Hey up folks,
sorry it's been so long since the last instalment...
Now that I have my very own laptop, courtesy of big bruv, I should be able to keep more up to date with this thing...
Anyhoo, here's what I've been up to-
I'm in training for a half-marathon at the moment, I decided to do it because my friend Laura has done a whole one and i'm a competitive soul. I also thought I'd do my bit for Charidee at the same time and so I'm running for KASM- Kiwis Against Seabed Mining. A Raglan based campaign group- Foreign companies are interested in mining off the coast of West NZ for minerals in the sand, alas this will have devestating effects upon the surf breaks, beaches, coastline, harbours, the near-extinct Maui dolphin and just about everyone living here due to trucks/ships etc. I'm getting sponsored per KM (22 in total) and there's a prize for the person who correctly guesses my finish time... bearing in mind that i've never run this far before...
Anyway, the dudes from KASM got in touch last week about the possibility of me speaking about the run on the radio. Choice.
I've been harbouring a secret desire to appear on Raglan Radio since I found out about the local station. So, at 7 am this morning I walked over to the Ambulance station as arranged.
Upstairs, in a small training room with disembodied manequin parts strewn about it, I found two very professional looking DJs and an assortment of KASM people.
It wasn't for Raglan FM at all.
It was Classic Hits, a famous radio station which is broadcast all over NZ.
The female DJ happened to be Jenny May Coffin, better known by me as being a Silver Fern Netball player... How cool?
So there I was, chatting away to my netball icon about Raglan and the run and KASM, being beamed across the nation as they drove to work. Ace.
I then hitched into town with a dude from Raglan and had a nice conversation as we walked from Dinsdale into Hamilton. The sun shining, birds singing and me feeling like I was wagging work to appear on National radio and loving it...
20 September 2005
13 September 2005
The view from Raglan High School...
I can't imagine doing much work if this was my view from the classroom window....
07 September 2005
Update...
Well, i've been busy...
Fighting fires, getting sponsorship to run 22KM around Hamilton, attending a very high-powered 'networking' event about sustainable business in the Waikato region, joining a new indoor netball team, being asked to join the triathlon club, slurping tequila, getting info on extending my stay in NZ, having a go at 'Waka Ama' (Trad Maori boatmanship), learning a new song in Kapa Haka, staying the night in Hamilton with a work colleague- first night away from Raglan since trip to Oz, surfing/cutting my good foot on the rocks at Manu Bay, getting a tan in the Winter Sunshine and finally earning enough money to be able to buy nice food and a book.
Howzatt?
Fighting fires, getting sponsorship to run 22KM around Hamilton, attending a very high-powered 'networking' event about sustainable business in the Waikato region, joining a new indoor netball team, being asked to join the triathlon club, slurping tequila, getting info on extending my stay in NZ, having a go at 'Waka Ama' (Trad Maori boatmanship), learning a new song in Kapa Haka, staying the night in Hamilton with a work colleague- first night away from Raglan since trip to Oz, surfing/cutting my good foot on the rocks at Manu Bay, getting a tan in the Winter Sunshine and finally earning enough money to be able to buy nice food and a book.
Howzatt?
30 August 2005
Musings...
I haven't had much time to write my thoughts down for a while- too busy with work and enjoying the great outdoors to bother typing them up...
This is not to say that I haven't been my usual hippy-thinking self, though.
For instance, with all of the end of netball season shennanigans i've been thinking about exactly what it is about the sport that I love so much....
and it turns out that it's not really about the game at all.
It's all that primal-hunter-teamwork-enjoying the spoils stuff.
Competing as team (us) against team (them) you bond as a unit and it can get to the point where you'll do things for each other, above and beyond the sporting realm.
If any of my team needed my help in any way i would do everything I could for them.
So, this got me thinking about Gangsters and Gangland wars...
(No i'm not going to start my own gang and take control of Raglan's criminal underworld)
It's no wonder that people are willing to risk their own lives for their gangs- the feeling of belonging and common purpose that must develop when competing as a group in such dangerous and chaotic conditions would be amazing.
It's probably as close as you can get to the way our ancestors must have felt when roaming around and scrapping with other groups for territory and food.
And It must have been such a rush...
(as long as you were on the winning side)
almost makes me want to take up kick-boxing or something.
This is not to say that I haven't been my usual hippy-thinking self, though.
For instance, with all of the end of netball season shennanigans i've been thinking about exactly what it is about the sport that I love so much....
and it turns out that it's not really about the game at all.
It's all that primal-hunter-teamwork-enjoying the spoils stuff.
Competing as team (us) against team (them) you bond as a unit and it can get to the point where you'll do things for each other, above and beyond the sporting realm.
If any of my team needed my help in any way i would do everything I could for them.
So, this got me thinking about Gangsters and Gangland wars...
(No i'm not going to start my own gang and take control of Raglan's criminal underworld)
It's no wonder that people are willing to risk their own lives for their gangs- the feeling of belonging and common purpose that must develop when competing as a group in such dangerous and chaotic conditions would be amazing.
It's probably as close as you can get to the way our ancestors must have felt when roaming around and scrapping with other groups for territory and food.
And It must have been such a rush...
(as long as you were on the winning side)
almost makes me want to take up kick-boxing or something.
Ding Dong...
Suzi-q got married!
Here she is with lovely husband Thomas, (far left) brother Jules and his missus...
29 August 2005
Player of the year!
This is me receiving the totally unexpected honour of Player of the year from my coach, Addy... Woo Hoo!
23 August 2005
22 August 2005
16 August 2005
What i'm up to...
Just realised that you don't know what i'm up to at the mo....
I have a new job in Hamilton (45 mins commute from Raglan aka Whaingaroa) as an accounts assistant- oooh get me- for a charity Gaming trust management group.
ie. I'm doing computer stuff like spreadsheets, database and banking reconciliation blah blah blah.
It's all good, earning nice money and in the warm.
They get the money from pokie machines (one arm bandits to you and me...) and give the profit to local community projects and sporting ventures.
Our best earning site is a brothel! all the punters and working ladies must spend a lot of time hanging around and filling up the machines....hmmmmmmm
Anyhoo, they are paying for school extensions, team kits and arts projects in their local area, so well done to the randy folk.
I have a new job in Hamilton (45 mins commute from Raglan aka Whaingaroa) as an accounts assistant- oooh get me- for a charity Gaming trust management group.
ie. I'm doing computer stuff like spreadsheets, database and banking reconciliation blah blah blah.
It's all good, earning nice money and in the warm.
They get the money from pokie machines (one arm bandits to you and me...) and give the profit to local community projects and sporting ventures.
Our best earning site is a brothel! all the punters and working ladies must spend a lot of time hanging around and filling up the machines....hmmmmmmm
Anyhoo, they are paying for school extensions, team kits and arts projects in their local area, so well done to the randy folk.
08 August 2005
Another ace weekend...
I met a Silver Fern!
(Netballing equivalent to an All Black...)
Soooooooo exciting...
I've been working for the Scottwood Trust for the past week and they support Netball Waikato, which is my regional netball organisation. One of the ladies who works for the Waikato Netball trust is called Monica and she spends every Saturday at the same netball park that my team competes at...
Long story short, I popped over to say helloooo to Monica and she simply said, 'Oh, have you met Leanna, Sally?'
'Erm, no I don't think so'
I shake hands with the very very tall lady (towering at least 3-4 inches above me, and i'm six foot and a bit)
It begins to dawn on me that this is Leanna Du Plooy, the person whose 2003 World Champions kit we have framed in the office...
'Course I played it cool, well, managed not to say anything too odd, before running off to tell my team mates.
And then we won our match, Yay!
(Netballing equivalent to an All Black...)
Soooooooo exciting...
I've been working for the Scottwood Trust for the past week and they support Netball Waikato, which is my regional netball organisation. One of the ladies who works for the Waikato Netball trust is called Monica and she spends every Saturday at the same netball park that my team competes at...
Long story short, I popped over to say helloooo to Monica and she simply said, 'Oh, have you met Leanna, Sally?'
'Erm, no I don't think so'
I shake hands with the very very tall lady (towering at least 3-4 inches above me, and i'm six foot and a bit)
It begins to dawn on me that this is Leanna Du Plooy, the person whose 2003 World Champions kit we have framed in the office...
'Course I played it cool, well, managed not to say anything too odd, before running off to tell my team mates.
And then we won our match, Yay!
02 August 2005
Weekends rock...
Hello there moy luvverlies,
Oh I'm on top of the world at the moment-
new job, new (nice) employers, access to t'internet at lunch time, just eaten a big pie and thinking about how ace it is in New Zealand.
Last weekend, for example...
Friday night drinks with Julia's work mates (in the pub that stocks ciderrrrr!)
Saturday morning off to watch Caleb play rugby outside the Waikato Stadium, straight to our netball match, which we won 42-21, back to beautiful Raglan in the Sunshine, dinner at the Pub followed by cider and then pudding at Tongue and Groove cafe, stumble home for early night,
Sunday morning up with the larks to meet the girls outside the Raglan RSA club before setting off to Hamilton for a netball tournament...
It pelted with rain all day, we lost all but one match (and someone later informed me that they were one player short), and still I had a wikid time.
Tarns came back to ours for a hot bath, some Thai Green curry- I cooked- and quite a lot of wine and we watched NZ Idol in front of the fire. Sweet.
It is just so easy to have a good time.
Oh I'm on top of the world at the moment-
new job, new (nice) employers, access to t'internet at lunch time, just eaten a big pie and thinking about how ace it is in New Zealand.
Last weekend, for example...
Friday night drinks with Julia's work mates (in the pub that stocks ciderrrrr!)
Saturday morning off to watch Caleb play rugby outside the Waikato Stadium, straight to our netball match, which we won 42-21, back to beautiful Raglan in the Sunshine, dinner at the Pub followed by cider and then pudding at Tongue and Groove cafe, stumble home for early night,
Sunday morning up with the larks to meet the girls outside the Raglan RSA club before setting off to Hamilton for a netball tournament...
It pelted with rain all day, we lost all but one match (and someone later informed me that they were one player short), and still I had a wikid time.
Tarns came back to ours for a hot bath, some Thai Green curry- I cooked- and quite a lot of wine and we watched NZ Idol in front of the fire. Sweet.
It is just so easy to have a good time.
29 July 2005
how rude...
Aw, just checked my emails and found my first nasty response to this blog.
(It's the reply to the thing about the Antiques Roadshow, I know you're all interested now...)
loser.
I did get a very nice email from Ashlee(don't know them, either), too, so swings and roundabouts...
(It's the reply to the thing about the Antiques Roadshow, I know you're all interested now...)
loser.
I did get a very nice email from Ashlee(don't know them, either), too, so swings and roundabouts...
28 July 2005
Closet Brit...
I was going on a night out with the netball girls after our match on Saturday.
And after my shower and dinner I thought i'd watch a bit of TV before heading over to Gibby's with my bottle of cider.
Best not to be too early, I thought.
I settled down in front of the box as familiar title music trumpeted into the lounge and I snuggled into the sofa, anticipating the thrill of guessing the price, the comforting sight of objects from home and laughing at the gawping bystanders...
When the phone rang and an already merry netball team shout at me for not being there, I am embarrassed to admit my excuse...
I was watching the Antiques Roadshow.
And after my shower and dinner I thought i'd watch a bit of TV before heading over to Gibby's with my bottle of cider.
Best not to be too early, I thought.
I settled down in front of the box as familiar title music trumpeted into the lounge and I snuggled into the sofa, anticipating the thrill of guessing the price, the comforting sight of objects from home and laughing at the gawping bystanders...
When the phone rang and an already merry netball team shout at me for not being there, I am embarrassed to admit my excuse...
I was watching the Antiques Roadshow.
footprints...
I went for a run along the beach t'other day.
It was a beautiful evening and the sunset was spectacular.
I was following footprints along the shoreline, partly because I like the feeling of stepping in other people's shoes, so to speak, and also because this is usually the best way to avoid sticky or deep sand.
So, I was huffing and puffing my way across the final few kilometres of my run when I noticed a set of particularly striking footprints.
They were going in the other direction but looked so strong and strident that I took up their trail.
I had to speed up a bit and stretch my stride just to keep up with the perfect prints.
I marvelled at how straight and even the runners path had been, how each step had left the clear imprint of their trainer sole on the sand.
It was a full ten minutes before I realised that they were my own footprints.
It was a beautiful evening and the sunset was spectacular.
I was following footprints along the shoreline, partly because I like the feeling of stepping in other people's shoes, so to speak, and also because this is usually the best way to avoid sticky or deep sand.
So, I was huffing and puffing my way across the final few kilometres of my run when I noticed a set of particularly striking footprints.
They were going in the other direction but looked so strong and strident that I took up their trail.
I had to speed up a bit and stretch my stride just to keep up with the perfect prints.
I marvelled at how straight and even the runners path had been, how each step had left the clear imprint of their trainer sole on the sand.
It was a full ten minutes before I realised that they were my own footprints.
Fate...
Well.
I went to see my ex-manager yesterday morning to enquire about why I had been so suddenly dropped from the staff of SX.
I had intended to be all calm and ice cold in my demeanor; tearing strips off the backstabbing wench etc etc.
However, in true cheeky mermaid styleee, this is not what actually happened.
I spent most of the time in her mercifully self-contained office, crying like a baby.
Why is it that my eyes start misting up when i'm angry or frustrated?
I'm an emotional weirdo.
I laugh when i'm frightened or shocked, cry when i'm angry and remain tear-free when upset or hurt.
I must have been dropped on my head as a baby.
Anyhoo, It turns out that I was betrayed by the folk in the filing dept.
They had complained that I had overdone it on the weekend and was too tired to work properly on the Monday. They showed the manager a pile of claims that had been incorrectly collated.
Interesting.
Especially so when I didn't do any collating last Monday, I was filing all day long.
And as for having a heavy weekend, well, it is true that I was tired after my netball match and Sunday afternoon surf but I doubt my yawning affected my filing capabilities much.
So it seems I was set up by the people I had come to look on as friends as well as colleagues.
Pah.
Hence the watery eyes and squeaky voice- I couldn't believe they could do this to me, knowing how much I needed the money, the two-faced bingo-winged filing-facists...
So.
I sat by the river and finished 'The Idiot's guide to improving your IQ'- an amazing book that tells you to stop learning things by rote and just use your instinct and senses more, ace.- and decided to forget the losers at SX and move onward and upward on my own.
I called up Michael, a dude who is on the board of trustees for 'Career Moves' -the recruitment agency for people with disabilities that Julia (Jules) works for in Hamilton. (I had met him the week before at a wee drinks do for their 5th birthday, and he had told Jules that they needed someone to file some stuff for them...)
I walked to his office, met everyone, was given a job starting Monday and asked,
"So, how much would you like to be paid?"
Erm, no too sure how to answer this one.
"Well, I was getting $12 per hour at SX for just filing"
"How about $15 ph to start off with and maybe we'll put you on salary if you want to stay on and do the accounts administration post, we've been trying to fill for months?"
"OK"
And this is for an accountancy firm who manage trusts, including the Silver Ferns Netball team(the national team), various charities and they go to gigs all the time! Woo Hoo!
You see, it's fate.
I went to see my ex-manager yesterday morning to enquire about why I had been so suddenly dropped from the staff of SX.
I had intended to be all calm and ice cold in my demeanor; tearing strips off the backstabbing wench etc etc.
However, in true cheeky mermaid styleee, this is not what actually happened.
I spent most of the time in her mercifully self-contained office, crying like a baby.
Why is it that my eyes start misting up when i'm angry or frustrated?
I'm an emotional weirdo.
I laugh when i'm frightened or shocked, cry when i'm angry and remain tear-free when upset or hurt.
I must have been dropped on my head as a baby.
Anyhoo, It turns out that I was betrayed by the folk in the filing dept.
They had complained that I had overdone it on the weekend and was too tired to work properly on the Monday. They showed the manager a pile of claims that had been incorrectly collated.
Interesting.
Especially so when I didn't do any collating last Monday, I was filing all day long.
And as for having a heavy weekend, well, it is true that I was tired after my netball match and Sunday afternoon surf but I doubt my yawning affected my filing capabilities much.
So it seems I was set up by the people I had come to look on as friends as well as colleagues.
Pah.
Hence the watery eyes and squeaky voice- I couldn't believe they could do this to me, knowing how much I needed the money, the two-faced bingo-winged filing-facists...
So.
I sat by the river and finished 'The Idiot's guide to improving your IQ'- an amazing book that tells you to stop learning things by rote and just use your instinct and senses more, ace.- and decided to forget the losers at SX and move onward and upward on my own.
I called up Michael, a dude who is on the board of trustees for 'Career Moves' -the recruitment agency for people with disabilities that Julia (Jules) works for in Hamilton. (I had met him the week before at a wee drinks do for their 5th birthday, and he had told Jules that they needed someone to file some stuff for them...)
I walked to his office, met everyone, was given a job starting Monday and asked,
"So, how much would you like to be paid?"
Erm, no too sure how to answer this one.
"Well, I was getting $12 per hour at SX for just filing"
"How about $15 ph to start off with and maybe we'll put you on salary if you want to stay on and do the accounts administration post, we've been trying to fill for months?"
"OK"
And this is for an accountancy firm who manage trusts, including the Silver Ferns Netball team(the national team), various charities and they go to gigs all the time! Woo Hoo!
You see, it's fate.
26 July 2005
Winter walk...
This is Jules (my friend and landlady), her son, Caleb (in the middle), and Kody (Caleb's friend and Carla from Netball's son...)
All with the beautiful Mount Karioi sleeping soundly in the background..
Cool at last...
Well, long story short, I've been sacked.
Fired.
Given the old heave ho.
Hasta la vista, baby.
After a long day spent in the dank filing cupboards that have, sorry had, become my home for 371/2 hrs a week, I said cheerio to my colleagues as normal, only to receive a call at 8.30 pm from Carmel, my agency recruiter person, to tell me the bizarre news...
"you been fired."
Oh.
"Why?"
(And here's the really hillarious part...)
"you've got a bad attitude."
I couldn't get one of those if i tried.
I'm cursed by my hard work ethic of many years standing- even if the job is crap, and it usually is, I do the best I can and try to enjoy it.
It is officially the lamest excuse ever.
I'm popping back to the office tommorrow to ask for the real reason and to tell my manager how truly pathetic, ineffectual, back-stabbing and cowardly she is.
She got someone else to do the dirty work, gave a false reason why, said a cheery goodbye and 'see ya later' as I left work yesterday afternoon knowing what she was about to do.
I didn't go today because I am that angry that I thought i might cry with frustration in front of the old crone, best leave it 'til tommorrow when i can systematically wipe the floor with her using my normally hidden talent for eloquent verbal slaying.
Keep you posted, i guess...
Fired.
Given the old heave ho.
Hasta la vista, baby.
After a long day spent in the dank filing cupboards that have, sorry had, become my home for 371/2 hrs a week, I said cheerio to my colleagues as normal, only to receive a call at 8.30 pm from Carmel, my agency recruiter person, to tell me the bizarre news...
"you been fired."
Oh.
"Why?"
(And here's the really hillarious part...)
"you've got a bad attitude."
I couldn't get one of those if i tried.
I'm cursed by my hard work ethic of many years standing- even if the job is crap, and it usually is, I do the best I can and try to enjoy it.
It is officially the lamest excuse ever.
I'm popping back to the office tommorrow to ask for the real reason and to tell my manager how truly pathetic, ineffectual, back-stabbing and cowardly she is.
She got someone else to do the dirty work, gave a false reason why, said a cheery goodbye and 'see ya later' as I left work yesterday afternoon knowing what she was about to do.
I didn't go today because I am that angry that I thought i might cry with frustration in front of the old crone, best leave it 'til tommorrow when i can systematically wipe the floor with her using my normally hidden talent for eloquent verbal slaying.
Keep you posted, i guess...
13 July 2005
Note to self #1...
In the health insurance biz all paperwork is kept in storage for 7 years before it can be destroyed.
Why 7, I don't know... probably just because 5 seems too short and 10 too long.
Anyhoo, This got me thinking that maybe we should all have a 7 year cut off point.
Any baggage, issues, or chips on shoulders that have been with us for longer than 7 years must be dropped.
Immediately.
No hanging on for the sake of having a handy excuse for present day problems...
If it's over the cut off date the 'history' is no longer a valid reason or motivation for current actions (or inaction)
so there.
Now i s'pose i'd better get on with all the stuff i should be doing.
Why 7, I don't know... probably just because 5 seems too short and 10 too long.
Anyhoo, This got me thinking that maybe we should all have a 7 year cut off point.
Any baggage, issues, or chips on shoulders that have been with us for longer than 7 years must be dropped.
Immediately.
No hanging on for the sake of having a handy excuse for present day problems...
If it's over the cut off date the 'history' is no longer a valid reason or motivation for current actions (or inaction)
so there.
Now i s'pose i'd better get on with all the stuff i should be doing.
12 July 2005
Job!
Yup.
I've tied my lank windswept surfie hair back into a business-like pony tail, donned my proper shoes, washed my face and gone to earn my crust at Southern Cross Health Insurance LTD.
I'm in filing.
That's all I do.
All day.
It is very boring, yes.
At least I can think about other stuff while i'm 'working', though.
I'll be updating this blog when i've written everything out on paper first (saves on internet costs)
Hope y'all well, esp you London fellas,
the cheeky one.
I've tied my lank windswept surfie hair back into a business-like pony tail, donned my proper shoes, washed my face and gone to earn my crust at Southern Cross Health Insurance LTD.
I'm in filing.
That's all I do.
All day.
It is very boring, yes.
At least I can think about other stuff while i'm 'working', though.
I'll be updating this blog when i've written everything out on paper first (saves on internet costs)
Hope y'all well, esp you London fellas,
the cheeky one.
06 July 2005
Whit(sun)day islands...
Well, the clouds and showers of Brisbane were too much for a softie like me so I booked some cheapo flights (oh alright, Trish did...) up to the Whitsunday Islands.
The brochures were full of bright blue skies and white sandy beaches and June was supposed to be one of the best months to see the sights- no wind, calm waters and sunshine- Woo Hoo!
I said cheerio to Trish and plodded up the road to the train station.
It was a bit sad saying goodbye, i'd got used to seeing her all the time and then as i hit the road avec le backpaque once more, it dawned on me that I wouldn't be seeing her for a while...
ho hum, I was off on a trip to paradise so it wasn't too hard to cheer myself up.
The flight up to Proserpine was uneventful, well, that is until we approached the landing strip at the other end...
The wheels were fully lowered, the tops of the trees almost at eye level, we were strapped in and ready for the bump as we made contact with the tarmac... and then it just didn't happen.
In a roar of jet engines, clanks and squealing metal we managed to pull up off the runway and back into the sky. The plane was shaking and so were we.
The cabin staff looked petrified and i'm not sure that my heart could have pounded any louder than it was in that moment of repressed panic.
The intercom clicked on and we heard the quivering voice of the captain trying to sound confident and reassuring as he explained that we had nearly ploughed into something on the runway. No details, we didn't know if it was a cow or another plane, it was just a relief to be back in the air and away from the very hard ground.
We landed properly second time around and it was accompanied by an audible 'phew' from the passengers and crew alike.
It was so dramatic, in fact, that it wasn't until the transfer coach was winding its way into Airlie Beach that I noticed the Sun was not shining.
Aghhhh.
Dagnammit!
I'd brought the weather with me, once again.
Airlie Beach is a hole.
Well, maybe it would be nice if it wasn't for the fifty-million or so 18 yr old backpackers staggering and chundering their way about the place.
Mostly from Blighty, of course.
You can feel the pavement reverberate in time to the bass rhythm of pop disco/cheese/karaoke bars.
I'm invited to wrestle in jelly, enter a wet T-shirt comp and various other activities which nearly make me get violent with the airheaded bimbo handing me flyers.
I had to get out.
I book a trip on one of the billions of advertised boat trips around the islands.
Tall Ship, cheaper than others and it leaves tommorrow- perfect.
It is not until I rock up to the dock and see my fellow shipmates that it becomes apparent that I am to be the only singleton on board...
choice.
I tell myself that this is not a problem but as we head out to the open sea, cold winds blasting us from all directions, they all cuddle up with their 'other halves' and i'm left shivering and feeling unusually single.
oops, time to go, i'll finish this some other time....
The brochures were full of bright blue skies and white sandy beaches and June was supposed to be one of the best months to see the sights- no wind, calm waters and sunshine- Woo Hoo!
I said cheerio to Trish and plodded up the road to the train station.
It was a bit sad saying goodbye, i'd got used to seeing her all the time and then as i hit the road avec le backpaque once more, it dawned on me that I wouldn't be seeing her for a while...
ho hum, I was off on a trip to paradise so it wasn't too hard to cheer myself up.
The flight up to Proserpine was uneventful, well, that is until we approached the landing strip at the other end...
The wheels were fully lowered, the tops of the trees almost at eye level, we were strapped in and ready for the bump as we made contact with the tarmac... and then it just didn't happen.
In a roar of jet engines, clanks and squealing metal we managed to pull up off the runway and back into the sky. The plane was shaking and so were we.
The cabin staff looked petrified and i'm not sure that my heart could have pounded any louder than it was in that moment of repressed panic.
The intercom clicked on and we heard the quivering voice of the captain trying to sound confident and reassuring as he explained that we had nearly ploughed into something on the runway. No details, we didn't know if it was a cow or another plane, it was just a relief to be back in the air and away from the very hard ground.
We landed properly second time around and it was accompanied by an audible 'phew' from the passengers and crew alike.
It was so dramatic, in fact, that it wasn't until the transfer coach was winding its way into Airlie Beach that I noticed the Sun was not shining.
Aghhhh.
Dagnammit!
I'd brought the weather with me, once again.
Airlie Beach is a hole.
Well, maybe it would be nice if it wasn't for the fifty-million or so 18 yr old backpackers staggering and chundering their way about the place.
Mostly from Blighty, of course.
You can feel the pavement reverberate in time to the bass rhythm of pop disco/cheese/karaoke bars.
I'm invited to wrestle in jelly, enter a wet T-shirt comp and various other activities which nearly make me get violent with the airheaded bimbo handing me flyers.
I had to get out.
I book a trip on one of the billions of advertised boat trips around the islands.
Tall Ship, cheaper than others and it leaves tommorrow- perfect.
It is not until I rock up to the dock and see my fellow shipmates that it becomes apparent that I am to be the only singleton on board...
choice.
I tell myself that this is not a problem but as we head out to the open sea, cold winds blasting us from all directions, they all cuddle up with their 'other halves' and i'm left shivering and feeling unusually single.
oops, time to go, i'll finish this some other time....
05 July 2005
Dreaming festival part 2...
I enter the rainbow coloured, hippy-bell jingly jangly world of fellow whitey crusties amid a smattering of brown-skinned 'indigenous' folk, festival site.
It was pretty ace, actually.
everyone was very healthy and smiley, drinking Chi tea and herbal infusions instead of the usual aussie lager.
I went to a few lectures about indigenous legal rights over the land/ fruits of the land/ medicinal plants etc. which were all very interesting and full of nice, right-on earth-huggers.
Apparently, you can now be called a 'tree-hogger', as in 'one who hugs a tree for so long that no-one else gets a look in...'
excellent.
then I went to listen to 2 dudes have an open chat about life in an aboriginal Mission town- Cherbourg, NQLD. One of the guys (Chris Sarra)was the principal of the local high school there and had achieved all sorts of amazing things over the past 6 years... I even made notes, just like at Uni.
the other fella' was Kev Carmody, a dead famous folk/ protest singer, and writer. He was badgered into singing a song by the crowd and had everyone laughing away at his tales full of past (and present) prejudice and full-on racism- amazing thing that, to be able to laugh at things so terrible.
I ate my lunch on a patch of grass in front of the dance circle. Troupes from all over the Pacific and Australasia, the US and Papua New Guinnea performed as i tucked into my home-made cheese sarnie.
Sweat was flicked from dreaded hair into the faces of the awestruck crowd and they loved it!
Then i went to the Traditional Maori Healing workshop and somehow learnt more about NZ Maoris than I have in the whole 4 months i've been living with them... I'm really keen to do a course in traditional 'miri miri' massage now... we'll see...
It's amazing what a potato can do. Await further blogs for all the, quite literally, juicy details of this healing veg!
I had to hitch back to Caboolture before dark and I was picked up by two lovely gorgeous boys from Brisbane. they were both screen-writers and were very amusing. I told them I was thinking about writing a novel and they said that considering we had already discussed hitch-hiker knifings (i was carrying my penknife, just in case...), mercenaries from Honduras, snakes in Africa, dead bodies, crusty hippy festivals, musical healing, rubbish tattoos and sweet addiction in the past half hour, I probably should.
If only as an outlet for all my travel stories...
Back to Brissy then, and i bought a train ticket even though nobody checked.
It was pretty ace, actually.
everyone was very healthy and smiley, drinking Chi tea and herbal infusions instead of the usual aussie lager.
I went to a few lectures about indigenous legal rights over the land/ fruits of the land/ medicinal plants etc. which were all very interesting and full of nice, right-on earth-huggers.
Apparently, you can now be called a 'tree-hogger', as in 'one who hugs a tree for so long that no-one else gets a look in...'
excellent.
then I went to listen to 2 dudes have an open chat about life in an aboriginal Mission town- Cherbourg, NQLD. One of the guys (Chris Sarra)was the principal of the local high school there and had achieved all sorts of amazing things over the past 6 years... I even made notes, just like at Uni.
the other fella' was Kev Carmody, a dead famous folk/ protest singer, and writer. He was badgered into singing a song by the crowd and had everyone laughing away at his tales full of past (and present) prejudice and full-on racism- amazing thing that, to be able to laugh at things so terrible.
I ate my lunch on a patch of grass in front of the dance circle. Troupes from all over the Pacific and Australasia, the US and Papua New Guinnea performed as i tucked into my home-made cheese sarnie.
Sweat was flicked from dreaded hair into the faces of the awestruck crowd and they loved it!
Then i went to the Traditional Maori Healing workshop and somehow learnt more about NZ Maoris than I have in the whole 4 months i've been living with them... I'm really keen to do a course in traditional 'miri miri' massage now... we'll see...
It's amazing what a potato can do. Await further blogs for all the, quite literally, juicy details of this healing veg!
I had to hitch back to Caboolture before dark and I was picked up by two lovely gorgeous boys from Brisbane. they were both screen-writers and were very amusing. I told them I was thinking about writing a novel and they said that considering we had already discussed hitch-hiker knifings (i was carrying my penknife, just in case...), mercenaries from Honduras, snakes in Africa, dead bodies, crusty hippy festivals, musical healing, rubbish tattoos and sweet addiction in the past half hour, I probably should.
If only as an outlet for all my travel stories...
Back to Brissy then, and i bought a train ticket even though nobody checked.
Memory test # 1
Ok.
Trip to Australia, Part one.
After the intensely frightening journey up to Auckland minus windscreen-wipers, and three evenings spent listening to the cat calls and shrieks of the local transvestite population of the 'K" Road, the prospect of 3 lazy weeks in the sunshine state of Queensland was tempting indeed.
I landed in the afternoon and was met by big sis after an hour of 'random' searches, interrogation and light bodily frisking- getting quite used to this now, it's actually got to the point where i'll start feeling a little uneasy if they don't immediately pull me out of line...
Anyway, I'd arrived and it was nice and warm after the antartic winds of NZ.
Trish took me 'round to meet her friend Kev. He was hungover, and looked it. Little did I know this fella would become my arch nemesis/banter-partner over the next few poker evenings...
Erm, first week is a bit of a blur.
I managed to damage the Posterior cruciate ligament in my knee by sitting down too suddenly, (or perhaps not suddenly enough), on Trish's toilet.
Kind of pathetic when you think of all the hill-running, surfing, netball, swimming and everything else i've been putting them through.
toilet 1, me 0.
Trish put me through my paces at her gym- mainly uper body strength due to toilet injury.
Then i went to the Indigenous arts fest (see separate blog...)
And soon enough it was time for my holiday within a holiday to the Whitsunday Islands...
Trip to Australia, Part one.
After the intensely frightening journey up to Auckland minus windscreen-wipers, and three evenings spent listening to the cat calls and shrieks of the local transvestite population of the 'K" Road, the prospect of 3 lazy weeks in the sunshine state of Queensland was tempting indeed.
I landed in the afternoon and was met by big sis after an hour of 'random' searches, interrogation and light bodily frisking- getting quite used to this now, it's actually got to the point where i'll start feeling a little uneasy if they don't immediately pull me out of line...
Anyway, I'd arrived and it was nice and warm after the antartic winds of NZ.
Trish took me 'round to meet her friend Kev. He was hungover, and looked it. Little did I know this fella would become my arch nemesis/banter-partner over the next few poker evenings...
Erm, first week is a bit of a blur.
I managed to damage the Posterior cruciate ligament in my knee by sitting down too suddenly, (or perhaps not suddenly enough), on Trish's toilet.
Kind of pathetic when you think of all the hill-running, surfing, netball, swimming and everything else i've been putting them through.
toilet 1, me 0.
Trish put me through my paces at her gym- mainly uper body strength due to toilet injury.
Then i went to the Indigenous arts fest (see separate blog...)
And soon enough it was time for my holiday within a holiday to the Whitsunday Islands...
Long time no type...
Hello my lovelies!
I'm back in front of a keyboard at last.
I was going to go into extreme detail about my hols in Oz etc but I haven't the energy at the moment. Alas, you just get to see the highlights...
enjoy!
I'm back in front of a keyboard at last.
I was going to go into extreme detail about my hols in Oz etc but I haven't the energy at the moment. Alas, you just get to see the highlights...
enjoy!
30 June 2005
aghh
Sorry i have been slack at writing updates...
very busy trying to find a job here in NZ before i bankrupt myself.
Hols in Oz were ace, i promise to fill you all in with gossip as soon as poss.
Now living with my friend Jules from netball, so new address.
better not put it on a website i s'pose...
anyhew,
wish me luck,
and you know you can leave a message/comment on this site, i haven't had many emails since i started this so no idea how you all are.
please do tell
salsx
very busy trying to find a job here in NZ before i bankrupt myself.
Hols in Oz were ace, i promise to fill you all in with gossip as soon as poss.
Now living with my friend Jules from netball, so new address.
better not put it on a website i s'pose...
anyhew,
wish me luck,
and you know you can leave a message/comment on this site, i haven't had many emails since i started this so no idea how you all are.
please do tell
salsx
14 June 2005
the dreaming festival...
I slip into my lucky green dress, jeans and flip-flops and set out for Woodford, a town made famous by its annual folk-music festival and associated crazy hippies.
First, I catch the train to Caboolture.
The ticket office is closed so I manage to do this without paying for a ticket.
A good start to the morning.
There is no onward transport to Woodford from Caboolture.
Ah.
Problem.
I hesitantly make my way over to the taxi rank.
I can tell by the way he regards me that this driver probably doesn't warm to people like me, especially when they're trying to get to an aboriginal arts festival in Hippy central...
"Fifty bucks", he gleefully informs me, red neck glistening in the early morning sun.
Hmmmmmm. Too much.
I ask where the d'Aguilar Highway is, since this will be my hitch-hiking point of departure.
Oh, hardy-har-har... it's 4km away.
Pah. that's nothing for a seasoned traveller like meself, even if i am carrying a toilet-knee injury...
I stride off down the grit road with my head held high and an air of, what i hope the nasty taxi driver interprets as, 'dignity in the face of ignorant bigotry'.
It's a tricky one to pull off, that. I wouldn't recommend it for beginner drama-queens, leave it to the professionals.
I stand at the intersection for a long time.
Some vehicles actually swerve to the far side of the road as they pass me, as if i'm about to jump on their bonnet and demand they carry out all sorts of depraved actions to satisfy my twisted horror-hitchhiker whims...
I swear i saw one elderly car occupant perform the sign of the cross as she passed...
Suddenly, and unexpectedly by this point, a huge truck screams to a sliding halt just beyond where i'm standing on the hard-shoulder.
Oh.
I s'pose i ought to get in then.
I climb up into the cab, it's at least 3 steps up and I can't see who is driving until i'm at the top...
It's a tattoo sporting, super-sized wrestler of a man.
And his name is Wayne.
He's a big softie, under all that grease and ink and singlet.
He earns $40 an hour delivering water to Caboolture from it's source in the outlying mountains. He loves his job and only wishes he could accommpany me to the festival because he 'likes all that Abo art 'n' stuff. ' He goes to the Woodford Folk festival every year and gets pissed and ends up scrapping with his f**kin' brother-in-law, who he's never liked but has to get on with for the sake of his sister, like.
sweet.
He lets me out at woodford town centre (three cafes and a garage) and I quickly catch another ride to the festival site with a weird dude who doesn't make a sound throughout the 10 min journey...
I feel very intrepid as i walk the remaining 1km to the entrance tent.
First, I catch the train to Caboolture.
The ticket office is closed so I manage to do this without paying for a ticket.
A good start to the morning.
There is no onward transport to Woodford from Caboolture.
Ah.
Problem.
I hesitantly make my way over to the taxi rank.
I can tell by the way he regards me that this driver probably doesn't warm to people like me, especially when they're trying to get to an aboriginal arts festival in Hippy central...
"Fifty bucks", he gleefully informs me, red neck glistening in the early morning sun.
Hmmmmmm. Too much.
I ask where the d'Aguilar Highway is, since this will be my hitch-hiking point of departure.
Oh, hardy-har-har... it's 4km away.
Pah. that's nothing for a seasoned traveller like meself, even if i am carrying a toilet-knee injury...
I stride off down the grit road with my head held high and an air of, what i hope the nasty taxi driver interprets as, 'dignity in the face of ignorant bigotry'.
It's a tricky one to pull off, that. I wouldn't recommend it for beginner drama-queens, leave it to the professionals.
I stand at the intersection for a long time.
Some vehicles actually swerve to the far side of the road as they pass me, as if i'm about to jump on their bonnet and demand they carry out all sorts of depraved actions to satisfy my twisted horror-hitchhiker whims...
I swear i saw one elderly car occupant perform the sign of the cross as she passed...
Suddenly, and unexpectedly by this point, a huge truck screams to a sliding halt just beyond where i'm standing on the hard-shoulder.
Oh.
I s'pose i ought to get in then.
I climb up into the cab, it's at least 3 steps up and I can't see who is driving until i'm at the top...
It's a tattoo sporting, super-sized wrestler of a man.
And his name is Wayne.
He's a big softie, under all that grease and ink and singlet.
He earns $40 an hour delivering water to Caboolture from it's source in the outlying mountains. He loves his job and only wishes he could accommpany me to the festival because he 'likes all that Abo art 'n' stuff. ' He goes to the Woodford Folk festival every year and gets pissed and ends up scrapping with his f**kin' brother-in-law, who he's never liked but has to get on with for the sake of his sister, like.
sweet.
He lets me out at woodford town centre (three cafes and a garage) and I quickly catch another ride to the festival site with a weird dude who doesn't make a sound throughout the 10 min journey...
I feel very intrepid as i walk the remaining 1km to the entrance tent.
08 June 2005
Update...
Roight.
It's going to take me a wee while to write things down properly so here's a mini update in the meantime...
I'm now in Sunny Brisbane with Trish. It is as ace as expected.
i've been swimming in the uni pool and discovered that i'm not fit at all despite the running.
I went to watch the Wheelchair rugby team train which was as physical and crazy as you would expect.
I've learnt how to play poker.
Oh dear.
Didn't realise i had an addictive personality 'til then.
I'm getting my hair cut today.
Off to an aborigine festival in a couple of days.
Booked flights to Whitsundays- Woo Hoo! Can't wait.
Erm, decided once and for all that I shall be returning to Raglan when i get back to NZ.
Just need to find a job there.
That's about it.
It's going to take me a wee while to write things down properly so here's a mini update in the meantime...
I'm now in Sunny Brisbane with Trish. It is as ace as expected.
i've been swimming in the uni pool and discovered that i'm not fit at all despite the running.
I went to watch the Wheelchair rugby team train which was as physical and crazy as you would expect.
I've learnt how to play poker.
Oh dear.
Didn't realise i had an addictive personality 'til then.
I'm getting my hair cut today.
Off to an aborigine festival in a couple of days.
Booked flights to Whitsundays- Woo Hoo! Can't wait.
Erm, decided once and for all that I shall be returning to Raglan when i get back to NZ.
Just need to find a job there.
That's about it.
06 June 2005
So.
I'm off to Brisbane to see sister Trish.
I have to leave Raglan and spend a few nights in Auckland where i'll be catching my flight to Oz.
Laura very kindly drives me up to the Big City.
This turns into a real adventure in itself.
Let's just say that torrential rain, windscreen wipers that don't work and a busy motorway are things that shouldn't be mixed.
Anyhoo, we survive.
We find Elli's flat where we shall be staying.
She had warned us that it's messy.
It really is.
really.
I took photos.
Elli's room is nice though, and her untidy flatmates are all very friendly and nice.
It's great to feel like a student again.
I'm off to Brisbane to see sister Trish.
I have to leave Raglan and spend a few nights in Auckland where i'll be catching my flight to Oz.
Laura very kindly drives me up to the Big City.
This turns into a real adventure in itself.
Let's just say that torrential rain, windscreen wipers that don't work and a busy motorway are things that shouldn't be mixed.
Anyhoo, we survive.
We find Elli's flat where we shall be staying.
She had warned us that it's messy.
It really is.
really.
I took photos.
Elli's room is nice though, and her untidy flatmates are all very friendly and nice.
It's great to feel like a student again.
The Hills are Alive!
Since it is my last day at Solscape, Laura and I decide to walk down the track at the back of the property, towards the mountain.
Neither of us has been further than the abandoned cabin before, even though between us we've spent over 6 months here...
It's like we've stepped through a wardrobe and ended up in LaLa wonderland. We trek through thick vegetation and forest, climb slippy riverbanks, step over sheep skulls and dead possums, wade through a frantically bubbling stream, climb a stile and then we come to a clearing...
There are rolling hills as far as the eye can see!
I get the soundtrack to the 'Sound of Music' in my head and run and skip my way through the fields.
The rain stops and the Sun shines brightly in a bright blue sky.
"I can't believe we've never been here before"
It is so nice.
We walk towards Karioi's chin before getting too frightened of the staring cows and turning home.
'Nah, don't think I can leave this place, too much I have yet to see...'
Neither of us has been further than the abandoned cabin before, even though between us we've spent over 6 months here...
It's like we've stepped through a wardrobe and ended up in LaLa wonderland. We trek through thick vegetation and forest, climb slippy riverbanks, step over sheep skulls and dead possums, wade through a frantically bubbling stream, climb a stile and then we come to a clearing...
There are rolling hills as far as the eye can see!
I get the soundtrack to the 'Sound of Music' in my head and run and skip my way through the fields.
The rain stops and the Sun shines brightly in a bright blue sky.
"I can't believe we've never been here before"
It is so nice.
We walk towards Karioi's chin before getting too frightened of the staring cows and turning home.
'Nah, don't think I can leave this place, too much I have yet to see...'
Corrupting the innocent...
On the plane over to Brisbane, the little girl in the seat in front of me kept popping up over the headrest and raising both eyebrows at me.
Her father explained that this was a skill she had just learnt.
I taught her how to wink at boys, stick out her tongue at adults and go cross-eyed...
& all before her dad woke up.
genius.
Her father explained that this was a skill she had just learnt.
I taught her how to wink at boys, stick out her tongue at adults and go cross-eyed...
& all before her dad woke up.
genius.
Stray #1
About ten days ago, a mangy-looking cat showed up at Solscape.
It was pretty grotty and so large that we thought it might possibly be a possum/monster/cat.
Nobody really warmed to it.
All it did was just sit outside the door and watch us while we ate delicious food in the cosy warm kitchen.
After about five days, however, we began to admire him.
'Persistance' the cat.
He maintained his silent vigil throughout rain, gales and thunder.
We watched his fur blowing in the gusty weather, whiskers dripping, tail sodden.
He never tried to come inside or seek better shelter, he was just there.
Eventually, the owners ring up.
It's next-door again, the owners of the puppies.
Do we happen to know where 'Douglas' is?
Ah, yes. We do. He's outside the stationhouse. He's been here for days.
When the neighbours come that same evening, Douglas has vanished.
He's been tipped off.
Ben says that when he told him that his owners were coming, the cat simply got up and walked away.
We finally manage to trap him in a cabin and call Charlene. As she carrys him over the fence we are given a decidedly dirty look by Douglas.
We betrayed him.
Now he's got to put up with those kids who pull his tail again...
It was pretty grotty and so large that we thought it might possibly be a possum/monster/cat.
Nobody really warmed to it.
All it did was just sit outside the door and watch us while we ate delicious food in the cosy warm kitchen.
After about five days, however, we began to admire him.
'Persistance' the cat.
He maintained his silent vigil throughout rain, gales and thunder.
We watched his fur blowing in the gusty weather, whiskers dripping, tail sodden.
He never tried to come inside or seek better shelter, he was just there.
Eventually, the owners ring up.
It's next-door again, the owners of the puppies.
Do we happen to know where 'Douglas' is?
Ah, yes. We do. He's outside the stationhouse. He's been here for days.
When the neighbours come that same evening, Douglas has vanished.
He's been tipped off.
Ben says that when he told him that his owners were coming, the cat simply got up and walked away.
We finally manage to trap him in a cabin and call Charlene. As she carrys him over the fence we are given a decidedly dirty look by Douglas.
We betrayed him.
Now he's got to put up with those kids who pull his tail again...
03 June 2005
Bright Lights, Big City...
Ah, Auckland.
I haven’t been out of my cosy little seaside community since I arrived in February and now I’m back in New Zealand’s largest city.
It’s a bit of a shock.
I have to resist saying ‘hello’ to strangers as they walk past, this is no place for random chats with shop assistants or waving at boys in cars.
I’m made suddenly aware of my mismatching clothes when I catch sight of giggling school kids pointing at my ‘all my clothes at once ‘cos it’s so bloomin’ chilly’ ensemble.
I try to rise above such childish behaviour but it’s difficult when my flip-flops are refusing to grip the rain soaked pavement and each step slides into groin-straining proportions.
I seek refuge in my favourite spot in Auckland, the ‘Tepid Water Baths’.
(It’s a misnomer; the water’s freezing...)
In an attempt to warm my blood after a pathetically short training session I enter the sauna.
I start chatting to a British ex-pat called Ian.
It turns out he knows my friend Mark from Raglan.
But of course!
On the way back to my lodgings I bump into the only person I vaguely know in Auckland, Laura’s Swedish mate, Jonas.
This place is surprisingly, and refreshingly, ‘small-town’ after all.
Well, until i'm kept awake all night by the squadron of noisy transvestite prostitutes outside my window, anyway.
I haven’t been out of my cosy little seaside community since I arrived in February and now I’m back in New Zealand’s largest city.
It’s a bit of a shock.
I have to resist saying ‘hello’ to strangers as they walk past, this is no place for random chats with shop assistants or waving at boys in cars.
I’m made suddenly aware of my mismatching clothes when I catch sight of giggling school kids pointing at my ‘all my clothes at once ‘cos it’s so bloomin’ chilly’ ensemble.
I try to rise above such childish behaviour but it’s difficult when my flip-flops are refusing to grip the rain soaked pavement and each step slides into groin-straining proportions.
I seek refuge in my favourite spot in Auckland, the ‘Tepid Water Baths’.
(It’s a misnomer; the water’s freezing...)
In an attempt to warm my blood after a pathetically short training session I enter the sauna.
I start chatting to a British ex-pat called Ian.
It turns out he knows my friend Mark from Raglan.
But of course!
On the way back to my lodgings I bump into the only person I vaguely know in Auckland, Laura’s Swedish mate, Jonas.
This place is surprisingly, and refreshingly, ‘small-town’ after all.
Well, until i'm kept awake all night by the squadron of noisy transvestite prostitutes outside my window, anyway.
31 May 2005
Wild thing, you make my heart sing...
If you stare into the eyes of a friendly cow or dog, you can feel a connection without common language or body-shape and movement. The eyes are enough. One animal contemplating another. It is not submissive or aggressive, totally passive or active. Simply there.
Holding the gaze is easy, you slip into free-falling emotions and thoughts that are disconnected from the present moment. You are connecting as a natural animal, freeing yourself from human complications and the idea of motive.
Alas, we quickly forget how this feels and what it might mean. How quickly we fall into social behaviour that is based on human culture rather than what we have labeled as ‘nature’.
We know we are human but forget that we are also animal. We are part of the world and its webs of organism interaction, not above it or apart from it.
Holding the gaze is easy, you slip into free-falling emotions and thoughts that are disconnected from the present moment. You are connecting as a natural animal, freeing yourself from human complications and the idea of motive.
Alas, we quickly forget how this feels and what it might mean. How quickly we fall into social behaviour that is based on human culture rather than what we have labeled as ‘nature’.
We know we are human but forget that we are also animal. We are part of the world and its webs of organism interaction, not above it or apart from it.
30 May 2005
As Printed in The Raglan Chronicle...
The Raglan Black netball girls have made a flying start to the season, finishing top of their section with an unbeaten record of five wins and one draw. By winning the VegeKing grading round, they have earned promotion to the Prem Reserves section, where they will face stiff opposition in forthcoming weeks.
Raglan Black has managed to maintain winning form despite the mid-season departure of star shooting partners, Tracy Whiu and Tania Irwin, demonstrating great teamwork and adaptability.
A big thank-you must go to sponsor ‘Harold Crake Decorators’, for providing such stylish, and useful, waterproofs and training tops.
Special thanks also to new ‘super-coach’, Addy Topia and team organisers, Loren Lee and Julia Darlington.
I would personally like to thank everyone for being so welcoming and supportive towards your lanky English Goal Keep, I’ll miss you all.
You can see the girls in action every Saturday at the impressive Minogue Park facilities in Hamilton. Check out www.sportingpulse.com, for fixture details, your support would be most welcome.
Team List Winter 2005
Julia Darlington
Tracy Whiu
Carla Tapara
Loren Lee
Tania Irwin
Gina Marcum
Kyra Smith
Tania Eckhold
Cheryl Toka
Camellia ( no-one knew her surname, so now she looks like a mono-name pop singer)
Sheree Gibson
Sally King
Raglan Black has managed to maintain winning form despite the mid-season departure of star shooting partners, Tracy Whiu and Tania Irwin, demonstrating great teamwork and adaptability.
A big thank-you must go to sponsor ‘Harold Crake Decorators’, for providing such stylish, and useful, waterproofs and training tops.
Special thanks also to new ‘super-coach’, Addy Topia and team organisers, Loren Lee and Julia Darlington.
I would personally like to thank everyone for being so welcoming and supportive towards your lanky English Goal Keep, I’ll miss you all.
You can see the girls in action every Saturday at the impressive Minogue Park facilities in Hamilton. Check out www.sportingpulse.com, for fixture details, your support would be most welcome.
Team List Winter 2005
Julia Darlington
Tracy Whiu
Carla Tapara
Loren Lee
Tania Irwin
Gina Marcum
Kyra Smith
Tania Eckhold
Cheryl Toka
Camellia ( no-one knew her surname, so now she looks like a mono-name pop singer)
Sheree Gibson
Sally King
Right on, sister...
Guess what we won for coming top of our section?
Matching hand-towels!
Woo hoo!
Apparently, the Premier league season winners are presented with a washing machine each… how lovely. I know that I just can’t wait to re-chain myself to the kitchen sink and get back to some proper woman’s work after a match.
Matching hand-towels!
Woo hoo!
Apparently, the Premier league season winners are presented with a washing machine each… how lovely. I know that I just can’t wait to re-chain myself to the kitchen sink and get back to some proper woman’s work after a match.
Darlin’ you got to let me know…
Should I stay or should I go?
(Insert appropriate guitar riff here…)
If I go there will be trouble…
· I will miss all my lovely Raglan friends
· I will have to start all over again; making new friends, finding somewhere to live, run, hang out, find employment, join a netball team, get new postal address, find new audience to sing to and beach to gaze at.
· I will miss out on all the amazing stories that I have yet to be told, but that I know are here.
· I’ll have to start paying for transport.
· I won’t get to wave at familiar faces in passing cars.
· I won’t ever climb Karioi
· Or get to those darn Bridal Veil Falls.
· Or Ruapuke beach, or Mussel Rock, or Kawhia, or Waingaro.
· I won’t be as inspired/inclined to write.
· I’ll just keep on, moving on, forever and ever… rolling stone gathering no moss.
If I stay it will be double…
· I won’t have as much time in other places in New Zealand.
· I might not be able to get as good a job as I could in a larger place.
· Erm, having trouble thinking of any more points…
· Nope. Nothing.
· Pretty much answers my question then.
· Yay!
(Insert appropriate guitar riff here…)
If I go there will be trouble…
· I will miss all my lovely Raglan friends
· I will have to start all over again; making new friends, finding somewhere to live, run, hang out, find employment, join a netball team, get new postal address, find new audience to sing to and beach to gaze at.
· I will miss out on all the amazing stories that I have yet to be told, but that I know are here.
· I’ll have to start paying for transport.
· I won’t get to wave at familiar faces in passing cars.
· I won’t ever climb Karioi
· Or get to those darn Bridal Veil Falls.
· Or Ruapuke beach, or Mussel Rock, or Kawhia, or Waingaro.
· I won’t be as inspired/inclined to write.
· I’ll just keep on, moving on, forever and ever… rolling stone gathering no moss.
If I stay it will be double…
· I won’t have as much time in other places in New Zealand.
· I might not be able to get as good a job as I could in a larger place.
· Erm, having trouble thinking of any more points…
· Nope. Nothing.
· Pretty much answers my question then.
· Yay!
Oh, fruity...
I was having a really bad day at work when I opened the fridge door and saw that someone had arranged their fruit in, what can only be tastefully described as, an ‘erotic’ manner…
comic genius.
comic genius.
Beard stroking moment #3...
Every three weeks or so, the driver of the bus that I arrived on passes through Raglan.
I tend to bump into him when I’m on a run or shopping at 4-square supermarket.
I’ve been introduced to his passengers a couple of times as ‘the girl who got stuck in Raglan’.
It always makes me feel glad.
Eventually, I suppose, I will leave this place on his bus and I’ll be just another passenger again.
I tend to bump into him when I’m on a run or shopping at 4-square supermarket.
I’ve been introduced to his passengers a couple of times as ‘the girl who got stuck in Raglan’.
It always makes me feel glad.
Eventually, I suppose, I will leave this place on his bus and I’ll be just another passenger again.
No fear...
I’m not scared of much. I doubt if there’s a creepy-crawly or other nasty creature that would truly terrify me. I don’t really like jellyfish, exclamation marks (!) (aghh!) (did it again!) (aghh! Can’t stop!), emoticons, people who start sentences with the words, “I know it’s not your fault but…”, or “No offence but…”, Kilroy Silk, bigots in general, loud noises or pan-pipe music, but there’s nothing that really makes me quiver.
False economics...
Some people have just checked into Solscape. It is dark, freezing cold (it was almost snowing a minute ago), incredibly wet and we are in the middle of a gale. Rather than shell out an extra 2 quid each and stay in a bed for the night, they are currently flailing atop the hill trying to erect their crummy cheapo tent…
Backpackers, you’ve got to love them.
Backpackers, you’ve got to love them.
27 May 2005
Hitchhiker's guide to Raglan...
I really enjoy hitchhiking.
I’ve done it twice a day for the past three months so it’s got to the point where I know most of the people who stop to give me a ride.
There’s John who now takes me up the hill with his binoculars and shows me the surf breaks on the other side of the lagoon and points out the flora and fauna and bird species ‘round and about.
Then there’s the new partner of Solscape’s owner’s ex-wife, (if you’re still following me), the girl who has to hotwire her car every time we set off, Wendy and Dave, our neighbours (with the cows), Aaron the policeman, Murray the surf instructor, Crazy Richard the local nutcase, Hippy-artist-marine-biologist chick, Boy-racers who are invariably staying at the Bible Camp, Surfer Ben in his Jaguar, Greg in his work van, Kylie and Paul who have parties in their garage, Charlie and Erin who have parties in their Wigwam (Teepee, more properly, apparently), Tim and Suze from Karioi, Rock from Raglan surf school, American Bill and his dog, Lucy……
they probably see me and think 'shoot, she's seen us, now we have to give her a lift again...'
ho ho.
I’ve done it twice a day for the past three months so it’s got to the point where I know most of the people who stop to give me a ride.
There’s John who now takes me up the hill with his binoculars and shows me the surf breaks on the other side of the lagoon and points out the flora and fauna and bird species ‘round and about.
Then there’s the new partner of Solscape’s owner’s ex-wife, (if you’re still following me), the girl who has to hotwire her car every time we set off, Wendy and Dave, our neighbours (with the cows), Aaron the policeman, Murray the surf instructor, Crazy Richard the local nutcase, Hippy-artist-marine-biologist chick, Boy-racers who are invariably staying at the Bible Camp, Surfer Ben in his Jaguar, Greg in his work van, Kylie and Paul who have parties in their garage, Charlie and Erin who have parties in their Wigwam (Teepee, more properly, apparently), Tim and Suze from Karioi, Rock from Raglan surf school, American Bill and his dog, Lucy……
they probably see me and think 'shoot, she's seen us, now we have to give her a lift again...'
ho ho.
NZ is ace...
I’m going ‘round to my mate Julia’s house tonight. We’re getting a few beers in and watching the netball on the telly. How cool is that? Netball on the telly.
Traffic Jamming Session...
Well.
Last night was good.
It was open mic night again and the Sistas of Solscape performed admirably well.
Suzanne, Laura and I sang ‘Weather with you’ by Crowded house. We chose to cover a Kiwi band so that people would feel all warm and friendly towards us even if we happened to murder the song itself… and it was a cunning plan, indeed. We had the audience singing along to the chorus and everything!
It was Laura’s first ever gig and I was dead impressed at how well she did- It took me over 5 years to pluck up the courage to play in front of folk and she only started guitar lessons 5 weeks ago… my star pupil!
I remained onstage and knocked out ‘Goodnight Elizabeth’ by the Counting Crows and ‘Outdoor Type’ by the Lemonheads; I guess it was ok because I was cheered at the end.
Although, it is pretty hard to tell if you are any good or not when the audience is made up entirely of tipsy Solscapers and residents from the friendliest town in the world…
However, the main excitement of the night was actually on the drive into town. In my role as designated driver I was in charge of transporting everyone else to and from the pub. It was the first time I’d ever driven at night and things got very interesting when I realized that I could only have the lights on full beam, or not at all. Rattling along twisty-turny roads at 6okmph, in either pitch-black or blinding the on-coming traffic, definitely gets the heart racing. Eventually, Laura leaned over the steering column and switched the damn things on.
Phew.
Needless to say I am yet to get the hang of this driving malarkey. I was so much better in my lessons in Manchester. I don’t know what to do with all these unlit open roads; give me a double roundabout or a slow-moving traffic jam any day.
Last night was good.
It was open mic night again and the Sistas of Solscape performed admirably well.
Suzanne, Laura and I sang ‘Weather with you’ by Crowded house. We chose to cover a Kiwi band so that people would feel all warm and friendly towards us even if we happened to murder the song itself… and it was a cunning plan, indeed. We had the audience singing along to the chorus and everything!
It was Laura’s first ever gig and I was dead impressed at how well she did- It took me over 5 years to pluck up the courage to play in front of folk and she only started guitar lessons 5 weeks ago… my star pupil!
I remained onstage and knocked out ‘Goodnight Elizabeth’ by the Counting Crows and ‘Outdoor Type’ by the Lemonheads; I guess it was ok because I was cheered at the end.
Although, it is pretty hard to tell if you are any good or not when the audience is made up entirely of tipsy Solscapers and residents from the friendliest town in the world…
However, the main excitement of the night was actually on the drive into town. In my role as designated driver I was in charge of transporting everyone else to and from the pub. It was the first time I’d ever driven at night and things got very interesting when I realized that I could only have the lights on full beam, or not at all. Rattling along twisty-turny roads at 6okmph, in either pitch-black or blinding the on-coming traffic, definitely gets the heart racing. Eventually, Laura leaned over the steering column and switched the damn things on.
Phew.
Needless to say I am yet to get the hang of this driving malarkey. I was so much better in my lessons in Manchester. I don’t know what to do with all these unlit open roads; give me a double roundabout or a slow-moving traffic jam any day.
I heartily dislike Kilroy Silk club news...
Katy sent me the best email, EVER!
here it is:
'Met a bloke the other night you would like. Some guy who works with Tom. Kilroy stood for our area in the election and this bloke happened to go to Asda when they were there campaigning. He told them they were a load of racist bastards then Kilroy shook his hand and tried to crush it so he got a bottle of water and squirted it in Kilroys face when he was doing a press conference. He got arrested for it but the police thought it was funny and told him what to say to just get a caution. Kilroy wrote to the police to complain, stupid idiot. You will be pleased to hear that he nearly lost his deposit in our area as he got so few votes, ha ha.'
Hahahahhahahahhahahahaha.
here it is:
'Met a bloke the other night you would like. Some guy who works with Tom. Kilroy stood for our area in the election and this bloke happened to go to Asda when they were there campaigning. He told them they were a load of racist bastards then Kilroy shook his hand and tried to crush it so he got a bottle of water and squirted it in Kilroys face when he was doing a press conference. He got arrested for it but the police thought it was funny and told him what to say to just get a caution. Kilroy wrote to the police to complain, stupid idiot. You will be pleased to hear that he nearly lost his deposit in our area as he got so few votes, ha ha.'
Hahahahhahahahhahahahaha.
Make a wish....
Yesterday morning we woke up to puppies!
I got up as normal, walked over to the stationhouse, looked at a rather shiny-eyed Laura and other grinning backpackers and then spotted the tiny things… Puppies!
Two of them.
Sooooooooooo cute.
It was like Christmas.
One for me, one for Laura.
Just what we hadn’t realized we had been wishing for.
Apparently, they had just shown up and without collars or any sign of a desperate owner searching for them.
We decided to keep them.
Well, at least until somebody more responsible than ourselves told us to give them back or something.
I had the brown one and Laura had the more boisterous black one.
I call mine ‘Finn’ and while I am telling the others why I’ve named him after the tiny warrior of Irish Legend, Laura decides to call hers ‘Hurley’.
Sweet.
We spend most of the morning taking photos and cradling our ‘babies’.
We try not to think about the fact that they obviously belong to someone else because they are far too healthy and clean to be strays.
We decide that it must just be good karma and that all those times we helped elderly people across the road, guided the blind, fed the homeless and cleaned up after filthy backpackers had resulted in puppies for us. Yay!
Besides, things have a peculiar way of working out in Raglan.
I was once walking back to the hostel with my surfboard and thinking that I was probably only good for lying in bed and reading for the rest of the day. Then I remembered that I had just finished the book I was reading and that there were no more good ones left at Solscape.
‘Awwwww, I wish I had a good book. Maybe something like that Bob Dylan autobiography that had such awesome reviews… Ho hum, I’ll have to go into Hamilton and find a bookshop…’
I collapsed in a chair in the lounge and not two minutes later, a nice Welsh bloke called John Broderick hands me a book.
“It’s Chronicles, by Bob Dylan. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Spooky…..
Then we want a hairdresser to arrive and tend to our scruffy barnets. Lo and behold, he arrives the next day.
I want some ice-cream and there is some Neapolitan on the ‘free food’ shelf, a lift home from netball and Kate drives by, picks me up and brings me to her outdoor spa to relax those achy muscles, countless bottles of beer left by forgetful guests, perfect party outfits for free from the dump, thermal underwear when I am cold, the list goes on and on.
Surely the puppies are only further proof that Raglan is the greatest place on earth?
Needless to say, the pups are from next door and we have to give them back.
We feel strangely empty inside, bereft of our little ones.
At least we have the photos.
And now we have an excuse to jump the fence and get to know the neighbours.
I’ve wanted to see what goes on over there for ages…
I got up as normal, walked over to the stationhouse, looked at a rather shiny-eyed Laura and other grinning backpackers and then spotted the tiny things… Puppies!
Two of them.
Sooooooooooo cute.
It was like Christmas.
One for me, one for Laura.
Just what we hadn’t realized we had been wishing for.
Apparently, they had just shown up and without collars or any sign of a desperate owner searching for them.
We decided to keep them.
Well, at least until somebody more responsible than ourselves told us to give them back or something.
I had the brown one and Laura had the more boisterous black one.
I call mine ‘Finn’ and while I am telling the others why I’ve named him after the tiny warrior of Irish Legend, Laura decides to call hers ‘Hurley’.
Sweet.
We spend most of the morning taking photos and cradling our ‘babies’.
We try not to think about the fact that they obviously belong to someone else because they are far too healthy and clean to be strays.
We decide that it must just be good karma and that all those times we helped elderly people across the road, guided the blind, fed the homeless and cleaned up after filthy backpackers had resulted in puppies for us. Yay!
Besides, things have a peculiar way of working out in Raglan.
I was once walking back to the hostel with my surfboard and thinking that I was probably only good for lying in bed and reading for the rest of the day. Then I remembered that I had just finished the book I was reading and that there were no more good ones left at Solscape.
‘Awwwww, I wish I had a good book. Maybe something like that Bob Dylan autobiography that had such awesome reviews… Ho hum, I’ll have to go into Hamilton and find a bookshop…’
I collapsed in a chair in the lounge and not two minutes later, a nice Welsh bloke called John Broderick hands me a book.
“It’s Chronicles, by Bob Dylan. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Spooky…..
Then we want a hairdresser to arrive and tend to our scruffy barnets. Lo and behold, he arrives the next day.
I want some ice-cream and there is some Neapolitan on the ‘free food’ shelf, a lift home from netball and Kate drives by, picks me up and brings me to her outdoor spa to relax those achy muscles, countless bottles of beer left by forgetful guests, perfect party outfits for free from the dump, thermal underwear when I am cold, the list goes on and on.
Surely the puppies are only further proof that Raglan is the greatest place on earth?
Needless to say, the pups are from next door and we have to give them back.
We feel strangely empty inside, bereft of our little ones.
At least we have the photos.
And now we have an excuse to jump the fence and get to know the neighbours.
I’ve wanted to see what goes on over there for ages…
Beard-stroking moment #2...
Someone told me to ‘go home and get a job’.
I said ‘envy is a terrible thing, you know.’
I didn’t bother going into the fact that I’ve been working the whole time I’ve been traveling, that travel is not the same as ‘holiday’ and that it was none of his business how I live my life anyway.
Life is what you make of it, it’s who you meet, what you learn and how you act- not what status your career holds or what possessions you own.
So there.
And he didn’t even wash-up his own dishes.
Loser.
I said ‘envy is a terrible thing, you know.’
I didn’t bother going into the fact that I’ve been working the whole time I’ve been traveling, that travel is not the same as ‘holiday’ and that it was none of his business how I live my life anyway.
Life is what you make of it, it’s who you meet, what you learn and how you act- not what status your career holds or what possessions you own.
So there.
And he didn’t even wash-up his own dishes.
Loser.
25 May 2005
Baby 2, Sal 0...
I awake to a more than full bladder and the sound of rain beating down on my tin roof. I’ll have to make a run for it. The distance between room and toilet is only 20m, so I reckon I can probably manage to get there and back without the need for a jacket…
Only problem being that today the door is locked, meaning that I have to slip and slide around to the other entrance, 20m further away.
Soaked to the skin, I enter the kitchen/lounge area and am greeted with the delicious sight of nappy-changing, midway through. Due to my own urgent toilet needs, I ignore the flagrant disregard for hostel etiquette and make a mental note to never go on holiday with a toddler.
By the time I return to the kitchen and pour out my Fruit & Fibre, there’s no sign of baby or parents, just their lingering scent.
I am tucking into my tasty, yet healthy, cereal when I notice that the dirty nappy has been left, open, just outside the door. Nice. Just what I wanted to see first thing in the morning.
The kid comes into view, running around the deck area with no pants on, dirty face, snotty nose and grimy hair. She proceeds to investigate the contents of her nappy.
My breakfast wants to defy gravity and the muscles of my alimentary canal -I can feel it preparing to launch itself up my throat...
Still no sign of the parents. I look around at the similarly green-faced backpackers. We’ve all seen it. Guess it’s up to me then, the only employee of Solscape present, to do something about it.
The offending nappy is dispatched using the inside-out plastic bag trick.
Morning has broken…
Only problem being that today the door is locked, meaning that I have to slip and slide around to the other entrance, 20m further away.
Soaked to the skin, I enter the kitchen/lounge area and am greeted with the delicious sight of nappy-changing, midway through. Due to my own urgent toilet needs, I ignore the flagrant disregard for hostel etiquette and make a mental note to never go on holiday with a toddler.
By the time I return to the kitchen and pour out my Fruit & Fibre, there’s no sign of baby or parents, just their lingering scent.
I am tucking into my tasty, yet healthy, cereal when I notice that the dirty nappy has been left, open, just outside the door. Nice. Just what I wanted to see first thing in the morning.
The kid comes into view, running around the deck area with no pants on, dirty face, snotty nose and grimy hair. She proceeds to investigate the contents of her nappy.
My breakfast wants to defy gravity and the muscles of my alimentary canal -I can feel it preparing to launch itself up my throat...
Still no sign of the parents. I look around at the similarly green-faced backpackers. We’ve all seen it. Guess it’s up to me then, the only employee of Solscape present, to do something about it.
The offending nappy is dispatched using the inside-out plastic bag trick.
Morning has broken…
Later that day…
As I head over to clean the Summer House, I begin to suspect that someone might be having a laugh at my expense. The grass is covered in poop. Not human this time, but doggy. Fantastic.
As I’m bent over picking up the last of Fidoe’s deposits, I wave a cheery goodbye to the three Irish fellas who have been staying. I decide to be friendly even if they did make a lot of noise last night and were rude to me when I told them to be quiet.
I’m en route to cottage number two when Suzanne calls to me from the office,
“Those Irish guys have left without paying!”
My tension levels are beginning to rise. I saw those thieving so-and-so’s just five minutes ago and they were nice as pie. Aghhhhhhh, I hate it when that happens.
But then I have an idea…
Raglan is a small town. There is only one place where you can get coffee and a fry-up…Aqua Velvet. And it just so happens that Solscape resident, Laura, works there.
I tell Suzanne that she should probably give Laura a call and see if the outlaws are eating at Aqua V.
“They’re standing right in front of me.” Laura reports.
Ace.
Laura gives them a lecture about Raglan being too small a place to pull these kinds of stunts and that if they ever want to come back here they should settle the bill right now.
Sure enough those good-for-nothing hung-over hoodlums cough up.
Detective Sal returns to her toilet bowl cleaning, whistling a familiar tune, “Instant Karma’s gonna get you…”
As I’m bent over picking up the last of Fidoe’s deposits, I wave a cheery goodbye to the three Irish fellas who have been staying. I decide to be friendly even if they did make a lot of noise last night and were rude to me when I told them to be quiet.
I’m en route to cottage number two when Suzanne calls to me from the office,
“Those Irish guys have left without paying!”
My tension levels are beginning to rise. I saw those thieving so-and-so’s just five minutes ago and they were nice as pie. Aghhhhhhh, I hate it when that happens.
But then I have an idea…
Raglan is a small town. There is only one place where you can get coffee and a fry-up…Aqua Velvet. And it just so happens that Solscape resident, Laura, works there.
I tell Suzanne that she should probably give Laura a call and see if the outlaws are eating at Aqua V.
“They’re standing right in front of me.” Laura reports.
Ace.
Laura gives them a lecture about Raglan being too small a place to pull these kinds of stunts and that if they ever want to come back here they should settle the bill right now.
Sure enough those good-for-nothing hung-over hoodlums cough up.
Detective Sal returns to her toilet bowl cleaning, whistling a familiar tune, “Instant Karma’s gonna get you…”
Barking mad...
There’s a Swiss-German couple staying at the hostel. They speak German. Their dog speaks English.
(Well, they speak to it in English and it seems to understand what they want him to do, anyway.)
I ask if it is because it is an English breed. They look at me as if I am a bit loopy, or dim, or both.
“Of course not! It is because our other dog speaks English, too.”
(Well, they speak to it in English and it seems to understand what they want him to do, anyway.)
I ask if it is because it is an English breed. They look at me as if I am a bit loopy, or dim, or both.
“Of course not! It is because our other dog speaks English, too.”
Would you like some cheese with that whine?
Top 5 comments from disgruntled guests, ‘I enjoyed my stay but…’
· The hot water is very hot.
· It’s dark at night.
· It rained a lot.
· Why is the webcam blank? (It was night-time…)
· You didn’t tell me I needed to wear shoes.
· The hot water is very hot.
· It’s dark at night.
· It rained a lot.
· Why is the webcam blank? (It was night-time…)
· You didn’t tell me I needed to wear shoes.
007...
I’m sitting on a bench overlooking the point break.
The theme tune to James Bond is selected by the shuffle function on my Ipod.
A sporty Jag pulls into the lookout point behind me.
A jet-ski powers into sight around the headland.
A Helicopter whirrs overhead.
“What’s going on?”
I’m alone in my confusion.
I look down at my mud-caked flip-flops and sweaty running gear and relax.
I’m too manky to be the Bond girl so I can stay sitting on my arse, enjoying the sunset.
Nice.
The theme tune to James Bond is selected by the shuffle function on my Ipod.
A sporty Jag pulls into the lookout point behind me.
A jet-ski powers into sight around the headland.
A Helicopter whirrs overhead.
“What’s going on?”
I’m alone in my confusion.
I look down at my mud-caked flip-flops and sweaty running gear and relax.
I’m too manky to be the Bond girl so I can stay sitting on my arse, enjoying the sunset.
Nice.
Karioi's story...
here's the myth behind everyone’s favourite mountain, Karioi…
Karioi was a beautiful girl and she landed a very handsome fellow as her husband. Unfortunately, her younger sister, Pirongia, (the mountain down the road), stole this dude from her. When Karioi found out she kicked the man out into the ocean, where he still is today in the form of a rocky island down the coast. Sweet.
Karioi was a beautiful girl and she landed a very handsome fellow as her husband. Unfortunately, her younger sister, Pirongia, (the mountain down the road), stole this dude from her. When Karioi found out she kicked the man out into the ocean, where he still is today in the form of a rocky island down the coast. Sweet.
Competitive? moi?
New Zealand has re-awakened my competitive spirit. I thought I’d got over the whole one-upmanship of yesteryear’s’ school sports days, pool comps and in-car quizzes, but it seems I have not. My friend Laura is trying to keep fit. So am I. Whenever she comes back from a run or a surf looking rosy and toned, I’m filled with a deep, deep need to exercise.
We tried to go for a run together once, let’s just say it won’t happen again.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago she came into the station house looking particularly smug and sporting her running gear… Oh, no. I had the creeping suspicion that she might have exceeded the Whale Bay and back running record… (set by me, of course)
She had run all the way into town! Aghhhhhhh! That’s 6km of windy, up-and-downy tarmac and grit road.
However, she had then picked up the car from the garage and driven back the mainly uphill journey home…
Hmmmmmmmm… I’m going to have to run to town and then see how far I can run back.
I wait for a suitably cool and dreary day.
It arrives the very next Tuesday.
I attach ipod to ears, rucksack containing water, sweater and camera (I need to upload a photo to the internet) to back and trainers to quivering feet.
I’m ready.
Off I go, and at a fairly impressive pace, or so I would like to think.
I run all the way to town, only stopping once to help marshal a frisky horse away from the dangers of the main road into the relative safety of a cow field full of irritable Herefordshire beef.
And the run wasn’t that bad, even.
I pop into the internet place. Slightly aware that I might be more than a little fragrant I sit far away from the other patrons. Photo uploaded, I head back to the road.
It starts to rain, but to be honest it’s a relief from the humidity and accumulated body heat…
About 45 minutes later, I am negotiating the steep driveway up to the hostel. I bloomin’ well did it, I ran the whole way back…
And that’s 12 km!
Read it and weep, sister!
We tried to go for a run together once, let’s just say it won’t happen again.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago she came into the station house looking particularly smug and sporting her running gear… Oh, no. I had the creeping suspicion that she might have exceeded the Whale Bay and back running record… (set by me, of course)
She had run all the way into town! Aghhhhhhh! That’s 6km of windy, up-and-downy tarmac and grit road.
However, she had then picked up the car from the garage and driven back the mainly uphill journey home…
Hmmmmmmmm… I’m going to have to run to town and then see how far I can run back.
I wait for a suitably cool and dreary day.
It arrives the very next Tuesday.
I attach ipod to ears, rucksack containing water, sweater and camera (I need to upload a photo to the internet) to back and trainers to quivering feet.
I’m ready.
Off I go, and at a fairly impressive pace, or so I would like to think.
I run all the way to town, only stopping once to help marshal a frisky horse away from the dangers of the main road into the relative safety of a cow field full of irritable Herefordshire beef.
And the run wasn’t that bad, even.
I pop into the internet place. Slightly aware that I might be more than a little fragrant I sit far away from the other patrons. Photo uploaded, I head back to the road.
It starts to rain, but to be honest it’s a relief from the humidity and accumulated body heat…
About 45 minutes later, I am negotiating the steep driveway up to the hostel. I bloomin’ well did it, I ran the whole way back…
And that’s 12 km!
Read it and weep, sister!
20 May 2005
PPPPick up a penguin...
I found a dead penguin on the beach. It was one of those tiny ones that act the clown behind the glass curtains of the zoo enclosure. Well, this one was waddling no more.
The body was surrounded by penguin sized footprints on the sand, thousands of them. ‘This is strange’, I thought to myself, ‘Penguins don’t usually swim anywhere near the coast up here’. It must have been killed in a storm and then washed up on the beach with the incoming tide. I supposed the footprints must belong to its mates who had come to pay their last penguin respects. Stranger still, there was a penguin sized rock lying next to the corpse. You don’t usually see rocks on the beach, either.
Very peculiar.
I consulted a couple of dog walkers and they agreed that this was indeed an unusual sight. I decided to take the rock and possibly draw an outline of the little bird on its surface. (I know, I’m a crusty hippy) It seemed like a good thing to do and besides, I hadn’t drawn anything for ages. Carrying the rock in one hand and my wet bikini rolled up in a sarong in the other, I climb the coastal path back to the hostel.
I bump into Bob on the way there. I describe the finding of the penguin and show him the rock that is to be painted in its remembrance.
His eyes widen and he looks a bit pale.
“Is that the penguin?”
He is now staring intently at my other hand.
My soggy sarong is suspiciously penguin-sized…
“Erm, no it isn’t, Bob. It’s just a small kitten that I sacrificed to please the Penguin god of the sea…”
He grows even paler…
“Oh come on! I’m not THAT weird! I’m joking!”
It seems, however, that Bob has a different sense of humour. He gives me one last sickened look before running away, never to be seen again…
Joke.
He was fine, just a little confused.
The body was surrounded by penguin sized footprints on the sand, thousands of them. ‘This is strange’, I thought to myself, ‘Penguins don’t usually swim anywhere near the coast up here’. It must have been killed in a storm and then washed up on the beach with the incoming tide. I supposed the footprints must belong to its mates who had come to pay their last penguin respects. Stranger still, there was a penguin sized rock lying next to the corpse. You don’t usually see rocks on the beach, either.
Very peculiar.
I consulted a couple of dog walkers and they agreed that this was indeed an unusual sight. I decided to take the rock and possibly draw an outline of the little bird on its surface. (I know, I’m a crusty hippy) It seemed like a good thing to do and besides, I hadn’t drawn anything for ages. Carrying the rock in one hand and my wet bikini rolled up in a sarong in the other, I climb the coastal path back to the hostel.
I bump into Bob on the way there. I describe the finding of the penguin and show him the rock that is to be painted in its remembrance.
His eyes widen and he looks a bit pale.
“Is that the penguin?”
He is now staring intently at my other hand.
My soggy sarong is suspiciously penguin-sized…
“Erm, no it isn’t, Bob. It’s just a small kitten that I sacrificed to please the Penguin god of the sea…”
He grows even paler…
“Oh come on! I’m not THAT weird! I’m joking!”
It seems, however, that Bob has a different sense of humour. He gives me one last sickened look before running away, never to be seen again…
Joke.
He was fine, just a little confused.
You know you make me wanna ...
Maybe there’s something in the air, but I now find myself partaking in random acts of shouting.
First was the incident of the cruise-liner in Auckland. I had been reading a book at the water’s edge all morning when I was suddenly jolted by an excessively loud horn. The massive white and chrome sea-casino was leaving port, heading to Australia. There were people on the decks waving their pashminas and feather boas at us, we the humble commoners of the jetty. It was too much for a sensitive leftie-hippy-politico-feminist-eco-warriorette like myself. How dare they flaunt their neo-capitalist filthy lucre in my face? Instead of cheering and wishing ‘Bon Voyage!’ like all the other slaves of hierarchical feudal society, I decide to holler my own message of farewell. “f***ers!”
Besides, it was funny… (Sorry, Mum.)
Then came the episode of the hired campervan.
I was hitching at the side of the road when a convoy of mobile-home/campervans trundled towards me. Vans like these NEVER pick up hitchers so I stood in bemused repose, resting my thumb. They roared past one by one, ‘Kiwi Hire’, ‘Maui Rentals’, ‘NZ Escape’ and then, emblazoned across both the roof and side panels…
‘Affordable Campervans’.
“Cheapskates!” I cry.
Surprisingly enough, they didn’t stop for me.
First was the incident of the cruise-liner in Auckland. I had been reading a book at the water’s edge all morning when I was suddenly jolted by an excessively loud horn. The massive white and chrome sea-casino was leaving port, heading to Australia. There were people on the decks waving their pashminas and feather boas at us, we the humble commoners of the jetty. It was too much for a sensitive leftie-hippy-politico-feminist-eco-warriorette like myself. How dare they flaunt their neo-capitalist filthy lucre in my face? Instead of cheering and wishing ‘Bon Voyage!’ like all the other slaves of hierarchical feudal society, I decide to holler my own message of farewell. “f***ers!”
Besides, it was funny… (Sorry, Mum.)
Then came the episode of the hired campervan.
I was hitching at the side of the road when a convoy of mobile-home/campervans trundled towards me. Vans like these NEVER pick up hitchers so I stood in bemused repose, resting my thumb. They roared past one by one, ‘Kiwi Hire’, ‘Maui Rentals’, ‘NZ Escape’ and then, emblazoned across both the roof and side panels…
‘Affordable Campervans’.
“Cheapskates!” I cry.
Surprisingly enough, they didn’t stop for me.
Sound Waves...
On the forest track down to the beach you suddenly come to a clearing. When the swell is pumping and the waves are clean and perfection itself, a roar echoes through the valley. As you step into the clearing there is a sudden growl from the ocean. It’s like the cheer of a psyched -up crowd on match day at a local derby…
‘I’m here, I’m here! Hang on, I’m on my way!’
‘I’m here, I’m here! Hang on, I’m on my way!’
Beard stroking moment #1...
Why do people get so gooey-eyed over butterflies and then smash a slipper over the head of a moth?
singin' in the rain...
There’s been flooding across the whole of the North Island this week. Houses have been washed off cliffs, posh cars are now bobbing about in the sea and several people have narrowly avoided death through landslides. We had our own drama in Raglan and surprise, surprise, yours truly was right in the middle of it.
It had been raining on and off all morning and so I’d put on my ‘Raglan Netball’ anorak, rolled up my jeans and shuffled along the road until I was picked up by a kindly motorist. By the time we pulled into town, the rain had stopped and it was a bright sunny day. Typical.
Off comes the anorak and sweater as I pop into the internet place to have a chat with Mark. (He lets me use the computers for free, now that I’m a local). As I leave the shop I notice that the sky has gone black. It’s still dry but obviously not for long and so I dash across the road to 4 Square supermarket. Inside, I can hear the rain but not see it.
It sounds heavy.
Everybody is nervously looking up at the tin roof, half expecting it to give way any minute. As I pay for my raspberry choc logs and yoghurt I can see the car-park outside. It looks like a river. I even had to rub my eyes like some comic book picture of disbelief. I probably shook my head, too.
Once outside, under the shelter of the supermarket overhang, I can really see how wet it is. There’s a gaggle of OAPs, also cowering from the weather, beside me. They look pretty stoked. This is a real adventure. Oh yes, they’ll be dining out on this tale for a while. The main road is now a torrent of muddy swirling liquid. It’s knee deep. I can tell because the cars that are trying to drive up the hill have water up to the top part of their huge 4x4 wheel trims. They are not getting very far.
It slowly dawns on me that I’ve got to hitch a ride home in this. The only decent hitching place is completely open to the elements. All of them, especially rain.
As the rhythm of raindrops hitting tin roof slows down a fraction, I decide to make a break for it. I fling off my flip-flops and wade across the road. I think I had about fifty spectators. Halfway in, the gnarliest section of the crossing, someone shouts out, “Hey you!”
I stop.
I turn towards the voice.
It is coming from a jeep with the driver’s window wound down a fraction. “You play netball, don’t you?”
“Erm, yeah.”
“I’ve seen you play, you’re really good.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
“Where are you from?”
I’m beginning to feel a tad foolish as I stand marooned in a muddy river, surrounded by people watching the rain and the crazy bird wading through the flooded road. Questions about my national identity and netball playing prowess seem a bit out of place right now.
“England”, I answer. I can feel amused eyes evaluating my ridiculous situation. I know that I am centre stage in literal street theatre. I feel silly.
The conversation continues despite my subtle and not-so-subtle efforts to make a dash for it. I still have no idea who is in the car and it is still raining. Eventually the voice from the Jeep says, “Well, I’d best be going, can’t hang around here in this weather!”, and they resume their slow journey up river.
I put on my best ‘I know how hilarious that was for you guys’ face and slowly swim-walk to the pavement. Everyone is smiling at me. How nice. Such a friendly town.
I’m picked up almost as soon as I stick out my thumb.
“Saw you in the road back there. I guess you’re pretty wet now. Thought you might need a lift... teehee….” Oh well, no point getting embarrassed about public humiliation, I’m pretty used to it now and to be honest I quite enjoy being the village idiot.
It had been raining on and off all morning and so I’d put on my ‘Raglan Netball’ anorak, rolled up my jeans and shuffled along the road until I was picked up by a kindly motorist. By the time we pulled into town, the rain had stopped and it was a bright sunny day. Typical.
Off comes the anorak and sweater as I pop into the internet place to have a chat with Mark. (He lets me use the computers for free, now that I’m a local). As I leave the shop I notice that the sky has gone black. It’s still dry but obviously not for long and so I dash across the road to 4 Square supermarket. Inside, I can hear the rain but not see it.
It sounds heavy.
Everybody is nervously looking up at the tin roof, half expecting it to give way any minute. As I pay for my raspberry choc logs and yoghurt I can see the car-park outside. It looks like a river. I even had to rub my eyes like some comic book picture of disbelief. I probably shook my head, too.
Once outside, under the shelter of the supermarket overhang, I can really see how wet it is. There’s a gaggle of OAPs, also cowering from the weather, beside me. They look pretty stoked. This is a real adventure. Oh yes, they’ll be dining out on this tale for a while. The main road is now a torrent of muddy swirling liquid. It’s knee deep. I can tell because the cars that are trying to drive up the hill have water up to the top part of their huge 4x4 wheel trims. They are not getting very far.
It slowly dawns on me that I’ve got to hitch a ride home in this. The only decent hitching place is completely open to the elements. All of them, especially rain.
As the rhythm of raindrops hitting tin roof slows down a fraction, I decide to make a break for it. I fling off my flip-flops and wade across the road. I think I had about fifty spectators. Halfway in, the gnarliest section of the crossing, someone shouts out, “Hey you!”
I stop.
I turn towards the voice.
It is coming from a jeep with the driver’s window wound down a fraction. “You play netball, don’t you?”
“Erm, yeah.”
“I’ve seen you play, you’re really good.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
“Where are you from?”
I’m beginning to feel a tad foolish as I stand marooned in a muddy river, surrounded by people watching the rain and the crazy bird wading through the flooded road. Questions about my national identity and netball playing prowess seem a bit out of place right now.
“England”, I answer. I can feel amused eyes evaluating my ridiculous situation. I know that I am centre stage in literal street theatre. I feel silly.
The conversation continues despite my subtle and not-so-subtle efforts to make a dash for it. I still have no idea who is in the car and it is still raining. Eventually the voice from the Jeep says, “Well, I’d best be going, can’t hang around here in this weather!”, and they resume their slow journey up river.
I put on my best ‘I know how hilarious that was for you guys’ face and slowly swim-walk to the pavement. Everyone is smiling at me. How nice. Such a friendly town.
I’m picked up almost as soon as I stick out my thumb.
“Saw you in the road back there. I guess you’re pretty wet now. Thought you might need a lift... teehee….” Oh well, no point getting embarrassed about public humiliation, I’m pretty used to it now and to be honest I quite enjoy being the village idiot.
Don't have a cow, man...
Never seen that before.
A woman comes flying out of her house, jumps off a five foot deck into the field where a cheeky calf is nibbling on a fence post, grabs a piece of wood to use as a javelin, hurls the thing at the wee cow, yelling ‘Noooooooooooooo!’.
The calf ducks the missile and shimmys away from her aggressor towards sibling calf and the relative safety of the other side of the paddock.
Even animal husbandry is extreme in New Zealand.
A woman comes flying out of her house, jumps off a five foot deck into the field where a cheeky calf is nibbling on a fence post, grabs a piece of wood to use as a javelin, hurls the thing at the wee cow, yelling ‘Noooooooooooooo!’.
The calf ducks the missile and shimmys away from her aggressor towards sibling calf and the relative safety of the other side of the paddock.
Even animal husbandry is extreme in New Zealand.
To see or not to see...
I've somehow developed a lazy eye. It's crept up on me over the past few years but until yesterday I was in denial. Browsing through a multitude of digital photos, however, I notice something odd. My right eye is always at half mast...
Lazy!
So that's why I always look two sheets to the wind- and I just thought I had bad flash/blink timing.
Since there's nothing worse than looking smashed when it's actually the one occasion when you were sober - ( & merely the innocent victim of eyelid droopage)- i've taken steps to remedy the situation.
Basically, i'm sitting here with one eye closed.
And that's it.
I don't want to go to the opticians in case they tell me I need glasses.
And anyway, I remember Sharon Smith from St Josephs had an eyepatch to get rid of her idle eye, so it must work.
I even walked back from the beach and stumbled up the windy hostel driveway like this.
It's just like being a bit tipsy. No real concept of distance or what's going on beyond a limited range of vision. Now I walk like i'm drunk and look like i'm crazy.
Why am I so worried about this gippy eye, anyway?
Well, what might prospective employers think?
Lazy eye= Lazy arse
exactly.
I don't want any part of me to be lazy. Uh huh, not me b'wana.
Thing is, during this healing phase of left eye clenched shut and visual perception shot to pieces, I'm far more likely to be run over en route to any interview, nevermind about first impressions.
And even if I did make it to the point where i'm facing the panel, they'd take one look at my winking pirate face and show me the door. (Which i'd probably bang into on the way out...)
And dodgy old blokes keep winking back at me.
Lazy!
So that's why I always look two sheets to the wind- and I just thought I had bad flash/blink timing.
Since there's nothing worse than looking smashed when it's actually the one occasion when you were sober - ( & merely the innocent victim of eyelid droopage)- i've taken steps to remedy the situation.
Basically, i'm sitting here with one eye closed.
And that's it.
I don't want to go to the opticians in case they tell me I need glasses.
And anyway, I remember Sharon Smith from St Josephs had an eyepatch to get rid of her idle eye, so it must work.
I even walked back from the beach and stumbled up the windy hostel driveway like this.
It's just like being a bit tipsy. No real concept of distance or what's going on beyond a limited range of vision. Now I walk like i'm drunk and look like i'm crazy.
Why am I so worried about this gippy eye, anyway?
Well, what might prospective employers think?
Lazy eye= Lazy arse
exactly.
I don't want any part of me to be lazy. Uh huh, not me b'wana.
Thing is, during this healing phase of left eye clenched shut and visual perception shot to pieces, I'm far more likely to be run over en route to any interview, nevermind about first impressions.
And even if I did make it to the point where i'm facing the panel, they'd take one look at my winking pirate face and show me the door. (Which i'd probably bang into on the way out...)
And dodgy old blokes keep winking back at me.
18 May 2005
Bird on a wire...
We have a pet bird in the stationhouse. Well, I say pet bird but really it’s a proper wild bird that has decided to help us with our fly problem. Each day it flies in and perches atop the snapped surf board in the lounge. It scans the terrain and then, in a flutter of delicate wings, zips around the room assassinating insect life. This happens up to four times a day, depending on prey population. And we love it.
However, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the same bird (lesser-spotted extroverted Fan Tail) was following me. For a full ten minutes this thing swooped and bowed towards my head as I walked down to the office. It perched on a twig near my shoulder when I stopped to chat to some dudes and then continued to dance its merry jig as I stomped up to clean the toilets. Maybe it’s my anorak? I thought, since it is the same colour as the Fan Tail’s feathers… nah, we already know this bird is smart, I doubt if it would mistake a lanky streak of blonde for one of it’s own.
I settled upon the rather pleasing idea of my having extra special ‘animal-friendly’ powers. Why not? I like cats and dogs and they seem to quite like me… I’ve never really been bitten, anyway. I thought of all the occasions when I had felt some kind of meaningful moment with other creatures. There was that time with the flea-ridden pregnant cat in Mykonos, and what about when that puppy peed up my leg? Surely that meant more than simple bladder relief? Well, it did now.
Then, this morning I had a horrible revelation.; an epiphany of miserable realization; an already crappy day turned more sour.
It’s trying to attack me, isn’t it?
The damn thing is trying to scare me off its territory.
I have no special powers, it isn’t trying to convey a Lassie-type message, “Timmy’s fallen down the well,” at all. It just wants rid of me.
Crazy fly-eating scum. That’s the last time I make whistling noises and coo at your ‘beautiful’ shiny tail. You can swoop and pirouette ‘til the cows come home, this six foot chick is still gonna traipse through your patch, beak-features.
However, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the same bird (lesser-spotted extroverted Fan Tail) was following me. For a full ten minutes this thing swooped and bowed towards my head as I walked down to the office. It perched on a twig near my shoulder when I stopped to chat to some dudes and then continued to dance its merry jig as I stomped up to clean the toilets. Maybe it’s my anorak? I thought, since it is the same colour as the Fan Tail’s feathers… nah, we already know this bird is smart, I doubt if it would mistake a lanky streak of blonde for one of it’s own.
I settled upon the rather pleasing idea of my having extra special ‘animal-friendly’ powers. Why not? I like cats and dogs and they seem to quite like me… I’ve never really been bitten, anyway. I thought of all the occasions when I had felt some kind of meaningful moment with other creatures. There was that time with the flea-ridden pregnant cat in Mykonos, and what about when that puppy peed up my leg? Surely that meant more than simple bladder relief? Well, it did now.
Then, this morning I had a horrible revelation.; an epiphany of miserable realization; an already crappy day turned more sour.
It’s trying to attack me, isn’t it?
The damn thing is trying to scare me off its territory.
I have no special powers, it isn’t trying to convey a Lassie-type message, “Timmy’s fallen down the well,” at all. It just wants rid of me.
Crazy fly-eating scum. That’s the last time I make whistling noises and coo at your ‘beautiful’ shiny tail. You can swoop and pirouette ‘til the cows come home, this six foot chick is still gonna traipse through your patch, beak-features.
17 May 2005
Erm, is this thing on...?
checking one, two, three....
YUP. I think I know what to do now.
Welcome to my blogspot, you lucky, lucky things...
Give me a week and i'll be flying.
YUP. I think I know what to do now.
Welcome to my blogspot, you lucky, lucky things...
Give me a week and i'll be flying.
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