back at the brown kiwi

Auckland; a city that while beautiful is fairly uninspiring compared with the rest of the country. I came back to the Brown Kiwi as I enjoyed it there last time, and again found it welcoming and pleasant. The people there, the majority of which are British, are nice and I don't feel like Im in the middle of some hormone fuelled school disco with a bunch of kids on their first time away from home, but still the washing up doesnt always get done. I was here to 'get things done' as I now had a mission; a car, an Aussie visa, laundry and a shower.

While I was there that week, Phil went and came back, Charlie had got herself a job at GPK, Sarah was still slaving over soap imported from Littlehampton in the Body Shop on Queens Street, Mick was preparing for Thailand, Sarah was pining over Em and throwing herself into bedmaking, while I remained completely undecided as to what I should do next.

I finally made the Australian Consulate before it shut. It has since moved from 132-138 Quay St to 194 ish Quay St, into the Price Waterhouse Cooper Building. Tuesday afternoon I walk in and ask for the forms to apply for a working holiday visa, which I promptly fill in and hand back. I come back the following day and pick up the visa. Simple isnt it. Much better than taking days off work at home to sort out such trivial stuff, while here it becomes a little adventure and the essence of my existance. I thrive off these little missions as there really isnt anything else more important, such as work, hoovering the flat, shopping, talking to the estate agent, rebuilding the PC or any of those other mundane jobs that I dont have to suffer here.

I tried Turners Car auction on the Wednesday night. That was rather strange as the bloke with the hammer kept going on about "do I see 2, do I see 2" and "beautiful car in the colour". I still haven't fathomed why he placed such emphasis on the special feature that cars that were under the hammer had a colour; it was hardly as if they were transparent, but it kept him in a job so I cant grumble.

After eating lovely Drambuie truffles, chocolate cake, fresh paninis and other such treats, I found that being as accustomed to this healthy (to a point) eating lifestyle, I couldnt readily give it up. I therefore made 'nice food' in the hostel. This always draws a crowd and creates talking points other than the predictable "when I" stories of people in hostels. Ryan and myself swapped recipies and his 'chicken with cuts holding camembert and hazelnuts' has held my interest for some time. I will test it shortly. On this occasion, I was looking to make a soup, so I chopped and roasted pumkin, kumara, capsicum, garlic and red onion, with a generous sprinking of sweet basil. Once roasted I cook and mashed the veg in water and cooked it further, then added milk and ahem, a little of some cream that I 'found' in the fridge. The first bowl I ate that night, the second was after a number of us had gone to the Sponge or the Oval, I cant recall, for a few drinks. The usual munchies crept up and Sarah was demanding food, and I was already heating some soup. This and some toasted Soya and linseed

bread got shared amongst 5 drunk people. Be warned, soup just reheated in the microwave attains properties akin to napalm, and it took nearly 2 weeks for the skin on the roof of my mouth to be repaired.

I ended up cooking for Sarah another night, as she offered some broccoli. Wondrous stuff brocolli. I was orginally going to cook chicken marinated in red wine and rosemary, potato and kumara rosti, creamed parsnips with capsicums and the addition of broccoli made the meal complete. The rosti was an unmitigating disaster, and led to the whole meal being delayed. I used 4 maybe five pans, with the rosti sticking to all of them. I gave up and roasted the greying remnants of the potato and kumara.

While the 'purple chicken' didnt look particularly appetising, it tasted good, and the creamed parsnips worked well, but I think I need some advice on cooking rosti. Doug offered some, including washing the potato first and using cake rings to keep the shape, but I was past the point of no return and needed saving. Sarah ate it and enjoyed the parsnips which she usually despises so it cant have been that bad.

I went to turners again in Penrose on Saturday, as it was an auction with no reserve price. As a consequence I was thinking this would be my day and I would pick up a bargain. It wasnt to be as the crowd was 4 or 5 times that on a Wednesday which was around 50. The prices were too high so I gave up and went to the Skytower. This is the highest building in the southern hemisphere, and is an impressive sight. The main observation deck has areas of glass floor. This is very disconcerting, as despite the informative and reassuring signs saying the glass is 39mm thick and as tough as the concrete, you can see the ground below and you tread as lightly on the glass for fear of breaking it and falling to your death hundreds of metres below. After eating a British rail dried sandwich which had somehow transported itself to the Skytower to avoid being eaten, and a stroll in the market next to Victoria park, I got back and vegetated with a good book. Life is sweet.