a trip booked before all of this

I spent four days in Golden Bay this weekend.  Think of a map of the world.  Then think of the small collection of islands in the bottom right hand corner of the globe, to the bottom right of Australia.  That's NZ.  Of the two largest islands in the cluster, think of the southernmost one.  See how at the top it curves away in an odd spit of land known as Farewell Spit?  Golden Bay is beneath the Spit, sandwiched between two national parks, and is pretty remote, as far as places on earth go.  It is inhabited by dairy farmers, hippies and transient German tourists, so far as I can tell.  It's pretty much my favourite.

We went for a wedding and it was lovely, despite torrential rain that ruined the marquee two nights before and saturated the grass and guests on the day of.  We crammed into the local hall and celebrated loudly the illegal marriage of two old and dear friends (illegal only in the sense that they're doing the licence thing later and had an unregistered celebrant, not illegal in terms of consanguinity or anything scandalous, should you be concerned).  While they don't live in Golden Bay, they are civil servants who would love to be hippies making goat cheese off the land.  We gifted them chooks and a coop for their backyard as their wedding present.  They're chuffed. 

We stayed in a bach beside the water with fourteen-ish old friends from scattered corners.  We laughed, we reminisced, we hugged, we swam, we ate together. 

The sun came out the day following the wedding.  We celebrated by a taking trips to the clearest, cleanest springs I have ever seen and to a remote, windswept beach on the Abel Tasman coast where seal pups were playing in a rockpool.  It was magical.  Te Waikoropupu Springs and Wharariki Beach, respectively, should you ever find yourselves in that neck of the woods.  The springs are wai tapu or sacred water, so you can't touch or drink the water, but nothing I have ever seen has made me so thirsty in my life.  And the seal pups! Well, I have no words for the seal pups except for horrific things like ADORABLE.

It was restorative.  I used to have family living in that neck of the woods, so I called Dad every day for recommendations and to discuss the lay of the land, the size of the ice-creams.  It was a lovely way of reminiscing about childhood trips spent swimming in the river, panning for gold and running over the dunes.  It was precious.

On the way home, we stopped in Nelson for lunch with Dad's two surviving sisters, his brother and their spouses.  Dad is the youngest by a reasonable stretch and it is tough to see them grapple with the mortality of their naughty, independent wee brother.  We focussed instead on my baby and the next generations of grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.  It was lovely to see them. 

We came home last night to a plastered master bedroom, two happy kitties and a boat load of washing, following an unfortunate incident in P's bag with a bottle of red wine.  I really, really needed that trip.  I needed the laughter and the happiness of a wonderful life event and the natural beauty and the escape from the everyday and the time with family and the sleep, oh god, did I need the sleep. 

I am really a lucky girl, I think. 

the end of another month of this

I'm going to visit Mum and Dad this weekend and I'm a bit nervous.  Fragile as he was two weeks ago when I saw him last, he's now lost his hair, is battling a burned/cracked/chapped face and is using a walking cane.  If I've said it once, I've said it far too many times: this, from a man who three months ago was digging holes and fixing fences and lugging rocks for landscaping purposes.  It's fucking brutal, is what it is.

My nerves arise out of the unknowns - I don't give a shit what his hair looks like, but I just want him to still be my dad underneath it all, you know? 

These things (hah, cancer, a 'thing' - it's like I can't name it for fear of the consequences) come in batches.  A colleague's father has just had surgery for prostate cancer.  Another's ex-boyfriend has been paralysed from the chest down in a workplace accident this week.  I find myself understanding and empathising properly to some degree for the first time (maybe that's why they're telling me?)

To top it off, I started fucking bleeding again last night.

It wasn't a major - no cramps, finished quickly, I can still feel the baby move (I think - I play a constant game of 'firstborn or gas?').  Still scary to turn around to flush and find your toilet looks like a murder scene at twenty to one in the morning.  Afterwards, I lay still in bed for twenty or so minutes, burning with concentration at my stomach, hands wrapped around it.  I got up again to check progress and things appeared to have eased.  I slept, uneasily. 

The good news, I suppose, is that the suspected UTI wasn't in fact an infection - just a raised bacteria level.  I haven't really reported much good news this pregnancy - here we are: I feel mostly like a human being (albeit a human being with a sore tailbone) and I'm starting to relish having a belly.  I want to feel this baby more often so I can enjoy the feeling of not being alone.  I do enjoy being by myself, but it's nice to know someone is just quietly there with me. 

end of spring 2014

I was in Christchurch last week, alternatively squinting as the sun beat down on me through the windows of various meeting rooms or pushing back my hair as the wind blew a gale when I managed to escape outside.  It's been a disappointing spring, really.  Gusty, drizzly, grey.  I shouldn't complain - in the two years since we returned to New Zealand, the seasons have outdone themselves.  Aucklanders grow to expect six weeks of rain during spring, standard so there's nothing new with what we've been experiencing to date. It's just that springtime elsewhere seems to have bright days (notable exception: London, Spring 2012, miseryfest). 

In the past two weeks, the humidity has finally arrived.  Sensing it was going to take even more of a beating than usual, my GHDs promptly gave up the ghost and are lying abandoned on a shelf in the bathroom.  I've been using horrific amounts of hairspray and plastering my bob back into a weird little pony tail.  It's gross.  GHD's are GD expensive, the bastards, and have a life of about two years.  I've been through three sets now which is an obscene amount of money on a hair implement.  My vanity knows no bounds.

We had patches of sunshine at the beach this weekend, though the wind was still there.  We escaped to the Coromandel for a night, though I'm not sure it qualified as relaxing.  The last half hour of the drive left me contemplating whether I would, for the first time in my life, actually require P to pull over.  The alternative being that I threw up in the door handle, as did a poor British woman on our tour in Rajasthan.  I managed to keep it together, but spent some time afterwards laying prone either on the beach or on the window seat of the bach in Whangamata, letting the heaves settle.  There's sand in my cardigan but it was worth it. 

there is paint in my hairline, still

We have finally finished the dining room.  Well, when I say finished, I mean, we've moved the dining table back in and all the major works are done, as of Sunday evening.  We are still fighting about pendant lights and sideboards and the best arrangement of art and shelves and whatnot.  But, I ate a meal at the table last night for the first time in a long time and we congratulated ourselves mightily.  One room: took us thirteen and a half months to start, one month and three days to finish.  At this rate, our house will be renovated some time this century!

I must say, the painting part of the process was lengthy but fundamentally enjoyable for me, even though I got up and down the ladder approx. eleventy million times and I am really not that good a painter.  Can't pinpoint exactly why I like it but there you go.  Sanding: hate.  Filling: eh.  Being P's assistant to hold this or that or the other: not bad for me, but I suspect painful for P, given my propensity to inform him of a better way to do things (clearly!).  Also, who knew that renovating involved such endless tidying and cleaning?  I felt like I spent a good chunk of the time shuffling sandpaper and tools and ladders from one place to another, readjusting drop cloths, vacuuming, sweeping, picking up nails, cleaning brushes and rollers etc etc.  Safe to say I wasn't a big fan of that cleaning biz either. 

I will take a picture for you blog, one of these days! I might even have people over to eat in my room! My god, the options are endless!

Busy-ish at work too, the usual.  Spent two days in Wellington last week and am off to Christchurch again tomorrow.  The places I've travelled for work have are not what you might call exotic.  I could get behind a conference in the Seychelles or even Rarotonga (you know, if it has to be within a four hour flight) but as much as I like Wellington, it's not quite as glam as, say, Monaco.  Ah well, at least with the trip to Christchurch I should get home in time to stand in the doorway and admire my new room before bed.  Can't say that for Prague.

staycation is an awful, awful word

I have booked some holiday, thank goodness.  It's not that I've been consistently under the pump, but I am starting to feel like I need something to look forward to, other than just the end of winter.  So, P and I have agreed to take a week off in August.  We'll probably just potter around the house, because I cannot bring myself to spend money other than on the mortgage at this point in time. 

Case in point: the work dress I am wearing today has had a hole in the bum patched.  You can't see it and it's such a pretty dress...but basically my entire work wardrobe is shabby.  I don't think I have bought a single new piece in 2014 and I didn't really bother in 2013 either. So profeshunal. The bum on my work pants looks a little saggy, my cardigans are a bit frayed at the cuffs, my lint roller has been getting a work out, I won't lift my arms wearing my one white collared court shirt...you get the picture.

Mind you, I'm still spending through the nose on cat food.  And me-food.  I'm not as spending averse as I'd probably like you to think.  We're going to Wellington for a weekend to visit friends in July.  And we're being organised about summer this year - a friend is hooking up a bach in Omaha.  So, really, I'm just lazy when it comes to professional attire and appearance it seems (OH MY GOD MY ROOTS.  Do they still qualify as roots at coming up 2 inches?).

Anyway, August.  A week off at home.  Here's hoping it will be delightful.  Things I could do with that week:

• Properly clean the house.  As in actually dust things, up high for example.
• Paint.  Lots of things.
• Sand.  Lots of things.
• Sit my bum on the couch.
• Prepare the spring garden.
• Go to a west coast beach for the day.
• Read. 
• Buy some new work clothes, for crying out loud.
• Cook. 

That all sounds so....mundane.  Even so, it's pretty appealing. 

where i have been / more cat news

Ack.  I joined an internet thing, met lots of nice people, and then vanished off the face of the earth for nearly two weeks.  Awesome work, A. 

In my defence, I was working and the working thing was not my fault.  Boss people, with all their demands and their 'we pay you a salary' thing, right? I know.  Horrific.  Can't believe I'm supposed to deal with this for the next 30 odd years.  When do I get to retire, please?

(Yes.  Am Entitled and Awful, I know.)

Aaaaaanyway, I spent some of this week working in Christchurch.  Christchurch is still recovering from a series of earthquakes the effect of which I find difficult to put into words, given that the newsmedia has just about destroyed the impact of 'devastating' or 'catastrophic'.  I drank tea from a makeshift cafe in a shipping container in a carpark while I was there, and it was great.  Christchurch has an almost indomitable feeling to it - the CBD is still largely empty, but there's action there, if you look hard enough.  Christchurch was also sunny and warm and not humid (Auckland, I'm giving your humidity some serious side-eye right now.  Don't make me move to the South Island, yo.  You know I'd have better hair there, right?)

In other cat news, my slide down the slippery slope to crazy-cat-lady-ness has gathered momentum.  We are rehoming a cat named Cocoa, who was adopted some years ago by my mother-in-law and her flatmate of the time, J.  When my MIL moved to Germany for work, J retained custody of dear old Cocoa, who is a dark cocoa-coloured (!) fluffy number with no voice.  J has not been well for the last few years and we received the bad news that she is now receiving respite care at the hospice.  The least we can do in the circumstances is to provide Cocoa with a new home, though we do so with a heavy heart.  It's very hard to acknowledge that J won't be home again.

In the space of a month, therefore, P and I have gone from a no-pet family to a family of five.  It's going to be a fairly traumatic move for Cocoa, who we're picking up from Hamilton on Tuesday.  We'll be keeping her in the spare bedroom for a while and buttering her paws, but if you have any other suggestions for helping Cocoa acclimate to her new home, I'd love to hear them.  Timmy and Tab will be kept apart from Cocoa but they'll be able to smell each other and swipe paws under the door.  We're hopeful that since the Terrormouses are still only 14 weeks old, they'll be young enough that they'll accept Cocoa quickly and with any luck, she them. 

So, it's a very bittersweet time at the A+P household (no pun intended - seriously, no pun intended, I just can't find a better word).  We're happy to have this old puss, but so sad that she's coming to us in these circumstances. 

three weeks off is just so....punishing, you know?!

Ahhh, the rest and relaxation of the summer break. 

Touch of sarcasm (TM).*

I love my family.  Really! However, I find the start of my summer holidays in New Zealand completely batshit crazy and family time is not always particularly relaxing.  First world problems BLAH BLAH let me tell you them.

• I finish work in December under a complete cloud of crazy.  I'm frantic, as the office is closing down for three weeks and of course the clients want everything done yesterday before Christmas.  At least 50% of them will be working through the summer, so they don't give a rats about the holiday.  Besides which, I've been out and about on company entertaining and personal social catch up missions throughout the month, not to mention a weekend out of the country (boo hoo, what a punishment! you say.  Yeah, that's fair I guess.)
• Then, once I'm finally done in the office for the year (by done, I mean I've walked out at the end with a giant 'deal with it later' pile in the corner), we immediately have P's family pseudo-Christmas dinner.  At our house.  We're catering.  There will be fewer than 10 people this year (thank Oscar the Grouch) but there's still a lot to do.  Oh, and my best friend is in town from London so I am having her around for lunch first (can't not! It's been over 18 months since I've seen her face! And having her to our place allows me to prep meals and gasbag at the same time!)
• 8am the next morning, on a plane with my sister K.  We meet Mum and Dad, then enjoy a three hour drive even further south, followed by a meal with some of P's paternal family.
• Next morning, ferry over to the island.  We're there for a week, plus a night in the Catlins on the way back.  Poor old P is stuck on a frigid wee island in the Roaring 40s in a bach with his in-laws for a week.  I pity the fool.
• P and I arrive home at approx 9.30pm on the 30th.
• We get up the next morning, and drive three hours to the beach to meet friends.  Goodness only knows how many of us will be jammed into a wee place looking for a good time, but it will be mental.  MENTAL. 

Now, don't get me wrong, there will be plenty of rest and relaxation time on the island.  It's just that we'll be in close proximity with family for over a week on the back of one of the maddest Decembers I can remember, in a year when I didn't take more than two days off at a time. 

Oh, and P has decided he wants us to go swimming with great white sharks while we're on the island.  GREAT STRESS RELIEVER, P. 

Call me Moaning Milly.  Really, it's not so bad.  In fact, all of the above sounds pretty good, sans a bit of actually having to work.  Well, now you know the basic facts of my summer schedule anyway.  I've got an end of year thingo to come and will no doubt feel the urge to worddump all over my blog again before Xmas, but I wouldn't be checking back again much before mid-January.  For those of you I'm not seeing this Xmas, I miss and love you all.


*Touch of Grey, anyone?  Best ad I saw during my tenure in the US.  Young dudes giving themselves grey wings (literal, not figurative you dirty bastards) in order to seem more distinguished, trustworthy etc.  Brilliant!

did you know there is a stop on a sydney train line called 'zig zag'?

Am back from Sydney where I saw a very big spider and a very big cockroach.  Those are not trip highlights, per se, but were certainly memorable.  I also saw a baby, some tourist type sights, drank Green Juice in Bondi like a good hipster (freaking delicious, who'd've thought?), boozed it up in Enmore, ate slightly more genteely in Crowsnest, tried shopping and failed (Zara, WTH? You used to be SO. GOOD. and now you are mostly rubbish) and did some other things, too. 

I am become more middle-aged by the minute.  I am freaking about about the state of the great pile of unwashed things at my home, the invasion of Daddy Long Legs in our absence (why yes, I do have a thing about spiders, whatever made you ask?), the emptiness of my cupboards, the emptiness of my bank account and the need to catch up at work so this is a brief placeholder (postholder?)  Just had to write briefly as I feel I haven't used my weekly parenthesis quota (yet) (working on it) (obv.)  Will no doubt circle back round to the trip later, in case you were worried (HAHAHAHA!)

Summed up? Sydney: Great, Aggressive (all the shoulder charging!), Lovely and Warm.

in which i am sweaty and hairy

So, this weekend was amazing weatherwise (26 degrees! and higher! in Auckland in November!) and you will be pleased to know, no doubt, that I came away sunburn-free.  I may not be able to keep resolutions relating to the consumption of crap from the Daily Mail (though I must say, my consumption has dropped considerably since resolving that it's a misogynistic piece of shit tabloid rag) but I am two weeks down with no sunburn.  That, my dear readers, counts as a success.

Yes, awesome weather.  Not so awesome?  Pushing the mower at 11.45am on Saturday, sweating up a righteous storm, then realising I'm due at the hairdresser by noon.  I changed my t-shirt but continued to sweat profusely in the car en route (despite windows down + arms raised to encourage the flow of air) and then again in the chair.  Poor old M, my hairdresser, must have been revolted.  However, he managed to keep a straight face and didn't even punish me too much with the hairdryer, which was kind of him.  I had to run straight to a bbq following the hair cut...I may have been vaguely, um, glowing, but at least I had good hair, right?

(Well, I've had it cut to what I believe is known as clavicle length in bloggy circles. So hot right now.  However, because I'm cursed blessed with a great deal of hair, M added some 'long layers'.  I'm not convinced I don't look like Rachel circa '98...which, you know, is a mixed blessing because I would have LOVED that haircut at the time.  Not so sure about it all these years later.  I am definitely a member of the generation for which everything in life is referable to Friends.)

There are three Mondays left, after today, until the Christmas holidays.  I am unbelievably stoked about that fact.  I am absolutely desperate for a proper break.  Not that I deserve it, per se, but I want it very, very much.  Cannot wait.  Having all that about undeserving and desperation, I'm taking next Friday off too for a jaunt to Sydney.  Watch out Australia, I want to be in you.  NAOW.  I am going to have one of those terribly cliched weekend city breaks in which one takes in basically none of the cultural life but trashes their credit card and eats/drinks/drops etc.  We have a few friends in Sydney, so there'll be a spot of visiting and hopefully some beach time too.  Ha, poor Sydney, looking at this pasty bum!

So.  That's te karere for today.  Fin.

courgettes are the same as zucchini, right?

Sunshine! Sunshine! Hallo SPRING! You and your copious snails are here!  I'm sneezing all over the show!

If it weren't for the sunshine, I think I'd have hamster-on-a-wheel-itis right now - you know, same day, rinse, repeat thing?  Groundhog Day (never really saw that movie all the way through but Bill Murray references are always, always apt even if you're not entirely sure about whether basically everything isn't a joke that Bill Murray is subtly winking at).

Aaaaaaanyway, what I'm saying is: I feel a bit stuck in the rut right now.  It's pretty much unjustified, it won't last.  I think it's a Gen Y type symptom, maybe.  (I *think* I'm Gen Y.   Spend a lot of time thinking and talking about ME ME ME? Yep, sounds about right.)  I'm always on the lookout for the next big thing, for all the talk of being in the moment.  Some fishing recruiter sent bait to P a few weeks ago offering him the opportunity of the big time in Luxembourg.  Despite all my professed contentedness back here on the Mothership Kiwi, the rut meant I found myself writing emails to P saying things like:

- 3 hours from Paris by train
- London.  Right.  There.
- We could get tenants.
- We'd be rich!
- Oh wait, scratch that, what the hell would I do all day?
- I'D EAT BON BONS.  SOLD.
- Baguette!
- Wine!
- WON'T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHEESE

etc, etc. 

P rationally pointed out that if we moved to Luxembourg we wouldn't be able to enjoy the fruits of our courgette plant.  A valid point; well made sir.  I've grown quite fond of the old zucchini plant, purchased hastily in a spur of the moment garden centre trip (who on earth does that? Just me, I suspect.  Young people don't go to the garden centre; old people don't do shit like that spontaneously because planning and seasonal planting in your garden is key, I hear).  I would hate to think I've battled the snails but otherwise neglected the plant for not a single ratatouille.

Plus, P continued, we've bought a fuckload of furniture recently that we'd like to enjoy (fuckload = must be an imperial measure).  We're talking a table, chairs, couch, outdoor table, benches, bbq - that's right people, when you come to our shack you're not going to have to eat squatting on the floor anymore!  ALL CLASS. 

So, let the sunshine through.  Onwards, upwards, zucchini-wards. 

la la la, very small things

Long time, no type.  You know, caused by the usual: work, a dearth of anything valuable to say (HA. Something of value!? I'm sure you're all clamouring for a return of the "shitty cafe music updates" AMIRITE? I'm always producing kwality kontent on this 'ere blog!)

I have the next two days off - a glorious four day weekend ahead of me.  P's organised it, the destination is a surprise (who knows? He might propose! Oh, wait. We already did that.)  I cannot wait.  Our wee home is dealing surprisingly well with the stresses of four adults and two children, but my mental capacity is not.  Weekdays are fine, really, but on weekends I get pretty desperate for some quiet.  I know, says you.  How on earth will you ever be a mother? Well, that's not a given and also, I keep thinking that there must be some biological pay-off to having children of which I'm not yet aware.  I mean, the kids are pretty cute, sure, but they're so....relentless.  And grubby.  To be fair to them, my excitement is also over the desire for space from their parents, too.

So yes, I intend to souse myself in wine, whiskey and books this weekend and maybe, if he's specially lucky, I'll converse with my husband too.  No guarantees, P!

Ok, so I completely lost my train of thought (work interrupted, how rude.  Or entirely predictable).  Anyway, I hope to see you here a revitalised woman soon.  Ha.

nerd alert

DID YOU MISS ME?

Of course you did (ahem). 

I am back now and better than ever, even if I did come home from what I now admit to be a giant camp for lawyers (does it get any better than that?!) feeling greasy from my dormitory stay.  Personal highlight?  Organisers were getting a group photo in front of the Courts on Saturday evening, with all of us garbed in our best dark suit/white shirt/suitable shoe combos.  Guy driving past slows down, winds down his window and yells "GEEKS" before shooting off.  Best. Driveby. Insult. EVER.  We completely, totally and utterly deserved it. 

I absolutely loved, loved, loved coming home yesterday.  Even if it was clearer in the deep south with gorgeous views to the snow-capped Southern Alps, I stepped off the plane in Aukalofa and had to take my jacket off because of the warmth and humidity.  I wore short sleeves yesterday!  Also, my house is now insulated in the ceiling and under the floors and it now retains heat!  Who knew what a difference a boatload of some kind of polyester situation would make?  (Lots of people, apparently, but I'm still marvelling).  Oh yeah, very nice to see P too after 7 days of pining (him pining for me obv, I'm awesome). 

Um, what else?  I am most definitely not going to tell you any more about my big geeky week because I'd bore you to tears and you'd loathe me forever.  Oh, wait, one thing: suffice it to say that I have ACTUALLY missed my calling to be an Actor.  We got to play witness a little bit and fuck me, if it didn't all come rushing back and MY DAUGHTER WAS SHOT IN FRONT OF ME OF COURSE I'LL BE ON THE VERGE OF QUIET YET PROFOUNDLY EMOTIONAL TEARS IN THE WITNESS BOX.  Why I didn't pursue that career is beyond me. (No it's not.  It's because 16 year old me was a fuddy duddy and decided to give up the dramatic arts for something that would be more lucrative / steadily employed.  I think 16 year old me wasn't ready to admit it either, but with these looks and stooped shoulders I was only ever going to be competing for the 'character roles', if you know what I mean. Ah well, still time for a career change nearly half my life later, right?) (RIGHT??!)

So, weather report, Spring has basically Sprung here.  It is seriously awesome, I love it.  There are daffodils and lambs and new produce and it is all la-di-dah very lovely. 

God I'm boring.  Sorry. 

post scriptum

A year ago today I left the job that was making me miserable for three of the best months of my life travelling.  A day to remember!

queen's birthday 2013

RAGLAN 2-6-13

I was here. With the folks you see in the far distance.  Cooking up a storm, throwing logs on the fire, playing silly games, swilling red wine, walking on the beach, flying a kite, talking, cross-wording, doing a lot of Not Much (except for email.  Always with the email.)

Hope you had a lovely weekend too. 

a+p do melbourne

so apart from beating my husband at night, I've been working about a billion and THAT'S RIGHT I went to Melbourne!

So great.  SRSLY.  27 degrees, sunshine (+ a shower or to, to be fair), sights, eats etc.  We had a lovely time.  So lovely in fact, that we made it home at 6.30am on Sunday morning after an extended sesh in the Laneways bars and at the Supper Club.  I have not done that since I was about 20 (I think the closest was the time I "tipped" the cab driver my camera by accident in NY at about 4am following an East Village bender with V and L - got into the apartment and fell off the bed taking my boots off while P watched in wonder) (I lie! It was the time I hit Shoreditch with the girls and got hit on by Essex lads with too much cologne at the Hoxton Pony and ate pizza on the roadside, possibly my favourite night in London ever).  Mind you, this was not a dance party.  Our particular brand of being 30 is much more old fogey than that.  We sat for ages in a bar that resembled a womb (red leather dangly trimmings and vulval couches), another that featured outdoor lavs but served something delicious with lychee and eventually ended up in comfortable sofas at Supper Club, sipping red wine, eating cheese and talking, talking, talking. 

AS PER, TOOK FUCK ALL PHOTOS AND AM REDUCED TO USING A VAIN ONE I TOOK TO CAPTURE AWESOME SHOES.  NAH, I'M NOT ASHAMED ACTUALLY - ROCKING SOME EXCELLENT SKINNY ARM TOO SO BUGGER THE TERRIBLE QUALITY, I'VE FILTERED THE BEJESUS OUT OF IT AND YOU'RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO LOOK. EXCEPT NOT AT MY FACE, WHICH IS A BIT OLD LADY-ISH.  LONGEST POINTLESS CAPTION EVAH.

We caught up with old friends and I probably used my yearly word quota in yakking away - just bliss. 

P (29Y364D) + A (NOT ME, T'OTHER ONE) + VIEW

More importantly, I think P had a great time.  Happy 30th P, and here's to many more decades of bad behaviour with you.

(I really hope our trip trumps the bad memories of the nosebreaking incident of 2013...)

ring the bell for rounds 2, 3 and possibly 4

Ha! We're at it again.  Tomorrow, lunchtime-ish, Cute Nikau Palm House goes to auction.  If that doesn't work out, Sunday at 1pm Sweet Neighbourhood With a Chef-y Kitchen House goes to auction.  And there's another this time next week: Slightly Dark But Did You See The Backyard! House.

A minor hiccup - we're supposed to be on a plane, somewhere between Hawke's Bay and Auckland on Sunday at 1pm.  Air NZ (sneaky devils) sold us on some very well priced Grabaseat flights a while ago, in order to visit my olds.  Now, less than a week out, it's going to cost six times the original price of each seat to change the return ticket.  I kid you not.  To be fair, that probably reflects in part how good the original deal was, but also the cost of buying at the last minute.  We have a few contingency plans worked out, but it would seem that there is quite a bit of potential for me to be busy purchasing the biggest thing I've ever purchased while sweatily wringing my hands, out of cellphone contact.  That'd be one for the books!  If I never felt compelled to turn on my mobile phone while taxi-ing on the runway before, I may well do come Sunday.

I'm trying not to get too worked up and emotionally invested, but given the extent of my furniture arranging dreams last night I'm sad to say that seems unlikely.  SNWACK House has taken over my imagination just at present.  Unfortunately, there is quite a lot of red in the kitchen (splashback tiles), but I'll tone that down using wooden and white decorations.  I'm thinking a blonde wood dining table.  You see?  I'm screwed. 

It may not surprise you to hear that I am not Bidder-in-Chief in this domestic arrangement.  It's the sort of pressure I would absolutely CRUMBLE under (tears!), so P is taking charge.  Fear not, this is not borne out of traditional role-keeping, but more the knowledge that I would be utterly hopeless at this sort of thing.

Oh yes: the wedding was lovely.  My auntie looked absolutely beautiful and it was a great, great evening.  The sun came out and stayed.  Happy sigh. 

flaking skin is a good sign?

My lips are burnt because……dun dun duuuuuuuuun….. I saw some sun this weekend!  Miracles never cease, we may have a summer yet here in NZ! 

LOVELY LAKE WAKATIPU.  WAS MUCH WARMER THAN IT LOOKS; MAH PHOTOG SKILLZ SADLY LACKING IN ACTUALLY CAPTURING THE SCENE

P and I packed our (10kg or less and within the applicable dimensions) bag on Saturday morning and Jetstarred off to Queenstown for the weekend.  All the NZ-resident Kiwis we’ve talked to have bitched and moaned about Jetstar, but apart from the dire lack of leg room, we didn’t have any incidents.  Unless you count the squalling ginger toddler on the way back, that is.  Hardly Jetstar’s fault, nor the baby’s for that matter; either the squalling on descent or the gingerness. 

IF YOU ARE NOT FAMILIAR WITH QUEENSTOWN, HERE ARE SOME FACTS: IT IS IN THE DEEP SOUTH, IT HAS MOUNTAINS AND IT HAS LAKE.  LOVELY.

This was a flying visit for an old friend’s 30^th.  He had arranged a time-share situation with a fab deck overlooking Lake Wakatipu so we had a few bevvies on the deck and enjoyed the sunshine massively.  My face is a bit pink, despite the liberal application of sunscreen.  I had forgotten exactly how violent the sun is in NZ – once or even twice a day applications of sun protection is not enough on a bright day.  We rode the gondola and saw some fantastic views, celebrated excessively when we discovered the DSLR has recovered from India (the display is now working again…we took two weeks’ worth of photos in India with no VDU following some splashy times at the Agra Fort, but now it’s magically sorted itself out – YUSSSS – because the warranty is British and they weren’t going to honour it here, the assholes), ate merino lamb and smacked our (burnt) lips, all v nice.  I had a bit of a mozzer on Saturday night when the tiredness of the week caught up with me and I basically bailed just after 11 when the others were just warming up for a good time, so I looked like a prize party pooper. 

GLORIOUS VIEW OF FAREWELL SPIT AND GOLDEN BAY AT THE TOP OF THE SOUTH ISLAND ON THE WAY HOME.  I'M TOTALLY BIASED BUT NZ REALLY IS THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL. 

Also *sigh* - we’re in the middle of sorting out what’s happening at Christmas.  Does anyone else find this quite stressful?  P and I have spent the last three Xmases with his mum and various others (both family and friends), given that the three of us were living in the same hemisphere, far away from the rest of the whanau.  This year, we’re torn between three sets of family and it seems to me that we’re building up for what will likely be a long day.  Basically, I figure I’ll survive by just having another drink.  I started laying in supplies of bubbly stuff at the supermarket yesterday, having predicted the need.  Spoke to my mother yesterday and confirmed we would likely see her Boxing Day; she took it very gracefully so now I owe her a pretty decent prez.  Ideas for mothers who like farms and tennis and gardens, anyone?  Maybe some more paeony plants? 

Well, that’s my newsy little update for you all.  Bit like a Christmas letter really; the writer enjoys putting it together and the recipients could probably care less.  Very tempted to post a family picture featuring seasonal sweaters and an update that reads something like:

“Dear Family and Friends,

“Well it was a wonderful year in the A & P household!  A few highlights of the year:

-       January: We started the year with a disappointing return to work and never saw the light of day in London because of the rubbish winter sunlight hours.  Seasonal Affective Disorder FTW!

-       February: We got MARRIED!  Here are 50 bazillion photos of the Big Day for you to peruse. 

-       March: Went back to work and sulked; decided to quit and return to NZ on flimsy basis of “it means we can have a nice holiday on the way back”

-       April – May: planned said holiday on work time, in between fits of sulking about rubbish Spring weather in London.  Got really boozed in Bordeaux, ate stuff in Amsterdam etc, etc.

-       June: Started our Big Trip!  Here are 50 bazillion photos from the first part.

-       July-August: More Big Trip!  Look at some more photos you suckers!  Mostly unedited and seriously repetitive because one photo of the Blue Mosque is simply not enough!

-       September: We arrived back in NZ and promptly remembered about this Nation’s serious lack of proper insulation!  Got chilblains immediately, bitched about losing our tans and attempted to recover from bowels of death!  Started work in our new jobs.

-       October/November: Whinged at one another regarding how HARD full time employment is.  Continued oversharing about our bowel problems.

-       December: Began resenting our beloved families who we moved back to NZ to be closer to because they care about us and would like to spend Xmas with us.  Aren’t we just peachy?

“Isn’t that lovely?  In summary: we travelled, we drank, we wed and, most of all, we poohed.

“All our love, A & P”

A bit early for that sort of palaver; I must be getting my Xmas spirit(s) on. 

a sunday drive in spain

[Scene: rental car, B road, somewhere on the Costa Brava.]

A: Did you see that lady waiting for a bus?  Kinda weird to have a bus stop all the way out here.

P: And very organised to have a plastic chair to wait on. 

A: Yeah. 

…[drive further few kilometres]

A: The bus must not be far behind us, there’s another lady waiting.  Weird there’s no actual bus shelter or anything. 

P: A, have you noticed how the ladies are dressed?

A: No.  Why?

P: Keep your eyes open.

…[few more ks]

A: Lots of truck traffic on this road.  Why don’t they just take the A roads?  They’re way faster. 

P: I imagine they’re saving on tolls.  And…

A: What?

P: Nothing.

…[couple more ks]

A: Wow, she’s really going to town with the leg warmers.  And those are some short shorts.

P: And some extremely serious stilettos.

A: Do you think they’re waiting for the bus?  What do you think they’re waiting for?

P: Are you stupid?  Or just oblivious?

A: What?  WHAT?

P: They’re hookers.  Ladies of the night.  Ladies of the daytime.  Highwaywomen. 

A: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 

[Ladies on the roadside start appearing thick and fast, each one with her own turn-off staked out].

A: Where’d’ya think they do it?

P: Jesus A, I don’t know. 

A: They don’t have tents.  Must have to be in the cabs with the truckers, aye?  OOOOOOh look, is that a pimp parked in the bushes behind her?

P: [Shakes head].

 

[End scene]. 

Fascinating stuff, I tell you.  Barcelona and the Costa Brava were lovely as well as interesting.

 

GLORIOUSLY WARM IN CADAQUES

 

 

QUIMET & QUIMET IN PARALLEL, BARCELONA.  YUM. 

"WE'RE TOTES GOING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, P".  THE JOKE THAT JUST NEVER GOT OLD AS SECOND STRING NAVIGATOR (I.E. DRIVER'S ORDER OF PREFERENCE = MINDY (THE SATNAV) THEN ME)

 

greece

Ten days of the Big Trip of 2012 were spent in Greece.  I really dig Greece and I could have stayed much, much longer.  We hit the fairly standard track – Athens, followed by the Cyclades – next time I would really like to see the Peloponnese and perhaps some of the more northerly islands.

FERRY ARRIVING IN PAROS.  ROUGHLY 30 DEGREES, BLISS

Sure, Athens is grubby, polluted and parts of it have people with all-too-obvious needle tracks.  However, it’s also full of interesting, character-filled and often charming people.  P and I stayed a budget hotel in Plaka which had some fab graffiti outside about the position of PM being open – you just need to pass an interview with Angela Merkel first and accept a zero sum salary.  Plaka and the flea markets were full of tat but that was key for me in the end, as my jandals had died.  I had been relying on a pair of sandals post-flip-flop-funeral that had absolutely no grip whatsoever and on Athens’ marble footpaths I was screwed.  The stand-out factor though was the location, right near the base of the Acropolis.  Mind you, if you asked P, it was the fact they sold big botts of beer for a euro at reception. 

My reading diet from about age 8 to 16 included a significant amount of classical mythology and history, in one form or another.  I originally intended to complete a second major in classical studies and took a variety of classics papers in my first year at university (this was before I fell down the rabbit hole of studying law – a story involving not knowing where to go to get course confirmation, meeting an awesome girl who did know and happened to be signing up for law and being embarrassed to say to a room full of potential doctors, dentists and lawyers that I was *just* studying for a BA.  Yeah, good reasons hey?).  I’m not ashamed to admit I also saw ‘300’.  Also, I studied in New Orleans for three weeks with a Greek guy who was a complete crack-up and who loved to drink and tell dirty jokes.  I figured that I’d get on fine in modern Greek culture too, if he was anything to go by.  Anyway, whatever the source, I had really high expectations for Greece and experiencing the ruins of classical Greek culture. 

So yeah, arriving at the Acropolis was a dream for me.  Despite the heat, the hordes of tourists, the cameras and “photo-ops”, I transported myself a few thousand years with absolute ease.  It was outstandingly beautiful.  The Acropolis museum was also amazing, enough detail without overkill and a collection of treasures that made my heart happy.  Fantastic.

My NOLA-Greek mate wasn’t in town, but he’d sent us a list of places to visit and I must heartily thank him for his recc of the rooftop bar at the A for Athens Hotel.  Sure, the drink prices were eyewateringly expensive, but it had an uninterrupted view of the sunset beside the Acropolis.  The Parthenon reflected the most beautiful colours as the sun sank. 

THIS IS BASICALLY THE ONLY PICTURE I TOOK OF THE MAGICAL ROOF TOP SUNSET MOMENT.  A STINKING BIG NEGRONI, SOME DUDE'S BALDING HEAD AND A BLURRY ACROPOLIS BACKGROUND.  MUST HAVE BEEN 'IN THE MOMENT'.

 

The Cyclades were full of sub-25 year old Australians looking to get shitfaced.  Who’d’ve thunk it?  The weather was amazing, the water warm, the scenery beautiful and the prices generally right: absolutely asking for an invasion of morons on their OE (including this girl, obv).  We avoided most of the really heinous sinkholes advertising “treats” like jam doughnut shots or cheesecake cocktails and enjoyed our time immensely.  Paros was fabulous – Dina’s Hotel was a steal on a mid-range budget and oh so beautiful in a white-washed, blue-appointed way.  Santorini was dramatic but completely over-touristed.  It was overt that a building boom had ceased some time ago – much like Ireland, empty, half completed dwellings were everywhere.  I’m truly grateful we didn’t bother with Mykonos or Ios – I know people say that they’re beautiful and I’m sure they are, but the fact of the matter is that people go there to get blind drunk and take pills and hook up.  F that.    

THIS IS THE SORT OF SHIT PEOPLE MANUFACTURE AND TRY TO SELL WHEN THERE ARE LITERALLY BOAT LOADS OF TOURISTS IN ONE PLACE.  NOT YOUR BEST WORK, SANTORINI, EVEN IF THEY DO HAVE A SUBVERSIVE LLADRO VIBE GOING ON

THIS IS THE SLIGHTLY CONFUSED FACE OF SOMEONE WHO HAS JUST SEEN CERAMIC 'FUCKING ANIMAL' SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS  

The Olympics were on when we were in Greece.  P and I spent several evenings watching the coverage in Greek on the big screen outside some beer-serving chip shop with big fans and a bunch of old dudes in Athens.  The old guys worked out we were Kiwis and got raucously supportive of our athletes when they made it on screen, clapping us on the back.  On one notable day, we watched several Kiwi rowers win gold while sweating in our underwear, the refrains of God Defend New Zealand in Maori drifting out our hotel window onto the street.  In Santorini I cried for Valerie Adams as she looked heartbroken in an interview after taking silver in the shotput – she said she’d felt like she’d let the nation down.  She could never do that, as long as she tried her best.  (Need I add subsequently the gold medallist was disqualified for drug use – but even had her win been legit, how could a silver possibly let anyone down?).  While we weren’t in Olympia, we visited the original Olympic stadium in Athens and had a blast pretending to throw discus.  We splashed in the ocean working on our synchronised swimming moves for way, way too long.  We were disappointed not to be in London using our tickets to see the rowers and equestrian team do NZ proud, but I think it was an excellent second best. 

 

 

oversharing is what this gig is all about, right?

First, because it’s probably mandatory: yay Obama!  Well done you, America. 

Second, Aucklanders or people planning to visit Auckland: Go eat at Café Hanoi in Britomart. It’s awesome. Last night I ate summer rolls there and something with chargrilled pork.  I was super-super-tummy-happy and it wasn’t even the Beer Lao talking. 

Ok, here’s the grotty bit involving a deep discussion of my intestinal tract and its inner workings.  But it’s also a description of a love affair, really. 

India was fantastic, amazing, incredible and it completely broke me. 

 

AWESOMEST TRACTOR EVER.  TAKEN ON A ROADSIDE STOP AFTER ONE OF OUR FELLOW TRAVELLERS THREW UP ON THE CAR DOOR BEFORE GETTING IT OPEN.

I should probably start with some India love first.  We got off to a very weird start because just prior to arrival in Chennai, I had to get my bra back on in a plane full of quite conservative folks for whom it was the very early morning.  I was not in a good place when we got on board our 2am flight from Dubai (having miserably failed at a squat toilet in a sleep-deprived fog, wherein I peed a little on my own foot).  I was desperate for some sleep following a wide-awake leg from Istanbul, so I decided that I could not possibly wear John Lewis’ horrendously tight bra.  I unhooked that bad boy and managed a couple of hours rest.  But unhooking is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay easier than re-hooking.  It took some heavy-breathing and eventually hiding in the toilets to reassert control over the boys.  But I digress.  We landed in Chennai at approx. 8am, tired, ratty and already having incurred a serious amount of disapprobation for my slatternly ways. 

And I was revitalised the minute we got off the plane.  NZ is very, very lucky in that we are eligible to apply for visa on arrival in India.  We had our first experience of Indian bureaucracy signing forms in triplicate at the airport and I enjoyed myself immensely.  P got very excited very quickly because he saw two dogs humping on the side of the road the minute we left the airport.  Everything was so new, different, exciting.  We’ve been to SE Asia before and adored it, but this was a whole new level of excitement for us. 

We maintained that surreal state of hyper-excitement and stimulation for the first two and a half weeks we were there.  Puducherry (Pondicherry), Bangalore, Rajasthan, Agra, Delhi…unbelievable.  We were in love with the food, the people, the scenery, everything.  Driving at dusk though Tamil Nadu and seeing fortresses on weird rock formations, seeing a roadside dentist exercise his professional skills, shovelling dahl in my face: all incredible. 

 

NEW SET OF DENTURES ANYONE?  THAT IS LITERALLY THE CURB YOU SEE THERE ON THE BOTTOM RIGHT. 

 

But here is the predictable part.  My digestive system was mildly problematic for those first two and a half weeks.  As in, there was a couple of close calls when out in Jaipur and the rest of the time I had just accepted that peeing out of my butt would be par for the course (thanks MODG for that delicious turn of phrase).   P and I hit Udaipur with a vengeance, however.  Touristy, but a pretty wee town on a lake with a marvellous island palace that featured in Octopussy (which was playing at about 50 bazillion restaurants around town).    P and I headed up to the rooftop of a local hotel with others in order to enjoy the nighttime lights and have a meal.  I sat down, and started to feel like death.  DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEATH.  Sweaty, hazy, tummy grumbly.  I pulled the pin and headed back to our hotel, which was probably the wisest thing I have done this side of 18.  I got back and felt terrible, headachey and awful for the next 36 hours.  I didn’t, however vomit: small mercies! Grateful!

 

I CAN SEE WHY OCTOPUSSY WOULD WANT TO LIVE HERE BUT IT STILL MAKES ME WANT TO BIFF MY COOKIES JUST LOOKING AT IT

 

P was not so lucky.  He was hit with the most horrendous food poisoning at about 3am.  We were basically competing for the bathroom for a while there and there are no secrets left in this marriage.  There ought to be some secrets in a marriage, P and I are agreed on that and you can take our word for it.  It took us a long time to get right after that (and by get right, I mean functioning and able to leave the hotel room).  It tainted the last week or so we had in India a little I think as we were definitely under the weather.

We’ve now been back in NZ for two months and four-ish days and we’re still not right.  Both P and I have been on serious courses of antibiotics but our bowels are not playing the game.  To give you an idea of how much I’ve been affected, I willingly took drugs that rendered me completely unable to drink for 11 whole days.  I’m serious about the not drinking (who hasn’t been on antibiotics or just finishing a course and thought “just one wine won’t hurt” and got shitfaced?).  These were the bad boys that they give alcoholics so you can’t metabolize booze at all.  In my first week at my new job, a number of people assumed I was pregnant because (a) I wasn’t drinking at a team function* and (b) I was so bloated from whatever is making me sick that I looked at least 4, 5 months along.  Awesome impression when I explained I wasn’t preg, just gassy. 

Anyway, we have taken worm pills (just in case), several courses of drugs, changed our diets to include good fibre etc and still the problems persist.  So full circle, P has sorted us another round of no-drink drugs and I’m back on the no-booze bandwagon tonight as a result.  We were supposed to start last night but got distracted catching up with a friend and ended up drinking Beer Lao and eating tasty treats instead. But we're committed to fixing this problem so we don't have to have the weekly "So.  How are you?  No, I mean really, how ARE you?" conversation that ends badly.  Watch this space.  Or not, because it’s vile.   

I JUST NEEDED TO VENT, OK?!  And seriously, go to India.  You won't regret it, even if your colon does. 

*Doesn’t that give you a wee taster of NZ’s drinking culture of which I am simultaneously ashamed and proud?!  Don’t worry, I am constantly checking myself against drinking warning sign charts.  Except I failed the NHS one.  Oh ffffffffffffff.