the carnage begins

Waking up on Christmas day as the heat increased and the insects began their chorus while walking around a house full of decos, seemed both very Christmassy and not very Christmassy at all, all at once at the same time. Becky and Reza had stayed the night but left early in the morning. Cathy and I made tea and enjoyed
the moment. I sat in a hammock under the trees, feeling the heat of the sun. We opened our presents and cards in front of the little tree that Mel and Mike had put on top of their TV.

After the present session and breakfast of fruit salad on the veranda, we made turkey and cranberr sandwiches. The turkey was lowest on the list of ingredients on the lump of grey meat we had purchased at Woolworths, but it sufficed once combined with said cranberry sauce and put between good bread. Becky and Reza picked us up and we went to Wategos beach, where under an increasingly cloudy sky we encamped and had a lunchtime picnic of bad turkey sandwiches, beautiful handmade sausage rolls, filo parcels and ham sandwiches supplied by Becky. This was all washed down with champagne. A decadent and hedonistic Christmas, but more was to come!

After a decent break to ensure I didnt get cramp from eating, I went in the water. That last part is a lie but I have to say that for Mums sake. Reza and I paddled out and tried to catch a Christmas wave, which we did. Sat on the clear azure blue water, with the sun shining down, and the imposing hills surrounding the bay, with Mount Warning in the distance, I smiled to myself. A moment later I end up laughing with joy as dolphins start swimming amongst the surfers, not 15 metres away from me. Im going to bottle that moment up forever; my body was content with the nice food and a bit of exercise and the soul was full of wonderful emotions as I began to realise that surfing with dolphins pisses all over worrying about house prices or jobs. Being a bell boy isnt much, but being a bell boy who can go to Byron and drink champagne with friends then surf with dolphins beats commuting in the rain to work in Burgess Hill, no matter how much you get paid. When we left the beach, we took Becky's van which meant we could drive over to theirs later on. Cathy and I came home and finished opening a few last presents, then pottered around in the afternoon and early evening, including watching the Queen's speech. This after all signifies the beginning of the post xmas dinner slide into oblivion as alcohol and food gang up on the body to render it immobile and fatigued. I had a couple of attempts at making the obligatory 'phone calls home, but the queues outside phoneboxes were as long as the list of reasons to hate Jeremy Beadle.

At about 930pm we drove over to Becky's house with a bag full of goodies, including port, wine, mince pies, shrimps, steak and wine. Becky had got some lovely salmon from work which we barbequed to perfection, along with our shrimps and steak. The feast went on for hours, although an early casualty was Reza who seemed to have consumed too much fire water too early and dissappeared to bed until morning during a toilet break. We crashed late and woke many times during the night from the sound of fruit bats, mice and possibly man-eating carnivores that lurk in the trees at the rear of Becky's house.

When we finally awoke in the morning we all took turns to find Cathy the largest web around the house and the spider that lay within, then we drove back to Mike and Mels house.

The next few days were spent in utter relaxation. More food was barbequed and more ice cold beers and wine was drunk while lying in a hammock under the hot sun. More trips to the beach including Wategos and Clarks Beach, with a bit of surfing thrown in for good measure to ensure not all the consumed Christmas calories ended up converted to fat.

A few days after Christmas day saw the special market day in Byron Bay, where all the stalls are lined up along the path that runs along the top of the main beach. The Hari Krishnas were also out in force, pulling a painted wagon by hand along the beach. The wagon was maybe 8 or 10 metres tall with a tented canopy on top, but so as to allow the wagon to pass beneath the many power and telephone cables strung across the streets of Byron Bay, the canopy was on a hydraulic pole which could collapse and reform itself once past the wires.

Soon after that evening saw Matt arrive, Mikes brother, with a lively little boy Trent. Within half an hour Mike, Melissa and Holly had returned, and the house became alive once more.

Life had continued in much the same vein as before, except there were more people around. Michael was off work and was able to spend plenty of time at home. There were more barbeques, getting to know Holly, more
surfing, and while I was surfing, Mel would take Cathy to Tallow Beach for a swim. The dynamic of the house had changed but it was a pleasant change.

As New Years Eve drew near we prepared ourselves for the big event. There was a duff in town ('duff' is coloquial for dance party as its said to be what it sounds like. e.g. duff duff duff duff; repetitive beats and
all that) on Lawson Street while there was also fireworks on the beach, bands on at the Beach Hotel and The Rails, plus other gigs and DJ's playing. Roger Sanchez was going to be around, but I can't remember where.

On New Years Eve itself, Becky and Reza came round and we all had a very nice barbeque. Id had a New Years Eve surf and was feeling a little tired but Becky entered like a hurricane and whipped people up to a frenzy.
I think the barbeque was Soy chicken drumsticks, but Im not sure. Thinking about it, we ate kebabs, and maybe some sausages. Cathy made the kebabs with some lovely marinated chicken. The Soy drumsticks was another night. After a long period of eating and drinking and not feeling in the mood for going out, Becky got us all together and we began the walk into town, in shorts and t-shirts, carrying cans of whisky and coke, and myself having a mask of zinc cream painted on by Michael and Reza. The town was pumping, and there were thousands milling around. For a one bus-stop and three pub town it was heaving. The music had kicked off and there were smiles everywhere. As midnight struck, fireworks went off and the world went mad. Hugs everywhere and my zinc cream became mirrored on t-shirts and faces as the hugs went on. This is how NYE should be celebrated, in hot weather, with clear starry skies and scantily clad people.

My memories of the turn of the millenia were standing on Brighton beach, holding a chilled bottle of champagne that seemed to be slightly warmer than my hands and nose, staring into the cloudy sky at the blobs of fading and bursting colour in the sky that I was later informed to be the firework display.



This year was spent at 2am walking along the top of the beach with Cathy, surrounded by people whos collectives brains would not have solved one single Daily Mirror crossword due to the imbalming effects, staring at a clear night sky with fireworks overhead, and a gentle warm breeze carrying the music of the town to us. The long walk back home was a joy, collapsing in a hammock with a drink at about 3am.


Happy New Year. We saw it first.

go north young man

Handing in my notice for the bellboy position was a blessed relief. I have always had a strong sense of loyalty to my co-workers if not the company, so despite the position only being a temporary one, I found it hard to release myself. When it came to my immediate boss finding out that I wanted to quit, he asked me to retract my notice and suggested that I stay on the books in case I needed any work in future. How many times have you heard of bell boys being asked back? Perhaps I'm a good bell boy? I must admit to being able to draw in decent tips; the accent helps and I lay on extra thick for the Americans and Poms.

Cathy and I have decided to leave Sydney for Christmas and New Year. We have some web design work that can keep us busy; its a site for Cathy's brother. His idea is to start moving the shop into the 21st century and getting on the web. www.campingandangling.co.uk is the result. Its simple to begin with but Robs idea is
that it should grow and grow with time.

We had decided to go up to Byron Bay, as from what Becky has said, it should be exciting. There are street parties and fireworks over the new year and plenty to keep us occupied the rest of the time. The couple I met last time I was in Byron Bay, Melissa and Mike, are also able to accomodate us. I must admit to some trepidation at sharing a house with their baby Holly as well. I know babies to be pretty poor conversationalists, are not big beer drinkers and lack certain subtleties in their toilet technique.

We arrived on December 21st, after a twelve hour coach journey. The trip wasnt particularly pleasant as within half and hour of leaving Sydney, the man sat in front of me decided to fall violently ill. He vomited down his window and the side of his seat. Miraculously he was silent in his actions and the only giveaway was the smell of vomit that grew within the coach. The other was that he hadnt finished, and after climbing over a rather large girl who was sat next to him, he moved towards the rear of the coach where the toilet lived. His stomach was only half empty and he made sure this other half was covered liberally over a number of passengers as he staggered towards the toilet. Only when the lights came on was the full extent of the damage revealed. A girl had lumps of porridge like acidic substance spattered down her arm. A man had lumps of porridge in his lap and on his leg. How the culprit missed soiling the large girl he was sat next to remains a mystery to this day. Needless to say, he stayed in the toilet from the shame of his actions and to avoid the wrath of a stinking, acidic porridge covered coachload.

Fortunately we arrived in Byron Bay, minus sense of humour but happily minus vomit. Becky came to meet us, and got us a drink at the beach hotel, as Mike and Mel were getting ready to go to Sydney. They were off south and had bad luck with the van. Becky was going to give them a lift to the airport. We arrived after our drink to receive a quick handover; I took in the details of barbeque firing, while Cathy learnt the intricicities of the washing machine. We were also informed as to how serious the water shortage had become, as we were only one level away from having to bathe in our own urine. Then they were off.

The days leading up to Christmas were wonderfully relaxing. Sydney had become a riot with the shopping and seasonal music in the shops. Thinking about it, I dont recollect hearing any Christmas tunes in any shop in Byron Bay. We went to the beach, with me trying to surf at Tallow beach. This break dumps heavily and I finned my leg before losing a fin and dinging the board. I could hardly walk as my leg had been cut open, but it healed quickly. I finished up my Christmas shopping and we also stocked up the fridge with steaks, shrimps, sausages, wine, beer, salad, chocolate, and a Christmas cake that Cathy had iced.

On Christmas Eve, Becky and Reza came over for dinner, another barbeque, and we ate our way through sausages and steaks, drank lots of wine whilst talking about life, the meaning of life, and lifestyle. Sitting surrounded by cicadas and candles made me appreciate that I had made the right decision by coming away for Christmas. There was always going to be certain aspects that I would miss, but enjoying the Christmas period with good weather seems so much more civilised than huddling indoors watching Only Fools and Horses
and badly cut-for-TV action films.

blame it on the bellboy

The first week of work was tough; I had to learn the secret of politely asking guests if they would like
their luggage to be taken to their room, finding my way around a 503 room, 25 floor hotel, learning the names of all the other staff at the bell desk, knowing the procedure for taking cars to the car park, how to tag bags,
group labelling, recognising a good tip potential and a empty walletted guest, and how to deal with getting up at 530am for work.

By the second week I was bored. The only redeeming feature of the job is the interesting people who work in the hotel. For instance, one of my compadres was a trapeez artist who is looking to settle down, another is a surfer from Byron Bay, there is a web designer who works at the hotel for the extra money, then there are the boys from the hotel school. Some are in it for the love of the job, while I expect many to make a career change at some point. There is also a big gay community within the hotel, whose numbers include a retired prominent Sydney drag queen, a hispanic out and out gaylord, and various others, which all adds to create an atmosphere that is much more exciting and interesting behind the reception desk than in front of it.

While it is a pleasant and luxurious hotel in the guest area, the service area is chaotic and messy. Lifts and vestibules smell of old food, past room service deliveries lie discarded on the floor, along with 3 day old newspapers, rotten fruit, coathangers, broken a-frame signs, dustbins and housekeeping trollies. Compared to the organised and disciplined practises withing the IT industry, the hotel industry is a debacle. Inefficient, bad working practises, gratuitous wastes of manpower and resources, petty bureaucracy, overly complex hierachy with small minded and megalomaniac idiots put in a position of management without any management training. Departmental animosity is so severe that cooperation only occurs on a rare and individual basis. I have the handicap that I want to fix all these easily remedied faults within the system, but it
would be a pointless exercise and of course Im in no position to do so.

Life otherwise is generally similar to treading water. Im waiting for Cathy to arrive and we are looking to run off and leave town when she gets here. The job is good as at least I am not spending more than I possess, and the tips top it off nicely. It took longer than I thought to get paid, but again thats down to the disorganised payroll office, who is run by a hermit, on certain days of the week, and who locks the door and answers to no-one.

If I finish work at 1500 then I can be in the water at 1600, while if I start work at 1400 then I am in the water by 0930 for a good couple of hours. The surfing is good and I seem to have some ok days and some great days. It all depends on the measured amount of seawater I consume while out on/under the waves.

The tediousness of the work was relieved for a couple of days when Ged and Norm popped in from Singapore. I joined them, along with Blake and Lisa, for a raucous night on Oxford Street. I was refused entry to the Q Bar as the badly dressed girl didnt agree with my dress sense, meaning the others left an already quiet bar to join me at a loud busy sweaty bar a few doors down. It was meant to be a quiet night, which meant Blake and Lisa left around midnight and I walked back with Ged and Norm at about 3am. Tequila shots, Jack and coke and beers does give you that 'quiet night' feeling. After staring at the topless girl who had run past us in the street, I felt inspired and left Ged and Norm at their hotel while I sniffed out a strip club. Im not sure what the point was, as I had difficulty seeing, but it seemed the right thing to do. I can only assume I had a thoroughly
entertaining evening as the strength of the hangover would indicate I had spent some fair amount of time in the sordid playhouse.

Another more gently evening was had when we went to Phillip's Foote, a bar and barbeque restaurant situated in The Rocks. You purchase the meat you want to cook and incinerate it to your specification in the provided grilled crematoriums around the place. My steak was so well done that I had turned it from meat back via vegetable through to pure carbon compounds. It tasted delicious, especially with the range of fresh bread and salads that helped removed the charcoal filter taste from my steak biscuit.

After being reminded by Ged of the lifestyle that is possible from an IT career, I returned with new found vigour in my hatred for my job, when I had to get up at 0530 from my bed to make the ferry in the morning. Never mind, I might win the lotto or Cathy might find a job which can allow me to fully dedicate my time to wave-ology.

living in the city

What have we here, a city with a population as large as New Zealand, a harbour that is the site of a beautiful bridge and an unusual arts centre with a design based on a palm leaf. I live in Manly. In Manly I have bumped into Paul Tribe (Tribey), a guy I know from Leeds OTC, and Bob Comport, who I know from school and 6th form. I have spent much of my time learning how to surf, and had almost given up alcohol and caffeine.

That was until the boys from London arrived, and my body was subjected to a good and proper poisoning.
It was worth it too. They were all staying in the Beach Road Hotel in Bondi, and much hilarity was had over the course of about 4 days while they were here. I also got a small taste of the rum that Rob had bought for me until its contents were emptied onto the floor of the hotel room, by a clumsy clown.

Parts I can remember are a number of bars throughout Bondi, a big night out in Coogee, involving wrestling,
massages, champagne, sweaty sweaty clappy clappy, random taxi journeys, loosing people, sleeping on a broken sofa bed, Ols snoring, the digital camera kids, a college disco somewhere in The Rocks, loosing my chain from Brazil, having the first hangover in weeks, and sitting in the special children bus. I can understand why Blake and Lisa have decided to escape and stay out here.

Even while my body was repairing itself from the damage inflicted on it, I went to an interview at the
Intercontinental hotel. The initial position I had applied for was Telecommunications Officer. To me, this sounds like a substantial and rewarding position and I was fairly eager. When the details of the position came through, I was less enamoured, as the job title should be changed to 'telephonist'. While Im not belittling it and I still went for the interview, it really hasnt got the same career prospects.

After being interviewed by a nice English lady in HR, I get to meet the front office staff. They decide I might be better suited to bellboy. This is another change from what I expected but I thought it worthwhile at least.

I could tell they liked me and I got the job. Bellboy though. Did I come all the way around the world to be a
bell boy?

To cope with this dilemma, I felt a breath of fresh air was needed and I escape for a few days up to Byron Bay.
Becky lives up there, and I wasnt sure when I would next get the chance to see her, so I thought it a good chance to get out of town and see a bit of the country. The first thing I recommend for coach journies in Australia, is make sure you take a large quantity of valium before you set off. The journey one way was 12 hours, and the seats are not that comfortable, and certainly difficult to sleep in without distorting your neck. The second thing I suggest is scrap the coach and fly; its easier, quicker and less painful, and there is not too great a difference in cost.

It was lovely to see Becky, but she did have to work for a couple of days when I was up there. That was fine, as she also lent me the van, so I explored around the beach to the lighthouse, had a few hours surfing here and there, sunbathed and generally enjoyed the town. She took me to an open air church on the saturday, with logs for pews, set on the top of a hill, overlooking a very welsh looking valley, followed by an old hippy commune in Nimbin, with every citizen trying to sell me their herbal products if you know what I mean, from cookies to bags of rastafarian tobacco. The museum there is worth the journey alone. To complete the show of diversity of Australian culture, we went to a Rodeo in Bangalow. There we saw 6 children in the 5 to 8 year old category, damage parts of the body that should be given a chance to grow, at least until they father children. I looked very out of place, and it was good being the only tourist. The uniform of Drizabone oilskin coat and cowboy hat was everywhere. VB beer was in everyones hand, and the air was thick with farm talk, town gossip, and animal waste products. I returned sometime Sunday bemused at what goes on in the country.

My first paid days work was on Monday and fortunately it was purely orientation. I got to meet the General Manager, find out about the history of the hotel and watch a marketing video explaining how wonderful the hotel and the brand is. Funnily enough, 6 continents Hotels, of which Intercontinental, Crown Plaza and Holiday Inn are part of, is actually owned by Bass Breweries. Im working for a British company!

Anyway, its dull; I dont give two hoots for the hotel and certainly cant see a 4 year stint as bell boy possible,
unlike some of the blokes who have been working there from 2 to 10 years.

Being a 5 star hotel, there are a lot of wealthy guests and V.R.P. very rich people. None of these people bother
with tips and so its left to the ordinary folk who are treating themselves a bit, to give the tips to the staff. I'm sure that if Karma had something to do with it then I would be getting bigger tips. I consider that I have always
tipped well, yet Im not getting much in return. Saying that, the Australians arent big on tipping anyway.

The worst part is the starting times. I think I need to be jet-lagged to cope, as my start time is usually 7am.
I cant understand it! 7am is an inhuman time to work at. Its money though, so I might as well make the most of it.

In the mean time, I am getting to meet the woman who runs the hostel where I stay, with the idea of running it.
The pay isnt great, even compared to bell boy, but I would get accomodation and I need to find something before Cathy gets here. The job is fairly cruisy and the place is only 100m from the beach.

So apart from hearing how my old company is to become a victim of the state of the global economy, and finding out how little IT work there is in Sydney especially before xmas, Im just enjoying the sunshine, and watching myself as I descend from lucid educated IT professional to obsequious sycophantic retard in a badly fitting unform.

funny facts abound

I have learnt quite a few things while I have been away.

• Northern Hemisphere compasses do not work in the southern hemisphere (FACT!)
• 'Phoning home is hassle; you dial 8233 9009 1 001385 3170 0011 44 1273 734 179.
• Sydney sucks money out of you
• More people are killed on NZ roads than on UK roads yet it has 1/20 of the population. There are crosses everywhere.
• I think New Zealand is the most beautiful place on earth to live
• The best places to stay aren't in the Lonely Planet.
• bananas and surfing seem to go together. Nutella and banana on toast, banana smoothie . . .
• the more seawater you drink the better it gets
• I miss duvets, baths and proper marmite
• I dont miss traffic jams, miserable rude people and crap weather

g'day! fancy a banana smoothie?

Sydney differs from Auckland and New Zealand in so many ways, notably regarding the number of people. I think Sydney has around 3 million people, which covers the whole population of New Zealand. Its big, sprawling, urban, hot, brash, and not without a hint of americana.

I think I have spent about a week here, and Im only now starting to get used to it. Becky up in Byron (another concept album name) said that Manly is the best and most civilised part of Sydney. While I think she is right, it wasnt what I was expecting, but Im thankful that I didnt end up in the den of iniquity that is Kings Cross. As in the area of the same name in London, the main
users of the streets are those with unfeasibly short skirts, large beards, or possess a permanent fixture of some alcoholic beverage in their street-filthy hands. Its great. Strip clubs are oiled and squeezed between backpacker hostels, tourist shops, fast food outlets selling huge varieties of partially cooked meat, and internet cafes. The latter is the safest place to observe the goings on in the world outside, as obviously I dont have the desire or money to visit the strip clubs. Honestly.

There is a cinema that I stumbled across in the Kings X area, and I had heard about it from others who had visited Sydney years ago. I Went to buy a Warriors T-shirt and found an NRL shop, above which, the shop-keeper explained, was a vegetarian curry house, and above that was a cinema furnished with cushions and beanbags. I havent been to watch anything yet, but it sounds good.

Im still deliberating on how to get to India for Daryls wedding. It sounds wonderful, but Im starting to think about the pennies, and that really wouldnt help. It would be a shame to miss, but if I havent got the money, then I havent got the money. Additionally Cathy, whos foolishness knows no bounds, has decided that nearly a month in New Zealand wasnt enough for her, so she is coming to Australia. This is a good thing as she has been trained well in tea making and sunbathing, therefore making an excellent travelling companion, and the sunbathing making good use of the time while I am drowning in the sea learning to surf.

The idea of learning to surf was based on having thousands of bronzed men carrying fibreglass under their arms, and not wanting to feel left out, I went and bought one myself. I didn't want a Mini-Mal when the world and their son were buying one, so I bought a second-hand 6'6 Ron Wood shaped board. I got a 3mm wetsuit for 30GBP and got a leggy, wax, comb thrown in. The guy who sold me the board also sold me his old decrepid board bag, which makes me look a little authentic, as it has seen far more wave action than me.

Faint heart never did something naughty, apparently so it goes in the Navy, so I got in the water and had a go. After two days, I have strained my shoulder, swallowed more sea water than a fish, and never saw one wave; not from above the water anyway. I cant even sit on the board for longer than a minute, but at least I have managed the knack of crawling back on my board and vomiting discretely. Im sure I'll pick it up. Soon. I hope. Else I think I might be finding a new way to pass the time when I should be out jobhunting. At least it beats jobhunting in the UK, where that would be spent out of the rain, staring at newspapers and thinking about whether to put another jumper on. Im perfectly happy to lie on my board, thinking about jobs, in glorious sunshine, spewing elegantly out of my smug mouth, and thinking about which cafe to sit at while I dry off.

Ive got the Aussie bank account, and Im sorting out my Tax File number this week, while also moving out of Manly Beach Hut, which is a perfectly good, clean hostel, is haunted with the atmosphere of a University first year halls of residence. There are about 4 plates in the upstairs kitchen, 2 tea spoons, a cheese grater and kettle that go on long vacations, tea towels
that were possibly used to dry cats in Egyptian times and all this for the hygienic allergic inhabitants who number in excess of 30.

Ive found a decrepit and charming hostel down the road, which has a much more laid back atmosphere, with less drinking and intersex sport, and has a yoga and meditation centre next door. While its far from ideal, its better than being woken at 6am as people come back from clubs, just as I wake them at 7am to go out for more drowning practice on my new board.

Nature report: No sharks seen yet, some snorkelling possible around Shelly Beach, bats with a wingspan greater than a metre live in a tree near the wharf, cock-a-roaches hang out in gangs on street corners and I found a cat nearby that is bigger than most dogs. At least two or three times the size of most cats, it carries off small children. Maybe I exaggerate about the children; they weren't that small.

another country, another entry stamp

There is one born every minute. I had a look at getting the Warrant of Fitness (WOF) extended on the car, but it failed and needed a minimum of NZ$300 work done, mainly welding. Niels the star who works at the Brown Kiwi, told me to just try and sell the car. After cleaning it up, and painting over the rust patches with a touchup brush, I took it down the car fair by Quay St. I sold it within half an hour. I hope part of the reason it sold well, was my salesman skills. I found out the blokes buying it were from Bangalore, and we talked about the bars there, and about Kolar Gold field just outside of town. They were so relaxed, they didnt even notice the WOF was about to expire, and I got NZ$1600 for the car. A loss of NZ$400 but then thats not bad for 3 months motoring and not having to do NZ$300 of work.

After that, I seemed to just be passing the time until my flight to Sydney. Some people I had met before turned up. Bob had been off on school holiday but couldnt get back in to 217, and arrived with Frank, plus Lisa and Ryan showed up. I went to one of Ryans gigs in Devonport along with Lisa. A latino gig, with the spring afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows, and girls dancing to the latin rhythyms. We got a lift back by another band member, a scottish nutter who drove like he knew the roads, but to a different city and on the other side of the road.

The rest of the week was spent reading, until I decided to try and see Trev and Maria before I left the country. Lisa was a bit bored what with Ryan gigging all the time, so she fancied coming with me. i had booked a coach, but Lisa wanted to hire a car. After ringing round a number of places, and me ending up missing my coach booking, Peter told us t just go and hitch.

Us? Hitch? Its 180km to Whangarei, and it was 2 o'clock. I had no idea if we could make Whangarei and by 630 we were in Orewa and going nowhere fast. We had got a ride north of the arbour bridge in Auckland by a builder, then a ride for 4 exits from a banker, then some stoned girls drove us to Orewa. After that, nobody looked at us. We stayed the night at Pillows, a place I had been to
before, and ate fish and chips on the beach. There the strange spectacular of a sunset with people practising martial arts on the beach.

Orewa is a sleepy coastal town, so that affected us and we went to bed.

I spent the morning writing a nice sign for Whangarei on some card, Lisa drew some flowers on it and we sat by the side of the road. No sooner had we sat down than a car screeches to a halt and we pile in. The driver hadnt even seen our beautiful sign, and we should have taken the hint. Eamon drove hard and fast and all us passengers found virtual brakes had appeared at our feet.

Once we arrived I found out that Trev and Maria had closed the cafe. For good. Still, the next few days were spent seeing all the friends I had met through Trev and Maria. Chris turned up with some friends. Danny showed up, and recognised Lisa from the meditiation centre. Lawson was still in town and seeing him again is like being hit with a 100 metre wave of friendly Glaswegain. We also paid a visit to the land Maria and Trev are buying as Warwick rang in the morning.

Seeing the land showed what Maria and Trev want to do. The tipi site was being excavated ready for the following week when the tipi gets delivered. It was also chance to say goodbye to Warwick and Jenny.

After a fairly messy night involving music, good food and wine, and some of my bad drumming, and a few hours sleep, Lisa and I were on the coach to Auckland.

It feels like I have condensed the past 2 days too much. It was exciting but fun, but random, but cool, but fattening, but drunk, but friendly, but tipi. . . .

Im going to miss New Zealand, the Warriors, the Maori town names, green culture, rural communities, amazing vistas, huge national parks, clean tasting beer, dangerous roads, glaciers, rivers, huge forests, cleansing rain, amazing animals, creative resourceful people, fascinating culture, but the Marmite is SHOCKING.

go north young man

Now its getting a bit last minute as we rush up north, but its worth doing rather than not doing it at all. The drive up to Fox Glacier was impressive as the scenery changes from glacially formed to created by rivers and the sediments from. The vegetation changes as well, so we were tropical rainforest by the time we reached the coast. The views of Lake Hawae and the north part of Lake Wanaka were breathtaking (Im getting bored of that word).

The road followed the coast perfectly most of the time, swinging in and out, with mountains on the right and the waters of the Tasman sea on the left. Fox Glacier is a very small town indeed; with one petrol station and one store come grocery come newsagent it was a peaceful place. Ivory towers backpackers seemed nice enough, and it had good views over town. Another classic example of paper walls, but beggars and backpackers cant be choosers.

We tried to organise the skydive for the following day, and as I got up at 0700 I realised I might as well go straight back to bed. The rain was coming down like curtains at a toddlers party. Instead we waited for a dry spell and then walked to the glacier. A rock fall had closed the path, but being adventurers we ignored the ropes and signs and walked up to the glacier, and noticed the 50 or so other adventurers. I climbed to the glacier itself and broke a chunk off. I like touching things and a big ice cube is no different. Its got almost a paste inside the ice from crushed rock and it makes your hands filthy and its GREAT!

Another night at Fox glacier, after trying and failing to get a reflection of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman in Lake Matheson, and we headed north. The plan was to get to Picton by 2030 that same day, as we had a ferry to catch. We passed through Franz Joseph township, near the glacier of the same name, stopped for petrol at the dreary town of Greymouth, grey by name and nature. We wanted to get to Hokitiki as its a big craft centre. In the end while most of the greenstone is found in the southern island, most of the Maori carvers are in the north island especially around Rotorua. i did persuade Cathy to come to the Kiwi sanctuary. There was a mental one legged Kiwi and a couple of others lurking in the dark.

Once we left Hokitiki, there was no hanging about and taking turns at the wheel we drove to Picton, taking the coast road north before missing Nelson and taking the inland road to Blenheim, arriving at Picton at 2027, pretty damn good.

We boarded the frry, found a space to sleep and tried to, if it hadnt been for some hard of hearing sheepshearers. While they couldnt hear each other, everyone else on board could here everything. It was 1am by the time we hit Wellington and I drove Cathy up to Mount Cook to take in the view of the harbour and the city, then we drove to Pukerua Bay near Muri, parked up and went to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of seagulls, the waves, and Leftfield at an earbleeding volume as Cathy turned the car to ignition to see the clock. Apart from the rude awakening, it was a lovely day and we drove for most of it, stopping only briefly for a stretch and fresh air by Lake Taupo before cruising into Rotorua. We rang the first place, Spa Lodge and they had space to we wandered over and tried to get over the stench. To say Rotorua smells nice is saying the US has an ethical foreign policy. The hot springs creep out of gardens, cracks in the roadside and on hills surrounding the town, so steam just appears from nowhere. The craft shops (such a patronising phrase) are great, with lots of greenstone carving. Its very touristy but who cares,

you have to see all sides.

The hot mud pools and geysers were great, although the geysers didnt perform for us, well, only a little. The Tamaki Maori Cultural village was our next stop in the evening. An honest and sincere expression of their culture Id like to think. We saw the challenge for when another tribe comes to visit, some songs and explanation of weaponary, a Haka was performed and then we ate a feast, a hangi, cooked in an earth oven. If it means that people are educated about the culture then I dont care about the number of coaches filled with tourists.

Its getting whistlestop now. Onwards to Waitomo and we saw the limestone caves to the north of Waitomo and the Waitomo caves themselves. The Limestone caves are huge, extending hundreds of metres below ground. Years were needed to chart the caves. The Glowworm caves down the road were spectacular and worth seeing, more so for feeding the noisy father and daughter to the glowworms. The spectacle should be enjoyed in absolute silence, as u need to be able to take in the site. Its like looking at a green map of the stars. So alien and so beautiful.

Back in the car, lets get to Auckland.

There was no room at the Brown Kiwi, the hostel in Ponsonby that I keep going back to, but Cathy was feeling generous and paid for us to stay at Mollies. This very classy motel has just been refurbished. There is antique furniture in the minimalistically decorated rooms. Perhaps styled too much with bachelors in mind, it was still luxury compared to the hostels. In the kitchen was a DISHWASHER!!!! WASHING MACHINE AND DRYER. The rooms were underfloor heated, and there were large TV's in the two bedrooms and lounge. The bathroom had a separate bath and shower, and both bedrooms were ensuite. The fridge and freezer were huge, the sheets expensive and this cost less than 50 pounds. Luxury. Better than a hotel room and nicer than the nicest motel.

Now it was time to move on, I had to sell the car and Cathy had to return home.

hanging out with the parrots

Te Anua is a relaxing place to be after all the excitement of Queenstown. My leg was healing, and we were thinking of either doing the Milford Track or some other. Ideally, we wanted to do the Milford Track. Described in National Geographic as the best walk on the planet, or something similar, and reckoned to be a rite of passage for most New Zealanders, it was obvious that we shoud at least give it a go.

The weather hadnt been particularly kind lately and it was becoming a wet blanket on a lot of activities. The plan to do the Milford Track became its latest victim. Due to the season, many of the bridges had been removed and the DOC huts were without gas. That wasnt our main concern, due the greater inconvenience of the avalanche risk in the area. I guess we could have ignored them and goen ahead anyway, but maybe its best to wait for when the weather is good.

Instead we plumped to do part of the Kepler Track. Again, once into the mountains, the avalanche risk becomes to great to proceed further, so we contented ourselves with the trip up to the first hut. This could be done in a day, there and back if you have a light load, but we wanted to spend one night away from the village. Its cheaper for one, and I like the outdoors living.

Its a long slog up the hill, tramping through an ever changing forest scenery, catching glimpses of the view as we climb. The lunch stop at the Bluffs took longer than I thought and I think Cathy was getting bored of my comments like, "Its just around the next corner", and "Its can only be another one or two hundred metres". After another hour we reached the Bluff and had lunch. It was about 3 o'clock and we started thinking that we should have really got up earlier.

Another hour or so through different forest and we reached the tree line. Its hardly surprising, but as you climb the vegetation changes. From almost rainforest to fern-filled forest to a pine mix, without ferns at all. Then the grass and moss scrub of alpine country. The scenery opens out in front of you and you see the harshly glacier-sculptured landscape of fjordland in all its rough glory. There isnt anybody about, no electricity, no mobile phone masts, pylons, rubbish, noise except the wind.

Another 45 minutes and we made the hut, got comfy and had a cup of tea. There was a Danish guy at the hut as well, but considering the hut can sleep 50 or more, it was deserted. While we were cooking dinner, some strange calls were heard, and a shadow moved in the moonlight on the decking outside. We opened a window and had a nice meeting with a Kea. These alpine parrots, the only alpine parrots in the world, are supposedly very intelligent. I dont know about intelligent, but they are inquisitive.

I went to fill up my water bottle and one was waiting for me outside. I placed the metal water bottle on the ground and as it 'tinged' the parrot came up and had a nose around. It tried carrying the bottle away, and kept tapping the bottle to make it ring. Like the dolphins, hanging around with intelligent creatures is maybe not spiritual but certainly entertaining. Seeing as the cold was getting to everyone, I lit a roaring inferno of a fire. Greatly appreciated by everyone I think you'll find, including the Kea.

The wind picked up that night, so much so that we could feel the hut move. I think the Kea got blown away in the night. By morning we were depressed as the weather had closed in and the wind was just as bad. A lie in 'till 12 meant we could at least give it a chance to improve, which it did, so we finished our breakfast/lunch/loafing and legged it back down the hill. This was after exploring the Luxmore caves, where we found amazing artifacts from early mans history. Probably.

The rain soon came back and we got back to the hostel, Te Anau Backpackers in town, had some food and very quickly went to sleep.

The next morning saw us stiff and tired, but realising we had to rush a little bit as Cathy was starting to run out of time. I hired some snow chains, filled up and drove to Milford Sound. Along the road were some fascinating places, such as 10 mile bush, flat knob creek and kiosk river. We got to Milford Sound and decided to hop on one of the boat trips. It was the perfect time to see Milford as while the weather was bad, the waterfalls were everywhere, making it all very picturesque. We stopped off at the marine reserve on the way back which was interesting. Due to the huge amounts of freshwater coming into the Sound, deep sea animals come to the surface as they are tricked by the visibility.

After thinking about staying the night in Milford and realising it might not be worth it, we drove back to Te Anau and then onwards to Queenstown. We have to pass this way to see the west coast.

Since the Southern Laughter hostel was a no-no, Cathy did the books and went for Hippo Lodge. Now THIS was a nice place. Spacious clean kitchen, clean towels on the bed, with a little chocolate hippo on the towels. I met a Kiwi lady who was showing a Nepalese Sherpa the sights of New Zealand. The views over Queenstown were well worth the stay at Hippo lodge on its own, but I wish we had stayed here before instead of Southern Laughter.

strength and honour

Wednesday 18th was meant to be our skydiving day, but there was a bad storm. While it was very windy in Wanaka (sounds like a good name for a first album), it was dropping 1.5 metres of snow on the hills. Too windy for skydiving and too snowy for skiing.

We decided it was time to make a move; we had skiied, drunk coffee at nice places (Fusion), tried to skydive, gone walking, and stared for hours at Lake Wanaka. The most obvious destination was Queenstown. We checked out, late as always, from the Purple Cow. Despite it being quite a nice hostel, I felt decidedly underdressed compared to the Japanese snowboarders who looked SOOOO COOOOOL! I might as well have been wearing flecked trousers and luminous socks compared to the bleeding-edge fashion of these snow warriors.

I rang up 'Southern Laughter' hostel. There might have been some laughter at some point in time, but it had long since passed along with dry rooms and a clean kitchen. We were in the outbuilding along with the people who work there, and when they arent working they are getting very pissed and getting to know each other intimately on the sofa in the lounge. I might not have minded if I hadnt been woken by the loud drunken conversations or have to sit in the soggy patch when I had my breakfast in the morning. Actually, there was no soggy patch, as I interrupted mid-coitus in the night when I need the loo. The dribbling but sheepish couple had faces red enough to glow in the dark. I was happy.

Generally though, I think Queenstown is overrated, full of kids wanting to be cool but not knowing how to go about it, and assuming spending money on cRaZy activities will help. Me, I plumped for the Nevis highwire, and the jetboating, as I think that will make me cool. Unfortunately the jetboating was off as all the rivers were swollen.

We made up for it in Q'town by eating and drinking well. There are some cool cafe's and eateries. 'Vudu' did some very nice pastries and cakes, while 'The Cow' on Cow Lane (or Cow La as Cathy wanted to call it) does excellent pizzas, and if you ask for some bread to start with, you get a loaf, a WHOLE loaf, freshly baked, with butter, an EC mountain of it. Cathy also did an awesome meal of roast veg with roast nuts and sesame seeds served with pitta, aoili, red pepper humous, garlic mushrooms and couscous.

This helped settle me down for the day of the big bad bungy. This was a fairly sleepless night, what with fear and drunk people and noise and rain and a full stomach. I awoke crotchety, tired and not very eager to do the jump. We checked out at Southern Laughter (hahahahahhaha. not) and went to the AJ Hackett office. There, others were stood, looking nervous or backslapping each other in fake bravado.

The coach arrived and the assortment of idiots got on board. An American, some english, including a foolish girl from R.A.M.C., some koreans, including a very brave girl, and an Irish couple. Everyone had the grin of fear on their face, myself included. After a 4 wheel drive up the hill we caught our first glimse of the contraption. The Gondola is suspended by four wire cables over a canyon. A small trolly takes you out to the gondola then the preparations begin. The cuffs are put on then you watch the first few jumpers. Its a long way down and their screams fade quickly as they descend. It came to be my turn, and I sit in the comfy chair so they can attach the bungy. One of the guys plays with you, in the sense of testing your resolve, and playing mind games. His buddy mentions it might time to revamp the rope, which I smiled and tried to look relaxed about. Like a lamb to the slaughter. I have to say a few words for the tape which I do. Nothing profound, "I havent done anything wrong ever! Its not my time!" Then I jump.

I thought, really thought I was going to die. I screamed but then couldnt. The only sound was of rushing wind. I kept falling, it felt like an eternity, and I could see the ground coming to meet me but it wasnt going to shake hands. Then the wind stops and your body relaxes a little. Your ankles try to swell up to make sure you dont fall through the cuffs, but then the elation at having missed a messy demise coarses through your veins along with the adrenalin that has been released in unethical corporation sized amounts. Only then did I start feeling the pain caused by a missing lump from my shin. The bungy clip and flicked and hit my shin, causing a considerable amount of pain. Ahhh, the buzz of dangerous sports.

The rest of the day was a blur, and I didnt notice the face of the bloke who was staring at me, only that I was ready for a fight. It turns out he remembers me and after a bit of prompting I remember him. It was Shannon, from my old cadet unit. He remembers Colour Emmett, while I have to admit to only remembering a small boy in a badly fitting uniform. I certainly found it hard to recognise the bloke who was taller than me, wearing a beard and yak coat, scarf and some kind of ethnic beanie.

We had a good chat and caught up on the Eastleigh gossip. he was with a friend from Boyatt Wood, that bastion of middle-class in the railway terraced last century museum that is Eastleigh. It was very very strange to bump into someone I know at the end of the world, but even stranger when I had blood made of rocket fuel and lumps missing from my leg.

I need less of this excitement. I got Cathy on the insurance as I was a bit of a liability, and she drove my battered tingly body to Te Anau, for some peace and quiet.

too much snow

Mount Cook has a very small village at the foot of it. The views are comparable to being an ant in 50 metre high white sand dunes. That doesnt work either. The glaciers bring boulders down the hillside, the hills are carved as easily as cheese, the air is so clean it feels like it was made fresh that morning, the mountains so intimidating that they would suffice as a fortress.

The YHA in Mount Cook village is lovely, built in an alpine style, with a sauna, TV lounge, great kitchen and amazing views from the rooms. We met up with an Irish couple that had been staying at Vagabonds in Christchurch, and also attempted a couple of walks. The previous snowfall had made walking dangerous and many tracks were closed due to avalanche risk. This was to be a recurring theme over the next few weeks, but it didnt stop ius this day from walking up to a good viewpoint along a valley up to Mount Cook.

After the stroll, we got going and headed to Wanaka. Its a quiet town on the south end of a large lake. The lake itself doglegs, so you only see part of it. There was a problem on arriving; again down to the snow, there wasnt any room in any hostel or most motels as skiers and snowboarders had turned up for the fresh powder. We hunted high and low until we found a place with room and we had to resort to Lakeview Motel. This ended up being an excellent compromise. We had a veranda, and a studio flat, with TV, small sweet kitchen and amazing views, definitely better than those in town and we got the evening light while the rest of town had slipped into darkness far earlier.

We got aquainted with the town, and saw what there was to do. Skiing, which has never really appealed to me, appeared on the menu. Skydiving also made an appearance. We booked the skydiving and rang about the skiing. Skydiving for the sunday and skiing was organised for Monday and Tuesday. In the end the skydiving here was called off; another recurring theme. Instead we paid a visit to the Warbirds museum and the Puzzle town. Both on the outskirts of town, the former is a museum storing WWII planes and the latter is a collection of puzzles including optical illusions and a very very very large maze. I fell over in the optical illusion room and it could have happenned to anyone. There was a room full of holograms which were ok, but there was an optical illusion room with moulded heads of famous people. It meant their eyes really did follow you around the room, and surprisingly the image that was the most disturbing was Mother Theresa. I never thought I would get to say that she was disturbing, but Einstein, Churchill, Mandela and Beethoven were a joy to see compared to her.

The roast lamb cooked that evening was surprisingly good considering the size of the oven. I think Barbie had been the previous owner. We needed the feed as the next two days of skiing was energy intensive.

Our first lesson on the Monday was with a Maori skiier; you cant have preconceptions in this place. He was great and very relaxed. I seemed to go ok, while Cathy having skiied before, brushed up and was used as the model for us. b*(&%. The afternoon lesson was with another very relaxed guy, american, and looked far too cool. By the end of Monday I could snow plough, sorry wedgie, and wedgie turn. Whats more I LIKED it. I never thought I would say it, considering those Ski Sunday shows of past on BBC showing dreary downhill skiing had put me off. Its great, but I had started having a sense of humour failure when I got bored of falling over, especially at the top of the ski lift.

Tuesday was far better as I tried different runs and had a couple of runs where I DIDNT FALL OVER! Things were going well.

true blue

Cathy has arrived and having someone to travel with would not doubt be interesting. We are staying in Vagabonds, a hostel on Worcester St in Christchurch. The first few days were spent relaxing and allowing Cathy to get over jet lag. The obligatory punting trip was done, powered by a particularly humerous punter, or at least I think thats what he was called. His patter was good and while we cruised up and down the river he gave a guided tour in both English and Japanese. While I was impressed with his multilingual capabilities, his Kiwi accent on Japanese would have allowed him to play in Star Wars, with "kiwanofuji Jabba nosha" and "Skywalker campai no kaywa bimo moshi no Jedi" seemed to be two of his popular phrases

when describing the architecure of Christchurch.

Seeing as the weather was good, we had a walk round the botanic gardens, plus drinking, getting my boots repaired seeing as they dont make Boots Combat High like they used to, and staring at maps for hours saying things like "Well, we could drive there" then having a cup of tea and forgetting about "there".

Once a few sights were exhausted and knowing that Cathy didnt have a lot of time in New Zealand, we packed and left and drove to Lake Tekapo. Its a fair drive, but we stopped off at a few towns along the way, mainly to go to the toilet, drink tea or get some petrol. Hardly riveting but it passes the time.

By the time we arrived at Lake Tekapo it was dark and we struggled to find the YHA, particularly if you drive to fast and miss the 'town' completely. Down by the lake, we enter the YHA and were met by, nobody. There wasnt anyone behind the counter, so I investigate round the back and get accosted by Jim and his dog. Apparently this dog is a man eater; many backpackers have been lost due to the vicious streak and we were castigated for disturbing this dangerous animal.

Jim, the dogs worried owner is an old gentle spoken Scotsman, who we had originally thought it to be a lost cause for trying to befriend, especially after the initial dog-centred introduction, but Cathy and I played tag team friendship with him. He was an ex para and despite his years (60+) continued to skydive; he had loved his time in the Army and it had given him an interest in travel. I moved back and let Cathy go onto him with her knowledge of Scotland. In the end he kept coming back for more, and opened up without hesitation. He was learning Japanese, and loved living in New Zealand, and we were both glad we met Jim.

While our social skills were being put to use on Jim, we thought it best to exercise by climbing Mount John. This affords some of the best views of Lake Tekapo. Its difficult to walk when you are glued to the vision that is below you, and the lake is quite breathtaking. Its a similar blue to a lagoon, caused by rock flour suspended in the water. This rock flour is brought down in the streams from glaciers. I learnt that on a poster in the hostel, so I suppose it must be true. Whatever, the lake doesnt look real.

The second morning we awoke to find that snow had been dumped around the lake, reducing colours still further. Instead of green and brown hills with snowy peaks, surrounding a blue lake and clear blue sky, there was white hills, blue lake blue sky. Thats it. Breathtaking. Cant describe it. There isnt any point. I saw it and its in my head. My brain wasnt able to cope with a few that had so few colours in it.

We paid a little visit to the old church by the edge of the lake. Its a very pretty church but I was starting to feel the graveyard wasnt big enough to bury the coach loads of loud tourists crawling like ants over the scenery. The working dog monument is nearby and an indicator of how rural a community New Zealand is, where the working dog is held in such high esteem.

Onwards and southwards to lunch by Lake Pukaki, a slightly less blue cousin of Lake Tekapo. We found the proper picnic spot, but again the coaches had ejaculated the demented hords of cramped tourists. We backtracked, and found a gravel track down to the lake and brewed up a cup of tea. Ahhh, peace.

Once we had absorbed the scenery a little more we headed to Mount Cook.

madness, absolute madness

This mornings cup of coffee just didnt hit the spot. I guess after yesterdays relaxation I needed a bit more of a kick. This was easily resolved by ringing 'Thrillseekers Canyon' who happen to dabble in a bit of bungy jumping. Why not? I had a relaxing day yesterday in the Springs at Hanmer, and the bungy is on the way out of town, and Im going to Christchurch.

I didnt think it would take much in the way of courage. The handing over of $100NZ wasnt too painful, the terrace view of the bridge that crosses the canyon didnt really fill me with too much trepidation, the walk to the aformentioned bridge that I would be later jumping off wasnt filled with dread although I felt a slight connection with members of the French royal family who had walked to the guillotine. I became slightly more nervous when stood on the edge of the platform, feeling the weight of the bungy cord between my feet and peered over the edge, but I still had the smile on my face.

That all changed when the ever such nice chap told me to jump off the bridge. I did, I screamed. I shouted, "Holy fucking cow". Im sorry, thats all I could think of, and it was completely spontaneous. I wanted to shout, "Kamikaze" or quote some poetry, but instead my brain had lost all sensation of the rest of my body and I was facing death. My brain rebelled and squirmed its way to my feet to get away from the fast approaching ground, and my feet had somehow found hands and were holding on to the ankle straps.

Oh yeah the view of the gorge was great, I love rocks and will become a geologist.

I write this the day after Cathy has arrived and she has found a 134m bungy in a town called Cromwell. This stamps all over the 35m jump I did at Hanmer Springs. She wants to film and no doubt study my reaction, as she is curious what my initial words will be as I fall, thinking there is some automatic language response to fear and feels that my reaction might provide some valuable insight. Me, Im crapping myself, and Im afraid the 'F' word will make an important contribution during my 8 seconds of freefall that is available at this 134 metre beast. To put into context, its taller than most buildings in Canary Wharf being equivalent to about 40 storeys. This is just stupid. 8 seconds, thats a book, a biscuit or a blokes phone call. These are all much more productive than jumping again.

One is not amused, or at least the majority of my neurons arent. There is one stupid one at the back going "Yes YES YESSSS, JUMP JUMP JUMP! JUMP!". Im trying not to listen to it, but its got a loud voice. We should get to Cromwell in a week or so. What joy.

the nanny

A gentle day today. I drove to Hanmer Springs, a hot springs town (hence the name McFly) inland from Christchurch and Kaikura, but between the two towns, so an ideal place to stop. Im taking a very sedate route through the South Island, and finding it to be the most stimulating and least stressful way.

I got there after a gentle drive through the hills and arrived just after lunch, finishing off the last of my Morrocan mess stew. I had plenty of time and the weather was sunny, so I wandered to the hot pools. The pools are large, hot and all smell of sulphur, especially the sulphur pools. Funny that. Its warm, bubbly, relaxing and beautiful. The place is landscaped like a random wild swimming pool; a number of rock pools are linked by gushing hot spring water, 3 hexagonal hot pools are arranged outside the changing area, designed for warming up, the sulphur pools are off to one side and a lot hotter than the other pools, and raised, overing a view of the whole area. Steam slowly rises from these, and the water overflows to the next pool and

the pool after that. This is all cheesy but it knows it.

I think this was the first bath I have had in months, and certainly the most luxurious I have had in years.

The town of Hanmer Springs also seems to be the ideal place for business conferences, as the majority of people at the hostel were staying for just that. They all worked for 'The Warehouse', a national bargain hypermarket in NZ, and decided that the best thing to do before the conference was to play drinking games the evening before. Sounds good, especially if Im invited, which I was.

After a couple of hours though, I really had to eat, and if you stop drinking, you dont really start again, especially if they had moved on to spirits. That left me talking to . . .

The Nanny

The Nanny has been the worst person I have encountered so far. The theives I never encountered, immigration staff are just doing their job, pissed kids in hostels are just having fun, alcoholic managers in hostels have issues that are their own problems that only they can solve, but Mrs Nanny was no Mary Poppins. I was so angry after meeting her that I wrote about her in my journal.

"A displeasing face; this was my first impression. This was someone who, while enjoyed travelling, did not learn anything from anyone on her journey."

"I have never enjoyed listening to a story that begins 'I have a great interest in my hobbie blah blah'. This to my ears sounds like, 'I am trying to impress you with my wide range of skills and know you will be suitably impressed' when in fact they really want to say 'I dont think I have a very interesting life, so I will dress it up so you might like me'". Plus why call it a hobby? If you collect stamps you dont say " I have an

interesting hobby of collecting the labels used to notify the postal service that one has paid for carriage."

The melodramtic raise of eyebrows to convey shock or to indicate to the recipient of her monologue that now was an appropriate moment to exhibit a gasp or nod in agreement with The Nanny and her opinion. These eyebrows covered critical eyes, yet they werent perceptive enough to watch the boredom creep across my face, only show a look of disgust as I rebelled and showed an opinion opposite to that which was correct. ie hers.

Conceited, blindly ignorant to her own ignorance, a person who pointed, not just to indicate, but there was venom in her veins as she held the gesture, she made disparaging comments on her travelling companion, she patronised, interrupted, criticised, corrected and gave education where none was wanted. Being the polite sort I bit my tongue but you ever think of employing a nanny, she is ideal if you are looking to crush the spirit of your children and for them to suffer inadequacy complexes throughout the whole of their life. Her arrogance and narrowmindedness was poisonous, and no matter how hard I tried, which was more than she did, I could never see her point of view.

There is more, but I think I got a little carried away. Hanmer springs is a nice town though, and the YHA I stayed at is clean but lacks character, apart from the one I met.

flipper and me are like THAT

I guess you could say it was a nice day today. I was a little lazy and Dave who runs TopSpot backpackers rang "Dolphin Encounters" for me, and booked on the 1pm trip. Dave is a top guy and worth staying at Topspot just to see his vinyl collection. The view from the lounge is breathtaking as it takes in the town of Kaikura, the blue water in the bay, and the snowy peaks of the Kaikura range.

I walked down the hill into Kaikura high street, after a bit more kauri bowl polishing, and went into the Dolphin place, got the wetsuit, undersuit, hood, bootees, gloves and fins. Something tells me the sea is a bit cold here. About 25 of us sit in for the briefing, followed shortly by climbing aboard the bus which takes us to the two boats at the wharf.

After about 30 minutes sailing and listening to radio chatter, we pinpoint one group of dolphins. There were two groups of Dusky Dolphins, 500 heading south very quickly, about another 20 minutes away, and 200 fairly close by. Time meant that we went for the smaller closer group and it was thought they might go south anyway, as the dolphins were moving away from a pod (i think) of Orca coming from the north.

We spotted them not long after and tried to catch their attention. Singing, diving and trying to make eye contact does the trick. They swim past you, leap from the water, circle you, play diving games with you, circle you some more, play with you, and you wonder why anyone would want to hunt them or hurt them. Dolphins are cool. They play, eat fish, have sex, swim, jump out of the water, play around, have large families, hang out with their mates, and they are interested in humans as long as the humans dont swallow sea water accidentally and throw up in the sea.

I was sick all the way back to harbour, along with a tough looking but green aussie and a big american. My lunch of Maltesers and saltwater hadnt done the job, but it hadnt spoilt the day or year. Dolphins are great, dolphins are lovely and they are my friends. They just dont find me interesting for long.

The countryside here is worthy of a good explore. The Department of Conservation (DOC) look after the national parks, and there is one near Nelson called Abel Tasman, after the explorer. Its the smallest national park but it has one of the great walks in; a coastal walk that is set along the granite hills following the coastline, with the occasional foray into the rainforest interior.

I had been wanting to do some proper tramping and had got my chance. I planned to walk over three days, taking the inland track first, as it was harder and I expected some good views. I wzas rewarded well for my efforts and also knew that I had planned to make the following days a lot easier allowing myself to enjoy the stroll more. The DOC provides huts which you can book in advance or pay on the day, although the latter doesnt always guarantee you a bed if busy and there is a surcharge. The huts have bunks, a heater and a cooking area, filtered water (as there is giardia in the river water) and cold showers. This was far more luxury than I was expecting so I appreciated it.

I appreciated the crystal clear skies, the loneliness during the day as you would rarely encounter anyone for hours, the beauty of the scenery, the silence apart from birdsong and the sound of wind in the trees, the warmth of the sun which led me to lay like a lizard on a boulder to soak it in, the feel of the ocean as it sooths your weary feet in the evening, and the sharpness of the shower in the morning before you set off.

Alone with your thoughts in a beautiful place was a wonderful thing to do, and I hope to be doing more of it.

When I returned to Nelson I checked my mail and double checked the time that Cathy was coming to visit. Another good experience is tramping with someone, and being able to share the load of cooking stoves, food, water etc, plus being able to ignore people when you want as you have someone else to talk to. Not that I had needed to often, but it will be a refreshing break. Like seeing trev and Maria, its also bloody good spending time with friends, and for all the fun meeting new people, spending time with mates is good.

It could become a habit though, what with Daryls wedding in December, the London quiz masters visiting Melbourne in October and Ed wanting to dive the Great Barrier Reef sometime while Im in Australia. It doesnt get much better than this, meeting cool new people and meeting up with old.

from the south of the north to the north of the south

Moving on is always a curious thing. Staying at Stillwater Lodge in Mana was lovely. A very friendly German couple, Anja and Tom, have taken over the running of the place only recently, but I still think they be able to keep the 95% BBH rating that the hostel has already earnt. Tom and I played pool until about midnight, then I drove down to the docks, after being breathalysed outside the hostel. The Police are pretty strict for drink driving as its a major problem here. As you drive along a road you see both wilting and fresh flowers adorning many many crosses; a provoking sight.

I got to the harbour at 12, for the 0130 ferry. Its early but cheap, but that doesnt really matter as its cancelled. I sleep in the car at the docks, being careful not to park on the train tracks that criss-cross the tarmac. I can see the headlines, "Semi naked tourist escapes after car crushed at docks", "And we go to Paul Mileg at the docks who has some amateur footing . . ".

All ferries are cancelled on Tuesday.

Earliest ferry I can catch is Wednesday night. It'll have to do, but I wasnt planning to be this long in Wellington. Saying that, despite not wanting to spend any more time in big towns, Welly is alright. I like it. It has a buzz about it. Some of the people can be a bit snotty and some a little pretentious, but the woman who did the BEST homemade humous in Courtney, she was COOL, and the cafe espressoholic or something does excellent salads.

I had to sleep and wash somewhere so Tuesday afternoon I checked into Rosemere, ( I think it was named such ) or maybe Rowena, but its the other hostel on Brougham Street. Crap kitchen, good paintwork, cold rooms, but off-street parking. They also have very nice showers.

All I want to do is cross into the south island though, and Im fustrated. I go and see "24 hour party people" and think its a good film, but wish I'd had the bottle to stand up and dance during the film, as that is what needs to be done. It has one of the best soundtracks I have heard in a long time, but then thats because its from my yoof.

Im still waiting for the ferry, but passing time by reading, eating, sleeping. Eventually I wander down the docks on Wednesday night, after ringing to check they are running. We wait some more; the ships are delayed, the weather is still bad but the crossing will happen. I watch "About a Boy" on the ferry, trying to kill more time until I get to Picton and SEE things in the south.

Im the last car off the ferry, is someone trying to tell me I should have stayed on the north Island? Fortunately I had already booked through to "the Villa". I think Carol Smilie would call this a "delightful little ornately carved wooden victorian house". It is so I wont argue with her. There is an open courtyard, lit by white xmas lights ,centred by a large open stove, a spa pool in the corner, and large patio doors off to the dorms. Im given hot apple crumble and ice-cream when I arrive which is lovely. They had golden nuggets of something in the crumble and I never did swap recipes so I suppose I will never know what they were. There was a free breakfast in the morning, and apart from it having some of the hottest, strongest showers, warmest rooms, comfiest beds, beautiful house and close proximity to the hostel make it one of the best places I have stayed in.

I leave early in the morning and take the coast road to Nelson. This is far more picturesque than the main road, plus I get to see some of Marlborough Sounds, which is idyllic. Im staying in the Travellers Arms hostel. I think. I cant remember, as I spent about an hour choosing a place. I should go for the first one, but I dont want some large rambling hostel, I want to be able to wash clothes as, like all stupid backpackers, I seem to have a fixation with the small things. These are.

• Laundry
• Warm Rooms
• Clean comfy beds
• Big Kitchens with lots of plates, pans, fridges and storage space
• thousands of dancing girls
• hot powerful showers
• a comfy chair/hammock to read a book in

The hostel I have found has all of the above with the exception of dancing girls, but it does have both many comfy chairs AND a hammock, a South American one at that, it also has a nice fire, a huge clean kitchen, and only a few bunk beds. Is this whats important to me now? I used to be concerned with deadlines, council tax bills, customer meetings, latest CDs to come out, which is the best pub that month in Brighton, trying to go to the gym, and trying out a new wine from Oddbins. Its all different. I like it.

a load of bull

I've got progressively more prejudiced and opinionated over the last few weeks and have come up with some solutions to world problems; if Australia becomes a republic, as I feel they ought to and more importantly want to, then they can take the Union flag out of their flag. It would just have 6 stars and I think that'll look silly, plus cost a fortune in changing all the touristic tat, teatowels, hat etc that have the flag on.

Britain is to blame for most of the disputes and wars in the world at the moment. Considering that Cyprus, Israel, Afghanistan, Fiji, India (including Pakistan), Burma, Australia, Canada and Zimbabwe all used to be British Territories or dependants, only Canada is in a decent state. I think we might be to blame.

So I have left the north and Whangarei behind for a while. I stayed at Orewa, a dull seaside town, north of Auckland, Hamilton, a slightly less dull town south of Auckland, New Plymouth, a dull town with a big snowy dormant volcano in the back garden, and Im now in Wellington. having stopped at Wanganui and Bulls.

Hamilton was dull, but I was able to do a bit of shopping, and got a sleeping bag. Foolishly or perhaps not so foolishly I left my sleeping bag at home, thinking rightly that I wasnt going to need it in the pacific islands, but I have wished I had brought it once I reached New Zealand.

New Plymouth was pretty much the same, but I got the car serviced, as a light had lit up on the dashboard, and I didnt know what it meant. It seemed sensible to get the oil changed as well, before doing a long bit of driving in the south island. The hostel in New Plymouth was lovely. Called Shoestrings Backpackers, on the edge of town, it had a large warm fire, nice kitchen, and its run by very friendly people. It even had a sauna which was ideal after a cold day out on Mount Taranaki. This is the dormant volcano at the back of town.

While I got the car serviced, and a pair of trousers repaired, I decided to go up the mountain, or at least as far as I could get. Its peak is at 2600m, but considering its winter, and you need an ice axe and crampons to reach it during this time of year, I was content with ascending as far as I could. I got dropped off at the DOC centre and got a map and the latest weather report; it wasnt good so I took a route that would get me halfway up the hill. I was glad I did, as by 1000m up I was having to kick into the icy snow to keep my grip on the steep slopes. At 1500m I stopped for lunch inside the Tarahangi mountain hut, and the weather closed in. Where I had been able to at least look down the mountain, I couldnt see 100m in front of me. Not terrible but not nice if you are on your own, adn I was glad to have the map. I did think about trying to reach the summit, but I saw 6 guys, with mountains of equipment, crampons, axes, ropes, and what looked like really warm jackets, moving very slowly up the mountain. If they were taking their time and new what they were doing, I didnt think there was much point in me having a go. I made a partial circumference around the mountain, above the snowline, sometimes crawling out of snow where I had sunk up to my chest, and wished i had got here in the summer. This is one of the few proper mountains in the world, where you can reach the summit and back in 8 hours, depending on conditions. Today they just weren't good conditions.

I left New Plymouth, glad of the exercise but wanting to get to the south island. I could'nt decide whether to stop on the way to Wellington, or to see if I could reach it that day. I stopped in a place called Cardiff, and seeing as I was born in Cardiff, Wales I wanted to see what similarities there were. I dont know who its fortunate for, but there were none.

Wanganui didnt interest me much, but the town of Bulls did. The place has a particular sense of humour and have enjoyed coming up with new names for the shops, ie. the Church is "Forgive-a-bull" and the supermarket is "Comest-a-bull". Hilarity.

Palmerstone North didnt sound very enticing, so I had a look at Levin, dull, otaki, dull, so before I knew it, I was on the outskirts of Wellington.

There didnt seem to be much room in the hostels around town, and I got one to ring up "Beethovens" for me. They had beds so I wandered over. Beethovens is or at least used to be very famous. Allan, the owner, is a world famous musician, but he is renowned by all backpackers for being exceedingly anti-smoking and generally quite a rude person. This is all hearsay of course. His assistant on the other hand is the epitomy of insanity, but then thats what comes from being an alcoholic. He leaves the hostel in a mess, the dogs unfed, the breakfast burnt, he gets so drunk he threw 2 girls out of the hostel at 4am, then asked people in the morning "did the two girls leave in the night?", and the place is basically falling apart. Despite being in TV documentaries a few years ago, this place should be bulldozed. There are rude and eccentric handwritten notices around the whole building, piped classical music is switched on at 0700 and gets turned off sometimes at night, a jar labelled "sperm donation" is positioned in the hall, which does contain a few used condoms, there are many busts of Beethoven around the place, some have a jaunty-angled tinsel halo, the wiring in the place is very Heath Robinson, and finally the place is cold and some rooms stink. Stay there if you fancy an experience.

It was handy for one aspect; being able to go into Wellington, and have a little bit of a drink. Thursday 22nd I went to an Irish pub (no fiddle nailed to the wall), then a bar with live jazz. There I met some hairdressers dancing around handbags. They insisted on me joining them. We went to another bar and met some US guy who had been working on the modelmaking and prosthetics in Lord of the Rings, and some Kiwi guy who invited us back to his house. a group of 5 and only 2 people know names, and only for each other. It got weird, excessive quantities of alcohol were consumed, and at 5am, I make my excuses and left, to be awoken 2 hours later by Mr Beeth Oven. At least he was deaf and didnt have to put up with his music all day and all night.

I got out of Wellington and decided to stay in Stillwaters hostel, in Mana, about 20km north of Wellington. Its a simple drive into town, and the place has free internet, a lovely kitchen, a bathroom, wait for it, WITH A BATH. Not just an ordinary bath, but its a jacuzzi. The large TV room with leather settees can be entered from the dining room cum snooker room, or the enclosed terrace, or the balcony. You can hire kayaks, and its about 50m from the waters edge. This is more like it.

The ferry to the south island is booked and I go Monday night/Tuesday morning, arriving in Picton at about 5am.

food, glorious food bro'

Things I have been eating.

Fillet steak, fried with garlic, cloves and cream, with roasted gold kumara, yams, new potatoes and red onions, served with a spinach salad.

Maggi noodles, chicken flavour, adding finely chopped spinach and spring onions. It almost looks like a takeaway meal.

Rowlys famous purple chicken, (chicken marinated in red wine and rosemary, cook in the juices), served with potato and kumara rosti (twice this has been a grey burnt disaster), and creamed parsnips with chopped red capsicums.

Roasted vegetable soup (kumara, potato, pumkin, yellow capsicum)

brie and berries toasted on curry bread.

chillied creamy scrambled eggs on soy and linseed bread.

Rowlys special italian baked beans (tin of beans adding fresh basil, oregano, tomatoes and a little cheese) on toast.

Farmhouse apple crumble, normal crumble mix, using white and brown flour, unrefined sugar, molasses, and muesli, (minus the nuts and dried banana), pour some golden syrup on the apples, add half a cup of water, maybe a little cinnamon, then pour on cumble mix,

sprinking some muscavado sugar on top.

peanut butter on toast.

marmite on toast.

cheese on toast.

margerine on toast.

toast and tea.

thats enough of that.

go the warriors!

Trev wanted to get connected to the internet. He's been using someone else connection for a while and wants to start sending emails but the luddite in him rejects the idea of it being a simple process, and asks for me to do something about it. I have rather enjoyed ignoring computers lately, and the last few weeks have meant I either havent wanted to email, havent been near an PC or havent had the time especially if I have been washing dishes, so I wasnt looking forward to sorting it.

I walked round town to find out what I could about ISP's, and on my return to the Mezzanine cafe, I found the couple from Brighton eating at Dr Nash's table. After the directions I had given them when we had stayed in Opononi, they had driven through Whangarei and found it without difficulty. I guess "opposite Pac-n-save" is pretty simple but its nice when someone listens to me and understands me. I know what some of my directions are like.

Warwick turned up early afternoon and we picked up Jackie and Stu and headed to Auckland for the game.

I dont know anything about Rugby league and I havent learnt anything since, but I think it was a good game. The Warriors won and the best argument I have heard when talking about money, American foreign policy or how much house prices are around the world is "Go the Warriors!". The crowd was good, we had beers and plastic hotdogs, it was cold and it was my first Rugby League match, so it was similar conditions to my first football match (Aston Villa vs Notts County in 1982, Notts won 3-1). The cheerleaders were fantastic and Im having one delivered shortly. The hits were hard and one guy died, but I think he might have been a spectator.

It was an awesome experience, with a great atmosphere, far friendlier than a football match back home. There were kids everywhere and I thought it would be unsafe for them but then I was seeing it with British eyes; all the violence was on the pitch, which made it an even more gladitatorial affair. The Bulldogs are top of the table had a 17 game unbeaten run, but this was stopped by the Warriors who are 4th in the table. I think Im going to be following the Warriors from now on, and I never thought I'd have a Rugby League team to follow. We drove home happy, slightly drunk, and cold.

Starting to get itchy feet again. The Shaolin Monks are in Auckland on Tuesday and I also want to go to the Bay of Islands. Not sure what to do or which direction to go in, although I should go south soon. This is written on Trevs laptop and Im wanting to steal it off him, but two or three weeks of washing dishes doesnt seem a very fair exchange.

guns are bad mmmkay

Friday, only a few hours to kill before heading back and I want to do something. There was a poster in the hostel for a small-bore rifle range up in the hills above Kaitaia, and I gave the guy, Pete, a ring and went up there. Now, I have always been suspicious about guns and rifles, as their sole purpose is to take life. A gun collector is a different breed altogether.

Pete is a farmer and has taken over the land from his father who died a year or two ago. He had a friend, lets call him John. John used to help on the farm, and was Petes good friend, but Pete thought John was a bit dodgy as John had got his wife by stealing her off another man. Thats mates though. Johns wife got cancer and was slowly dying, and on the day she died, Pete finds out that John has been having an affair with Petes wife while his own wife was dying, and they were planning to take Petes family farm off him.

What would you do? Pete has always shot guns, hunted with them and collected them for years. He knows how to kill things. He thinks bad thoughts about these friends of his. What does he do? He thinks about killing his wife and old friend, knowing which rifle would do the job, but keeps his farm going, gets his head together and meets someone new. In the end John gambled that his dead wife would leave him money but has actually written him out of the will, and is now penniless and without friends. I reckon he got what he deserved.

I dont know if I would have that sort of self control, and he goes down as another person that has impressed me. Many people have killed and been killed for less.

We spent the morning talking and shooting. Its been a while since I last shot a rifle but I soon got back into it, and got my grouping down to about an inch; not great but I havent shot in years. Pete has old Enfields from carbines to No.4's, SKS, Japanese rifles, M1, M14, M16, an SLR, Hungarian rifles, Swiss, Swedish and more. We spent most of our time with single shot and semi-automatic .22 rifles. Here shooting is a necessary activity in killing vermin like killing possums and also killing wild pigs, so its part of the rural culture. It isnt made into a sport with nice red jackets, 200 hounds, Pimms, and a trumpet, but in mud, rain and done in working clothes.

Anyway, I did get pleasure out of shooting, which worried me. I thought I had got rid of that side of me, but its still there. It was good FUN shooting, and i liked the sound of the falling plates as I blat away with a semi-auto rifle with fat scope.

Time to head back to treehugging and veggie food.

Trev and Maria werent going to be able to go to the Rugby match as they had a big booking for Saturday night, so it was just me meeting up with Warwick, Jackie and Stu. Jenny and Zoe were coming later as Jenny had loads to do, including some business in Ponsonby.

not 90 mile beach

I have never been one for coach journeys, and while I could have driven on 90 mile beach, having got the car stuck in mud once, I didnt want to risk it again especially with a tide coming in. The people on the bus were; two English girls, a Dutch couple with their two young children, and their parents. The couple had just bought a motel on the edge of Kaitaia.

Sonny, our driver and tour guidetold us various facts about Northland. Some of it was interesting, some of it was tosh, but then thats what you get for coach tours. I hadnt realised that a lot of Yugoslavs came to New Zealand and became gumdiggers, and that they got called Dalmations as this was the area of Europe they were from. I hadnt realised that gun, Kauri gum, the deposits of sap from the Kauri tree that are found in the ground, used to be as valuable as gold. I hadnt realised that Cape Reinga is the place considered by the Maoris to be the physical point on the earth in New Zealand where the departed souls begin their journey to the afterlife. I hadnt realised that 90 mile beach is actually nearer 90 kilometre beach, but then thats just being pedantic.

It was a good day out and took the stress out of driving along the beach and down the main road, and of having the car broken into if I had left it at any point. We went toboganing, on tobogans down the side of a sand dune and the coach was able to drive down a stream to the beach. I think my car would have become part of the beach if I had attempted it.

Still, it was a long shower to remove all the sand.

bunch of tree huggin' hippy crap

I got a small fortune in organic produce and it felt similar to going away to Uni, as Maria plied me with all kinds of goodies, that I was sure to leave in various hostels. I knew I had to get back to Whangarei by Friday night as we were all going down to watch the Warriors play the Bulldogs. I havent been to a Rugby match before, let alone a Rugby League match in New Zealand, so I was making damn sure Id get back in time.

I thought leaving on Tuesday and head off. I kept changing direction all day, not really sure where I was going. I reached Kawakawa which proclaims to have some world famous toilets. They are interesting, but then I only wanted a piss, and it seems a little extravagant to have such fantastic toilets when the money could be spent on police to stop having your car broken into. Actually they are really nice toilets. There is a really good burger bar opposite with a nice cafe a few shops down. So its worth sitting in one of those and watching people take photos of a toilet. What does it say about a town that decides to sell itself as the town with nice public toilets.

I left and headed east.

Driving along I saw a signpost declaring that a "Historic Site" was to my right. I went up the gravel road and saw a small church. It was shut and not that, um, interesting, so I turned the car around, and got it stuck in the mud. It took me half an hour to get it out and the car and I were both spattered in mud, but the smell of burnt tyres and clutch lingers to this day in the car.

I couldnt decide whether to go to the Kauri forest but I seemed to be making good time so I went through Opononi and made my way through roads that consisted of chicane after chicane. If you took the A272, the Horseshoe pass, Silverstone, Lombard St, and a sine wave, compressed and added them, then laid it for 20 kms through mountains, then you might have an idea how twisty and turny this road was to the Waipau ( spelling?) forest. Here in Waipau there is Tana Mahuta, the largest tree in New Zealand and one of the oldest trees in the world. Its a strongly spiritual tree for the Maoris and it is bigger than breathtaking; its awe-inspiring. Estimated at over 2000 years old, and 18 metres in circumference, its a beast, a big boy and puts you to shame.

Think North American Redwoods with a Maori physique. You could have built a whole ship out of this tree, and unless Im mistaken I think these trees were used for that purpose years ago. The Europeans came and chopped loads down as they are good for houses, but I think they look more impressive in the ground. These trees are big enough to carve a complete staircase in the middle of them. Down the road from Tana Mahutu, there are four more large trees and a couple more within a few kilometres, but there are very few big trees left.

I drove back to Opononi as I noticed a few hostels there. Globetrekkers in Omapere, just south of Opononi is closed at the moment, and was the first place I tried, but the lady there pointed me to House of Harmony, which sounds like a sunday afternoon BBC costume drama, but was a very pleasant hostel. Strangely full of Italians and a couple of people from Brighton, it was friendly and WARM. There was a nice BIG FIRE and they had NICE FURRY CATS that you could use as hot water bottles on your laps.

Right, up early, oooooh about 10 ish and time to head north Ive decided. I dont think Dargaville is a very nice name for a town, hence my decision. I got to some town called Rawene, where I catch the ferry across the water, and get some more petrol before crossing. The man who owns the petrol station is from Chiswick. Why am I surprised? Why does this place both feel like a very foreign country and a very welcoming homely one? Money is in dollars, I dont understand the roadsigns, people talk in tongues and a hot dog isnt what

you think a hot dog is, but blokes from Chiswick sell petrol.

I head to Kaitaia via the back road, as the back road is always my preferred option, stopping off in Ahipara, taking in plenty of stops and listening to Beth Ortens new album. I still cant get over the scenery, and the quaintess and unique styles of the houses. Here you can build a house however you want. No stupid rules for how it should look, or standards to conform to. Rules are mainly for stupid people, or for those who lack originality. Warwick who we visited the week before, has built his own house over the last 20 years. He had electricity put in two years ago, but hadnt needed it before. He has a mezzanine floor in his lounge where his

drum kit is. Pot plants sit on a beam across the kitchen, the wood stove sits near the middle of the lounge heating the whole house, no two windows are the same, with diamond shaped windows, a triangle and a square frame in the lounge. He has a composting toilet that while it doesnt smell of daisys, it doesnt smell of pooh either.

This town was the same, sun decks around houses, outside toilets, expanses of glass, skylights, solar powered, windpowered, built into hollows or sited on ridges. People are building the house they want to live in, not those built by Mr Barrat or Mr Wimpey.

Anyway I got to Kaitaia, booked myself on a coach trip up to Cape Reinga and 90 mile beach for the day after. I had booked into a hostel in Kaitaia and found the owner to be a half Maori, ex army, healer, that burped when he was performing his healing feats. You see something new everyday.

friends and siblings

Sunday, and Im still angry about the car, but what can I do. I have driven around the estate a number of times to see if I can catch me a bored kid with a North Face bag and a stupid grin as he reads my private therapy journal. I went swimming, in the very municipal pool then Trev, Maria and I went to see Warwick and Jenny.

Warwick has a large plot of land, part of which he is wanting to sell to T & M. I wandered over the land, with them describing where things would be like the house, studio, tipi, bus. It seems as if they are planning to have a small festival on the land. We were planning to go up to some hot springs with Jenny but by the time we got back and had a cup of tea, warmed our feet and had a chat, it was getting dark and easier to get home and have roast dinner.

Sunday is always a day for relaxing and not planning anything.

Monday is a day for getting smashed glass in your car replaced. I had been to the glass place the week before to get a stone chip repaired (sometimes I surprise myself with how mundane travelling can be), and they were happy to sort me out a second hand piece of glass and get it fitted. Again it seems that the people of New Zealand arent into making money but are interested in making sure that you get a good deal, come back again, and also talking about themselves a bit while you are there in the shop. That sounds like a crap analysis. The guy who fixed the glass spoke to me. He treated me like a mate he was doing a favour for. I cant remember the last time I got that in a shop in the UK. I have always liked talking to people in shops as it makes life interesting, but its hard work. Here, people want to talk to you, and not just because Im a tourist as I see that

everyone talks to each other. Its all good.

Getting itchy feet though. Car is fixed, and its time to move on a little.

Rang the sibling as it was her birthday. Glad she is back from Afghanistan, although she could have brought me some guns and stuff.

crime scene, some waterfalls

I had a few problems with the CD player I fitted; for some reason it wasnt getting enough power and I instantly questioned my knowledge of the Honda Accord wiring loom. I backed this up by purchasing the Haynes manual for said vehicle, digested and re-digested the circuit diagrams but found that the US and Canadian models they featured had different colours to the Jap import that I had.

Oh joy, I just have to trust myself on my knowledge of wiring. It works but it was being very strange for the first couple of days, as if the car had some sort of immune response against the object I had inserted into its electrics. No matter I thought, as I gave Lisa a lift to her work at the call centre, minus my glorious music. I just hoped that it would fix itself before I drove north to Whangarei. I drove round town, buying things, sorting out insurance and the change of ownership for the car, and by the time of getting back and eating my warm Ponsonby pies, Doug had thought I had left without him.

We made Whangarei in a couple of hours and the journey was a lot easier than previous excursions on the coach. Trev and Maria were happy to see us and had closed up early with their new opening hours. Still being a new place, they are constantly changing the menu and opening hours to find the right balance between maximising income, decent predictable opening hours and having some sort of lifestyle.

The next few days saw me slipping into the same routine of washing dishes, making a mess of coffees and orders, and rolling cutlery. Doug had a chance to see Whangarei then left on the Thursday.

By the time Saturday rolled around I was tired, Im just not cut out for this work thing, and missed the weekly visit to the organic market. I made up for it by doing some shopping, then we all went up to Whangarei falls, a tranquil spot on the outskirts of town. After marvelling at the waterfall and walking through the forest surrounding it, we went back to my car and noticed that it had been broken into. Having the glass smashed is a pain, but the worst bit was having my journal stolen which was in my bag. I had poems, japanese writing, stories, email addresses, recipies, drawings, and like photos or limbs the journal was fairly irreplacable.

A woman had spotted a Maori looking kid/youth/piece of shite hanging around my car and as he had walked off, she had followed in her car. She lost him but came back to the car park and let me know what she had seen, let her kids look after my car while she gave me a lift to the place where she saw the thief/toe-rag/vermin last. I ran around the housing estate where she saw him, but it was a pointless exercise apart from allowing me to let off steam. what was nice that while I was annoyed at having my car broken into, someone was around to restore your faith in people and help you out. The lady was very kind and apologetic, even though it wasnt her fault, so while I was angry with the scum/bored kid/outcast who had broken into the car, I was happy to meet the woman who had given chase, looked after my car and tried to help me catch him.

No matter. The waterfall was nice.