'N Roses karaoke, drag queen, disco (Hi-NRG/Euro).
. if entertainment is voluntary & gathered from a pool of about 500 people expect the worst. You won't be disappointed.
. Bring your own teabags
. Don't drink the majority of your booze on the first night, despite the temptation/feelings of desperation
. Kiwi lesbian campers (I can't comment on the blokes for obvious reasons) seem to have very low squeamishness thresholds when it comes to campsite toilets
. they also seem to have a very low cold temperature tolerance when it comes to river swimming
. Jo is very very good at hitting leaves with pebbles in fast flowing water
. Glow worms are very pretty
. Kiwi lesbians seem afraid of London S&M ladies (clearly not versed in the old 'just maintain a disinterested eye-contact & keep walking/smile politely and decline' protocol)
. People who park their motorcycles right outside my tent and then decide to start them up at 4am are wankers
. Repeatedly playing 'Push the Button' by the Sugarbabes doesn't make it any less crap
So, having realised that 3 days was our limit, we headed back to Waikanae to collect Gert and then back to Wellington. Upon our return to Green Street this time we noticed that one of our living room front windows had fallen out, frame and all. Luckily no one else seemed to have noticed and everything was intact, and lucky we came back that day because the overnight weather was a shocker and would have wrecked the downstairs of the house if we hadn't boarded it up. Well, if we hadn't asked the bloke next door to do it for us and paid him in beer. Just to confirm our weather worries one of the neighbour's windows went kablooey too.
Since then we've been pootling around the house making the place look half-way decent, drove to Auckland & back to attend a wedding party (great party, bloody long drive), Gertie passed her puppy school grading with flying colours (and has since been a pain in the arse - we are still working on getting her come back everytime she's called rather than just wehn she feels like it), and we've just had a long weekend in celebration of Wellington Day (?). We hightailed it out of town, but there was some extreme sports BMX/skateboard thingy on in the city for the young folk. I noticed them building the ramps etc for it as I cycled past on the way to the gym last Friday, but thought I'd best leave it to the professionals.
Only 3 weeks until we hit Europe now. Scary. But hopefully I'll get back in the blogging zone and be ready for some more Monday updates.
Adios!
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