Do They Know It's Christmas Time At All?

You can't say I haven't tried. I have. I really have. So I may not gone as far as buying a Christmas jumper - in the humidity that would be verging on suicidal - but I have done everything else; bought Christmas decorations, played Christmas songs on the iPod, watched Christmas episodes of TV programmes. Heck I'm even, as I type this, drinking out of a Christmas themed mug. 

But it still doesn't feel very Christmassy. Even the weather is trying to help, well a little bit anyway. Today's weather effort has a very British feel to it - it's overcast with a little bit of drizzle. OK so it's also 20 degrees. But apart from that I can almost imagine I'm back in the good old North East of England when I gaze out of the window. But still no twinge of the festive season.

The shops are doing their bit as well - all decked out in tinsel, baubles and, it has to be said, some rather sinister looking Santa Clauses. But rather than adding to the festive feeling, they are just adding to the feeling of disconnection from all things Christmassy. 

So what is it? Have I missed something? We're the songs not Christmassy enough? Have I skimped on the tinsel? Maybe I should go and get that novelty Christmas jumper. But I don't think it would work. It's the light. Or rather the absence of darkness. You see it's mid summer here, the equivalent of June in the UK, and whilst we many not be enjoying the really long days of a British summer, it is still light at 6am and right through to 8:30pm. Or thereabouts. Give or take. And it's just plain weird.

"Ooh, hark at him!", I hear all you northerners say, "All lovely and warm in the sun - he's only saying that to make us feel better. "

Well maybe I am. Just a little bit. But it is also true. In all the time I've been here, this is the most distance and disconnected I have felt from home. Oh what I wouldn't give for a bone-chilling wind, some frost and just a bit of ice. The only ice we get here comes in a glass of gin and tonic. But it's all good. All part of life's rich pageant. And you know what? It's only for a short while and pretty soon 'normality' will resume. In the meantime I'll wish you all a Merry Christmas, a fab New Year and console myself with a walk on the beach, maybe an ice cream in the park and raise a glass of cold beer to absent friends and family whilst I watch the sun set on Rangitoto Island. Hhmmm, OK maybe it's not all bad!

Auf Wiedersehen, Pet

Anyone who knows me will know that I'm not keen on animals. Well that's not entirely true. I like animals. Some of my best friends are animals. It's just that I think they're better off in the wild. In their natural habitat so to speak. Show me any animal that's much better off being kept in the confines of a  house and I'll happily reconsider my position. Except for dachshunds. They don't count. Clearly any animal that would get lost in short grass wouldn't last five minutes in the real world. It's a jungle out there.

No, as far as I'm concerned animals are better off in the wild and humans are better off for them being there.  I know where they are if I want to go and see them and they keep their distance. A happy state of being. You just imagine the carnage that would result if lions and tigers forgot their place and encroached into our space. Not that there are any such animals in Auckland. At least I don't think so. I'd have seen them surely?

So you may then, after all that, be surprised to learn that we have a pet. Or at least we did. For about eight hours. Maybe less. You see when I went out onto the upstairs deck for my morning cup of coffee at the weekend I was confronted by a piece of kiwi wildlife. Well a young sparrow or something. I'm not too sure. It was definitely a bird. With a beak and everything. For the sake of confusion, let's call him Trevor.

So I was confronted by Trevor who had, and it has to be the only explanation, had his maiden flight cut short by flying into one of the numerous pieces of glass that surround our viewing platform. Stunned, and a little embarrassed I imagine, Trevor didn't know what to do for the best. He tried, without success, to take off and gain enough lift to carry himself over the confinements of his new surroundings. It wasn't happening. 

"Hhmmm", I thought to myself, "I really must do something to help"

I'd like to think this was out of a sudden urge to protect and nurture wild life but I was thinking ahead, "If the bleeder expires here I'm going to have to deal with a dead body"

But no matter how hard I tried, Trevor seemed reluctant to run into my grasping hands. No matter, I thought, we're off out today so I'm sure that between now and our return this evening he'll figure it out. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I'd set my expectations for Trevor too high? Maybe I thought his feathered mates would come to his rescue and fashion a rope kind of piece of apparatus from twigs? So, confident that Trevor was smarter than your average bird, I left some crumbs of bread and a tray of water and set off into town. 

However, I was wrong as upon our return Trevor was still there. A little crisper from the midday sun and certainly a whole lot more tired. And he hadn't touched his breakfast! 

Clearly Trevor was an idiot. I was going to have to intervene. But no amount of coaxing was going to get him to run into my helping hands, instead preferring to cower in the corner. An idiot and a coward. Oh dear.

I needed time to think. I needed some stimulus. I needed wine. Whilst I sat and pondered the puzzling predicament some of Trevor's mates finally made an appearance and perched on the glass edge of the deck. It was good that his colleagues were finally showing an interest and a previously unseen level of concern. Unanimously, and in perfect harmony, they called out his name, "Trevor! Trevor! Trevor!" and shat on our recently cleaned glass banister. Trevor seemed unmoved. It was getting messy.

Suddenly I hit upon a sparkling idea. A bucket! Surely with a bucket I could pounce and capture stranded Trevor and carry him to safety. Well away from our upper deck anyway. Yes that's it! And in the safe knowledge that we had such an implement in the garage I knew I was onto a winning solution.....

Trevor was having none of it. As soon as I got within a metre of him he flapped off to the opposite corner of the deck. Maybe it was the fact that I was too slow with the bucket, maybe it was the fact that the bucket was bright green or maybe I was a little drunk. Or all three. Whatever it was, Trevor was winning the battle. "One last go", I thought to myself as I stared my tormentor in the beady eye. So with my back to the house I cornered him, deployed the bucket. Bullseye! Except it wasn't. The little bleeder ran through my legs and into the house!

So if catching a four feathered friend on a plain, four sided space was hard you can only begin to imagine how much more difficult my task had now become. With the stakes much higher, and the number of nooks and crannies increased exponentially there was no backing out. I must say that I'd underestimated Trevor's ingenuity. He found places to hide that I hadn't even considered; behind curtains, under the sofa, behind cupboards and amongst the hi-fi wiring. 

For the next half-an-hour a frantic game of cat and mouse ensued as I chased a bird around the living room (now there's a sentence I'd never thought I'd write!). Then, just as it was looking hopeless and I was coming to terms with having a permanent guest in the house, I saw my chance. With a swift swish of the bucket I had Trevor cornered near the top of the stairs. Unfortunately he was wise to it and with a deft flap of his wings flew down the stairs. Git.

But he was running out of options. I closed in on the landing, and give it one last shot..... Got him! Captured safe and sound in my bucket. With the swift application of the top of a pizza box to the bottom of the bucket I carried Trevor to the front door and the safety of the open world.

Yet still, I often sit here, stare out of the window look up at the sky and wonder where Trevor is. I'm sure he's got over his ordeal, picked up where he left off and is now the best flyer in his class. Good on him I say. Mind you I blame his parents. Fancy letting him fly on his own. At his age. 

And as for me? Well it has made me realise just what wonderful wildlife we have on our doorstep. Not only birds but plants, flowers and just the other day I saw a rather content looking cat.....

Not All Plain Sailing

Every now and again I find myself suddenly stopping what I'm doing, looking around and wondering "How on earth did I end up here?", or to be totally truthful "What the F***?".

What causes me to do that changes depending upon what mood I'm in or what my energy levels are like. It could be a sudden down pour, catching a glimpse of the blue sea, the lights on the SkyTower or...well just about anything really. And it is amazing to think that not even a year ago we'd never even been to New Zealand. Little did we know, when we set off from the UK in December 2013, that we'd be back living here. Let's try that again. Living. Here. Even typing that has given me cause to stop and just take it all in. It just goes to show you never know what's around the corner.

We never knew, well who would, that we would be marking the anniversary of our first arrival with the fourth month of our residency. Never saw that coming.

And what a four months it has been. But I guess, if you've been reading this outpost of the Internet on a regular basis, then you already knew that. But it hasn't all been plain sailing in the City of Sails. We've had our moments. Although this is a well worn path,and there are plenty of those who have, and who will, make the journey South, there is no manual. Very little in the way of published guidance and no one really tells you just how hard it can be. Yes we knew it was going to take a bit of effort but that was only part of it.

So, whilst I'm in a reflective and almost helpful mood, here are my top five* tough things and tips how to overcome them;

1/. Be prepared to have your world tipped upside down

No really. Be ready. New Zealand is perhaps one of the easiest countries to relocate to but it's all too easy to be lulled into a sense of false security. Yes they drive on the same side of the road, speak the same language, and enjoy a beer of two but it's the small things that bite you on the bum. And wear you down. Simple things like going to the supermarket, where things look familiar but are slightly different. Questions are relentless; "Just where do they put tomato paste?", "Is this like mackerel?", "Will this be the same as.......". Don't laugh. It's hard. And tiring. You start out asking the shop staff a question or two about condiments but before you know it you've magically acquired a personal shopper.

The only was to avoid being a nuisance, or worse getting banned from the establishment is to simply go with the flow. And whatever you do don't try and recreate every menu you had back home. Stop looking for pork pies. You won't find them. (Although strangely you can find Worcester Sauce!). But above all don't shop when your tired. You'll only end up falling out with yourself and going home with a basket of totally incompatible ingredients. 

And so what if you buy a tin of tomato sauce thinking it will make a great base for homemade pizzas - only to find that it is actually tomato sauce. You know ketchup. In a tin. WTF? It's still perfectly edible. Just about.

And don't forget - it's supposed to be different. There is no point in coming all this way and then trying to recreate your life from back home. It's the equivalent of going on holiday to Spain and then spending the entire time in English bars and seeking out the best place for fish and chips. As an aside you can buy fish and chips almost everywhere here so that's one less thing to worry about! Enjoy the differences. 

2/. Say goodbye to home comforts....for a while at least

Arriving into a new country with only a suitcase to your name seems like a fun adventure. And it is. For a while. Pretty soon you are tired of looking at the same old clothes ("ah it's Monday so it the grey trousers and white shirt combo today") miss having your home comforts and start to wonder if you'll ever see them again. Waving goodbye to your house contents and not seeing them again for twelve weeks is more difficult than you can imagine. What makes it worse is that you can easily buy replacements but the thought of spending money on something when you have a perfectly good one somewhere in the Pacific makes it hard. Why waste good money when, with a little patience, a container full of your stuff will arrive? 

Well you know what? If it's really that important go and buy it. You've already taken a huge step by moving to the other side of the world so cut yourself some slack. An additional table lamp, a set of knives and forks or a 'throw' won't break the bank and it may just help take the edge off the frustration. And you know what? Your stuff will arrive and when it does it's like Christmas has arrived early. Unless of course it arrives at Christmas in which case it's like all your Christmases arrived at once. Which they have. It's a really great feeling when they container doors open and there is all of you stuff. Just as you left it months ago. 

3/. A Mountain of Things

Make no mistake about it, the first few months are going to be hard work. If your lucky enough to already have a job then you are still going to have to find somewhere to live, open bank accounts, get mobile phones, apply for a tax code, buy a car, change your driving licence, buy insurance, sort out power providers, internet providers..... 

It would be very easy to arrive and rush into sorting all this stuff out. Yes finding somewhere to live is kind of a big deal but take your time. Making a decision in a panic won't help. So have a few weekends off. Relax and take in your surroundings and take some time to remember why you came and take stock of what you've achieved so far.

And once you've done that.... GET A F**KING MOVE ON! WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS? A BLOODY HOLIDAY? Oh and get a reliable broadband connection sorted. Yes really. Whether you are a tech nerd or not it will make a huge difference and help sort all the other stuff out. 

4/. It Still Rains

If you are coming to New Zealand to escape the British rain then you're in for a shock. It rains. A lot. Well it does in Auckland anyway. Of course we knew that it rained. Well it has to doesn't it? But we didn't know that it rained. I don't think that a day has gone by when it hasn't. And oh boy does it come down. It is torrential. No really. Imagine all the rain in the Lake District for one day in a ten minute deluge. It rains so hard that it makes your head bleed.

May advice to the unwary traveller is this. Be careful. Or don't. You'll either spend the day lugging round a waterproof and brolly and not need it or don't and get soaking wet. And breathable Goretex? Forget it. If you opt to wear a coat then you'll get wet from the inside no matter what. But it's all good. Mother nature has her own fix, whatever your decision. Within half an hour the sun will be baking the streets and, quite conveniently, drying you off. 

And besides, if you are feeling a little homesick, what is better than a good bit of rain to remind you of home? Exactly.

5/. Half A World Away

OK so I've saved the worst for last, and it's a really obvious one. A no-brainer. New Zealand is a long way from home, or more importantly a heck of a long way from family and friends. In your head you know it is but it's not until you arrive, and once the excitement or enormity of what you've done subsidies, that you really understand the distance. And time. The distance you can sort of rationalise - it is after all only a flight (or two) away - but being thirteen hours ahead really brings it home. Thirteen hours. Just think about that for a moment. When you're getting ready for work, friends and family back home are closing the hatches and getting ready for bed. 

And then there is the seasons. Whilst you're slapping on the sun cream folks back home are wrapping up. And come the winter it'll be summer. 

It really does give you a sense of disconnection and there is no easy way to deal with it. No little tricks to help. You've just got to get on and get used to it. Sure having the Internet helps; video calls have come a long way and really shrink the distance, momentarily at least. But it's not the same. 

My only advice is to keep sending home those pictures of clear blue skies, sparkling oceans and white sun-soaked sand and pretty soon everyone you knew or loved at home will disown you in a fit of jealousy. Problem solved.

So there you have it - five pitfalls and tips to avoid them. And if all else fails and you're still getting sudden cases of WTFs. Just stop what you're doing. Take a look around and remember why you're where you are. And if that doesn't work.. go to the pub! Case closed.

It'd be churlish of me not to follow my own advice, so here's one I prepared earlier....

* for the sake of alliteration it was going to be ten things but I've got better things to do than sit here all day typing** 

** Actually I haven't but you don't need to know that!

This could be the first time....

If the purpose of having adventures is to experience new stuff then this past week or so has definitely hit the spot. So in not particular order here are three highlights;

1/. Ferry Across the Mers....

I can honestly say, with suntanned hand on heart, that I've never taken a ferry to get to a concert. Never.... Or at least I don't think I have. It's the sort of thing that you'd remember, even in a drunken state. Not that I was drunk on this occasion. A little merry perhaps, but certainly not drunk. The thought of getting on a water borne vessel in a state of inebriation is not on my list of top ten things to try. That's why I've avoided cruises..... and the pedal boats in Scarborough.

Anyway I digress. And so it was that last Friday we caught a ferry from downtown Auckland across the harbour to Devonport where we saw the New Zealand Navy Band play big band classics. Multicultural moi? You betcha. And they were fantastic - their previous appointment to this was to play for Angela Merkel. Not even U2 can claim that.....actually knowing Bono they probably have but you know what I'm saying right? Good.

The other notable fact, especially for readers from the magical city of Liverpool, is that there is also a town called Birkenhead 'across the water'. I kid you not.

2/. Rotorua

Where do you start with a place like Rotorua? No, I don't know either. It's certainly the first town I've been to where they roll up the pavements at 9:30pm. Actually scrub that - I've also been to Todmorden on a drizzly, cold day in December. 

But it is the first town I've been to where in the local cinema the patrons are outnumbered by the staff. Actually I'm being a bit disingenuous. The actuality is that the local climbing wall has a small cinema in its basement where they show films of a more independent nature. The thirteen seater movie house is a sight to behold, too cute for words and a great resource for a town that seemed to be short on resources. Well those that extend beyond 9:30pm anyway. We bought tickets, along with three others, to see 'Finding Vivian Maier'. We thoroughly enjoyed it. Not sure the others did as we were only three by the time the movie ended. Maybe they were expecting something else? Perhaps they were in the mood for a spy thriller? Or a swashbuckling adventure? If they were then a documentary about a reclusive photographer who died in obscurity probably wasn't their idea of entertainment for a Saturday night.

I can also claim, without one shred of doubt, that I have never ran in a race that took you through an active geological area. OK so I have never ran in a race in NZ until today, but running through a landscape that gloops, hisses and steams sulphureously at you is definitely unusual. And oh my god the smell! Was it not enough that I was surrounded by smelly runners? Thankfully this was only one portion of the 21km route as the rest took you through forest glades, manicured suburbia and along the lake shore. I'm glad to say that I finished in one piece and in a decent time. But I have definitely gone off eggs. 

3/. Breakfast on the go

I thought I'd seen all the variations on mobile meals - that was until my journey to work one morning last week. Now you should understand that I walk fairly quickly, especially for someone less tall than average. But I was surprised when I was overtaken by a woman coming out of a side street.....eating cereals from a bowl. Yes overtaken! Walking at speed down the street whilst munching on cornflakes, balancing a bowl in one hand with spoon in other was something that I'd never thought I'd see. To be fair it was something that I'd never even considered that I'd see. Maybe it demonstrates a whole lack of imagination on my part? Intrigued, I sped up to try and stay with her. Whatever was in her bowl certainly give here energy. But I couldn't help think that she would have been better off getting out of bed a few minutes earlier and sitting still whilst having her morning repast. It would certainly be less risky. If she had to have food on the go then why not have a banana or a bit of toast? They are certainly more mobile and almost entirely remove the risk of spilling milk on the footpath. If it has to be cereal based then how about a cereal bar? Surely that would be an appropriate compromise? Fascinating.

So there you have it. New stuff. Surely that is the whole reason for coming somewhere new? Of course there are the usual chores; grocery shopping, commuting, paying bills, working etc. But it's the new stuff that makes the other things worthwhile. And I'm looking forward to seeing what's around the corner. No don't tell me! I want to find out for myself. In a country as special, beautiful and, in some cases, downright bizarre it could be anything. 

A Nasty Case of WPS

It is not very well known outside New Zealand, but there is a terrible and, in some cases fatal, disease that strikes the unwary traveller. It attacks at random, without warning and can be very expensive to cure. WPS, or to give it it's full title ’Whinging Pom Syndrome’, can be triggered off by the slightest of things.

Quite often the triggers are innocuous; a half glimpsed snippet of something on TV, a passing remark or even the weather. More often, however, the root cause is something that is connected to the deepest part of the psyche. Food. Or to be more precise, the lack of a certain foodstuff. The early signs are difficult to spot and can easily be mistaken for a 'bit of a grumble'. 

“These tea bags are just not as good as the those we get at home”, is all too familiar phrase from a WPS sufferer in the early stages of the disease.

“You just can't get the things we get at home. You know the bits and bobs that make a difference - make you feel at home ”, sympathises another as WPS takes hold.

“Marmite. I just can't get find it anywhere. Sure there are some New Zealand kind of yeast extract products. But it's not Marmite. You know what I mean”.

And so it goes on. And on. And on. And on. If left untreated the condition can worsen and lead to a much more severe and debilitating disease Ping-Pong-Pom or PPP. 

Usually a good slap around the head is sufficient to momentarily reduce the symptoms in a WPS suffer but if left untreated and allowed to worsen PPP can take hold. In these cases the sufferer will return to the UK for treatment. For example a nice cup of tea and a biscuit has been know to successfully treat WPS sufferers whereas others have responded well to Sunday lunch and a pint in a pub.

Usually, after several months of treatment, the individual regains their strength and returns to New Zealand, ready to resume their ’new life’. Unfortunately, in some cases, the treatment is not as successful as first thought and WPS returns more rampant than ever before. Once again the sufferer is forced to return to the UK for treatment and so the cycle continues. Once the disease gets to this stage PPP is very hard to cure as the sufferer succumbs wholly and totally.

Fortunately there is one treatment that will completely cure PPP and that is the immediate and permanent removal of the sufferer’s passport. It is a drastic step but I most cases the individual goes on to make a full recovery and live a full and healthy life.

Although much research has been undertaken into debilitating disease, those in the medical profession are dumbfounded as to how the disease chooses it's victims or, perhaps more tellingly, why they are more susceptible to its advances. 

A few days after arriving in NZ I did myself notice some symptoms of early stages of WPS but these have quickly been eradicated - self administration of a nice glass of Sauvignon Blanc did the trick. To make sure, however, that WPS is kept at bay I have prescribed myself a course of the treatment. Yes it doesn't come cheap but if WPS is to be taken seriously then it is the only option.

Java Script

There's a new coffee shop that's opened up round the corner from us. It's caused quite a stir. Apart from the limp name 'biskit, there's nothing not to like. All of the now standard coffee shop paraphernalia are present and correct; morning papers, witty slogans on the walls, nice artwork, exposed brick walls and of course a huge coffee making machine.

All of this was revealed tantalisingly slowly over a few months - passers by and excited potential customers were able to glimpse snap shots through cracks in the brown paper that had been taped to the windows to create privacy for the fit out. 

Strangely, with the passing weeks, gaps appeared in different places offering different views and became , over time, increasingly larger. Either the owners were deliberately creating these to generate a buzz or they had very poor Sellotape.

Whatever the reason it worked. We passed to new addition to our high street on its first morning and it was rammed. Standing room only. Or thereabouts. The rich smell of coffee and bread products wafted out of the door into our early morning noses. It smelled good. Real good.

And people seemed to be enjoying it. Mugs of foaming coffee, cakes, bagels and muffins were being consumed. Papers we're being poured over and pre-work conversations flowed. Much like the coffee. The owners of 'biskit clearly had a hit on their hands.

And not a moment too soon. We were getting desperate - we were down to our last fifteen coffee shops. Nowhere near enough. So phew!

But it got me thinking. 'Oh dear, not again!', I hear you cry. But it did. 

So, assuming that fifty coffee drinkers hadn't just arrived in town for a coffee appreciation convention, where did these people come from? 

So unless these people all awoke this particular morning and thought "You know what! Hang my normal routine! I don't normally stop off on the way to work for a coffee because I'm perfectly capable of making one for myself, but today I feel different. Adventurous even. I'll just take a walk along the high street...... oh, yes there's that new coffee place opening. I'll go there!". 

So unless they all did that, in which case call Doctor Who now because there's clearly aliens at work, presumably another coffee shop was half empty - its owners scratching their heads wondering where their customers have got to. Was it something we said? Did our bacon and banana muffins not look inviting this morning? Have they all slept in? 

But all the coffee shops we passed looked as full as they ever had been. If not more so. So what gives? It's a mystery.

It's also a mystery just how much coffee Aucklanders can drink. Lots. And then some. Really it's a surprise that anyone ever goes to sleep in this town.  Just like New York but with friendlier inhabitants. I assume, by extrapolations not empirical evidence, that the rest of New Zealand is similarly caffeine infused. It's going to be one hell of a come down when it runs out.

And when it does I'll be fine. I'll be sat sipping my tea and nibbling on a scone wondering what all the fuss was about. An Englishman in New Zealand.

Picture This

There is something not quite right in the scene that follows. See of you can guess what it is.....

It's a sunny spring evening and we decide, rather than rush home with the rest of the commuters, we head to the cinema. After all it's only around the corner from where we both work so it would almost be rude not to. After a short debate over what time we should leave work we meet in the lobby of our building at 5:45pm.

After a five minute stroll we arrive at the cinema and purchase tickets for 'Pride'. It's the new British comedy on the block set in the mid-eighties and tells the true story of how a gay activist group from London help a struggling mining community in South Wales through the darkest part of the Margaret Thatcher's attack on working class communities.

So after selecting our seats on a touch screen we were presented with a choice of wine with which to enjoy the film. And by choice I don't mean red or white. I mean there is a selection of six or so. Of each colour. Do we want cheese and bread nibbles to go with that? You betcha!

So ticket, wine (in a real glass not an all-too-easy to crush plastic affair) in hand we make our way into the auditorium where we are greeted and shown to our seats. Comfortable seats with plenty of leg room. Not, of course, that is an issue for me. But I know some who would appreciate an extra couple of foot or two.

The film begins, we sip our wine, nibble on bread and for the next 90 minutes are entertained by this heartfelt comedy. This is undoubtedly helped by the fact that there are no mobile phones going off, people chatting to themselves or chucking things at their mates.

The film finishes, the audience picks up their litter and empty glasses and files orderly towards the exit.

Replenished, both spiritually and physically, we stroll home as the skies turn from dark blue to starry black. A very pleasant way to spend an evening.

So what's wrong with this scene? Tricky huh? Well I will give you a hand and list some potential answers;

1) Me leaving work at 6pm? You must be joking.

2) A good British comedy? Pull the other one.

3) A comedy about the miners' strike? Don't think so.

4) What's that? Picking your seats on a screen rather than being jammed at the back between two overly-amorous teenagers? Yeah right!

5) Wine? In a cinema? Doesn't sound right to me. What's wrong with 2 litres of rola-cola?

6) And whilst we're on, bread nibbles? Real cheese? You can keep yer poncy snacks - I'll be happy with warmed up nachos and plastic cheese and be glad about it. 

7) Comfortable seats with leg room? Don't think so. Cram them in, treat them like cattle and push them out the door as quick as you can. That's the only way to run a modern cinema.

8) Cinemas are the new pub. They'd be no point in going if you couldn't have the crack with your mates. If you want silence go to the library. And if your quite finished, it's not a good night if you don't go home with popcorn in your hair and tomato sauce on your arse.

Hhhmmmm. Choices, choices. Well actually it's none of those. The real answer is how could a card carry socialist sit happily and drink a nice Pinot Noir from Central Otago whilst scenes of desperation are bring played out on the screen? I felt like a class traitor throughout the whole thing and my conscience hasn't let me forget it. It's just wasn't right. Not at all  ....but it was a very nice glass of red. And as for the cheese? Divine. 

Can't Get There From Here

Commuting. What a waste of time. When you think about it that is. Sure, it gives you some personal time. Time alone, to let your mind wander, contemplate the peculiarities of life, the universe and everything. Or do you use it for more important issues? Like trying to get to that nasal hair you clearly missed during your morning grooming routine? Anything really to take you away from the drudgery of negotiating your car along the motorway. Going nowhere fast.

But do you really need that time? It's sheer lunacy if you ask me. And I've done my fair share. Sure, nowhere near as bad as some, but I bet if I where to add it all up I'd be shocked at the lost time. Just think what else I could've done with that time. Read more books? Learnt a new language perhaps? Written a short opera? Who knows. Well me..... I wouldn't have but it's a nice thought.

My commutes have, on the whole, been rather .....well.... dull. A thirty minute three mile drive from Headingley to Leeds city centre (yes I know I should've walked but this was the 90s darling), the 0710 to York or the 20 minute meander through the streets of Darlington. All reasonable. But all boring.

Which brings me to here. Or rather there. You see, I'm blessed with options for my new commute. I could simply walk up the road, take the bus or even cycle. I could jump in the car - an option if it's raining whereby I can go from one garage to another and never even step outside once. But that would be lazy.

Or I could take what is perhaps the most memorable commute I'll ever do. They say a picture tells a thousand words so here goes....

Lunch packed, tunes set up and headphones on. Time to set off to work 

 Heading down the hall - looks like a nice day...

 ....turning onto Parnell high street...

 ...past the old wooden church...

 ....and turning into the steps toward the Domain....

 ....and down a 'few' steps. Well what goes down must go up. At some point....

Under the underpass. Well that's the best thing for them... 

 ...just as the train from Britomart passes over. Ahh them were the days....

...and into the Domain woods...

 .....with palm trees for company.....

 ....before meeting the stairs of death....

....then emerging into the Domain with Auckland Museum to greet the weary traveller.

And more palm trees. Shame the ice cream kiosk is shut this early in the morning. 

 The Skytower pokes out above the tree line looking like an abandoned space rocket

Nearly there. Just got to cross the football field.... 

..before turning left into Carlton Gore Road... 

...and arriving at number 111 Carlton Gore Road and getting the lift to the third floor. Yes the lift! But after the stairs of death I can't face anymore steps. Not even one. 

And after twenty minutes of hiking arriving at my desk. A little sweaty perhaps but happy. Well as happy as one can be arriving into work!

The Missing Piece

Or should that be pieces? Lots of them. This coming Monday it will be eleven weeks since we packed up our possessions and watch them sail off.... well be driven off... down the street. I don't think, even then, that we had a clue just what that meant. It was going to be fun, or so we thought, living without things that we had taken so easily for granted for just a few weeks. Oh yes I can hear the derision in your thoughts even from here, "Typical middle class professionals - can't make do without their cappuccino makers and fondue sets", or ,"In my day we had to make do wi' a bit o' coal and phlegm for our entertainment. I wouldn't give a ha'penny for these two clouts"

Well we don't have a cappuccino maker and I wouldn't call three computers, three bikes, two sofas, three armchairs, two tents, two dining tables, three beds, two guitars (including cases) and a 6TB hard drive exactly the lap of luxury. No way. But it has been missed. 

What's even worse if that we knew where it was at all times. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we could track the progress of our possessions from the moment they left Teesport to the instant they hit the berth in Auckland. And boy was it painful to watch. The tinge of excitement we felt as they arrived a week later at Antwerp soon faded. By the time they approached Italy it had become too stressful. Why was it taking so long? We're they rowing? Had the captain taken a leave of absence and left rank amateurs in charge? What was going on? Italy slowly became a faded memory as the craft inched it's way towards the Southern Hemisphere. Then, inevitably, the estimated arrival time began creeping South. The 12th September became "mid-September" and "Mid September" became "End of the month. At the latest". At this rate we'd be eating our Christmas dinner off paper plates on our knees. 

But all was not lost. No siree. It had arrived into Sydney. From there it was just a short hop across the Tasman Sea and it'd be here. Cruise ships can do it in a few days so a week. Ten days tops. 

You can imagine my surprise, not to mention frustration, when I logged on and saw it heading the wrong way. "Where the f*** in f***etty f*** is it going now?!?!?", I screamed at the monitor, my new work colleagues sloping away in case I started banging my head on my desk. 

So we have to grimace and watch as it made its slow way to the bottom of New Zealand, crawl up the west coast - stopping at each town, village and small hamlet on the way, presumably to pick up nautical hitchhikers and give their mates a lift back from the pub - until it finally announced arrived off the coast of Auckland..... where it anchored for another day until it was ready to dock. Mind you, I can't blame them - they were probably doing their hair and looking "just right" before hitting the bright lights of the city. Image is everything.

And so, like giddy children, we are now eagerly anticipating the arrival of our stuff this weekend. Friday to be precise. This Friday. Two days from now. Oh I'm getting dizzy with excitement at the thought of a comfy chair and a cushion. Luxury? Well ok maybe it is. And besides, we can always buy a cappuccino maker.......

A Routine Post

Humans. We're a funny bunch. Constantly seeking adventure, thrills, excitement and opportunities to experience stuff that is different. You know, stuff that's not run of the mill. Stuff that will be interesting. Or more importantly stuff that will give you something to talk about down the pub on a Friday night. Or is that just me? Well except the pub on a Friday night bit that is. Oh no, no, no, no. You wouldn't catch me in a pub on a Friday night. Perish the thought.

But for the most part we don't find it. Adventure that it, not the pub. Most of us, men particularly, have a built in homing device to our local hostelry. But adventure? We couldn't find it with a map and a compass. Well ok maybe then we could be generally no. Not on a school night anyway. Not if you sit down and think about it. Sure you can dress up the fact that you've discovered a new cereal that you really like as earth shattering news. A cereal that is the best thing since .... well ..... sliced bread. Toasted, obviously. Crunchy, tasty and ...... But at the end of the day it's just a cereal. Nice. But a cereal all the same. And maybe that's ok. If everyday you uncovered something else earth shatteringly brilliant and exciting then pretty soon, probably by Friday, you'd have normalised and be used to it. This would be your routine. The bar would be raised and before long you'd have to an out of body experience or meet a time travelling alien just to be able to even dare show your face in the King's Head.

That just won't do. Rather than expect the unexpected, how about just expecting the expected? Now't wrong with that lad. 

And that is exactly what I have found myself doing in New Zealand. Although I'm 12,000 miles from where I started out, with huge opportunities to make a change, do things differently.... you know mix it up, I've simply created the exact same routine I had in the UK. Only with better weather. 

I wake up at 6:50am and go and make some coffee, sit in bed (well on the floor at the moment as our bed's in Invercargill along with the rest of our stuff) and peruse the news on the iPad. Check my emails, have a shower and breakfast (either porridge or a new cereal I'm really looking forward to trying) before heading to work at 7:10am. After a short twenty minute stroll to the office, arriving at 7:30am I change into my office shoes, have a cup of tea and set about work. Have a banana with some cheese at 10.00am followed by lunch (salad, humus and pita bread) at noon. A bit more work and then it's a yoghurt with fruit at 3.00pm and then sometime around 4:30pm I'll head home.....

And you know what? It's really comforting. Over the past month or so I've come to realise that routine is what keeps me sane. Or rather the framework of routine. After all everything else has changed so it's nice to have a bit of familiarity, something on which to hang all the other stuff that's different. If it's purely a coping mechanism then so be it; for every new work colleague I meet, give me a nice banana and a piece of cheddar and for every new experience I'd gladly take a nicely warmed pita and a salad thank you very much.

Adventure? Well yes of course! Excitement? Count me in..... As long as it fits around my routine of course!

Word Up

Whoever coined the phrase 'doesn't time fly' was spot on. I can't believe I've been here over a month. A month. Blimey where did that go to. Mind you I haven't stopped since we touched down at Auckland International; getting a house, getting a car, getting lost, finding myself, getting lost again, unpacking.... well sort of.... And then, of course, there is the small matter of starting a new job, making new friends and trying to navigate to world of engineering in the Southern Hemisphere. 

I presumed, I now know wrongly, that as English was the language of choice then it would be a breeze. But instead highway engineering you have roading, central reserve becomes median and a verge is berm. Obvious really. 

And there is the everyday. Safe ground one would assume. But no. A supermarket trolley is an aptly named trundler, your car MOT is a canine sounding WOF and you can only imagine my surprise when I was confronted by a TV advert screaming (they all scream) 'Sale Now On - Manchester slashed!!' or 'Manchester Half Price Or Less - Don't Miss Out!'. 'Manchester old and tired? Buy new!'. And so it goes on. I knew the north of England was in dire straits but I didn't think they had resorted to selling themselves on Kiwi TV. Whatever next? Reduced Bradford? Half price Cleethorpes or buy one Darlington and get another free?

But it turns out that 'Manchester' is bed linen. If course how could I have been so stupid. Numbskull. Actually the reason behind it is quite logical and sweet. You see when Europeans first settled in NZ cotton products were most sought after, the bulk of which were shipped in from .... you guessed it... Manchester, England. Nice huh? Which is almost a shame because I was looking forward to heading to the shops as we're getting a bit low on Todmorden.

A month in. Blimey. Anyway in the short space of time we've been here I'm pleased to say that I've invented a new sport. Which is something for a country that revels in sporting competition. Anyway it's taking off big style. 

'Get The Limey To Pronounce Our Place names' is a big deal in Auckland. Well it is in our office. Apparently great mirth can be had getting me to pronounce where I've been to at the weekend, where we're planning on going for holidays or even street names I've been looking for. 

'Papatoetoe', started it. Needless to say I didn't come out like it was supposed to. Neither did 'Waitakere', 'Whitianga' or 'Whangaparaoa'. And don't get me started on the amount of guffaws that were heard when I had a go at pronouncing 'Onehunga'.

Anyway I've found a way to beat them at their own game - from now on I'm only going to visit places I can safely pronounce correctly. So this year we'll be holidaying in 'Hobsonville' or 'Newmarket', taking a trip to 'Ponsonby' or perhaps taking a well deserved break in the romantically named 'Flat Bush'. Two can play at this game mate!

Home Sweet Home

Phew! I'm glad that's done with. But as I brought it up, the term 'House Hunting' doesn't quite cut it. Oh god no. 'House Hunting' infers a sort of macho, courageous and heroic pastime. You know the kind, setting out from your safe haven, gun in hand, with the odds stacked against you. Only fear and adversity for your companion. Kill or be killed.....

If that were closer to the truth then maybe, just maybe, it would be worth sacrificing your weekends for. Hours lost to trudging up and down street after street would be worthwhile. Sore feet and blisters not in vain. But no. Deary me, no. 

'House Hunting'. Tschhh. How hard can it be? After all they don't move very fast but you do need a big net... Not so much hunting as blindly following the severely misleading estate agents literature from one disappointment to the next. At least we know speak fluent estate-agentese. It's quite easy once you get the hang of it. Try these;

'luxurious' - has a seating area although you wouldn't really want to sit there for fear of catching something nasty.

'executive' - there's a drawer to put your pens in.

'cute' - tiny with just a hint of cat sweat.

But we're done and ironically, after clocking up the miles navigating Auckland's streets, we've gone with one of the first we saw; close to work, cafés, bars and with a view of the sea (distant). A double garage and two, yes two, decks. Parks on the door step, En-suite bathroom. Oh and a hot tub in the yard. But it's broken. 

But above all somewhere to lay our weary heads after a hard day of grafting. A refuge. A bolt hole. Pad.... Or if you prefer, somewhere to store years of accumulated crap that we've 'decided' to ship half way around the globe because we couldn't be bothered to sort it all out before the container arrived.

So in a few weeks time, our container will  arrive on our new door step, assuming it can negotiate the narrow streets of Parnell, and we'll finally be able to settle into a place called home. Once we've unpacked the rubbish that we've shipped 12,000 miles. I do wonder what surprises are in store for us when the export seal is removed and the doors creak open....Oh that reminds me does anyone want a Football '81 Panini album complete with the entire West Brom signatures? And before you turn your nose up, it includes the autographs of non other than Brian 'glass legs' and Bobby 'Whoar Bobby' Robson. I bet you're interested now aren't you. Thought so. 

Television, the Drug of the Nation

From someone who doesn't watch much TV the following statement is going to seem a little out of character. Two faced even. But I strongly believe that TV defines Britain in the world. Or rather the BBC does. 

No matter which side of the political line you choose to sit on, or on the line itself in some cases, you have to admit that the BBC is recognised the world over. Yes you do. It won't hurt.

And I miss it. Even though if I were to be in the UK right now, this evening, or this morning if you want to be pedantic, I probably be doing something less boring instead, it'd be good to know it was there. 

Except now it's not. And I can't not watch it. That seems to make it worse somehow. Yes we can get BBC World News - a watered down version of BBC 24 - with it's odd slant towards all things non UK. Why? Why bother? We all know that the interesting things only happen north of the channel. 

And there are the BBC educational programmes. I must admit I got a bit of a shock when I tuned in and DIDN'T find a programme about table etiquette and the correct way to make tea. Instead I was treated to a natural history programme about two......well you can imagine. BBC Knowledge is the go-to programme for Kiwis with a first for knowledge. Thank goodness they don't show any sport on there. The last thing we want is Kiwis getting good at cricket or rugby.....

But wherever you go in the world, people recognise the BBC. Here in NZ people trust it more than their own broadcasters Sky.  I know that isn't saying much. But they do. 

Two channels of quality programming, and the obligatory UK Gold, is not much. But it'll do. It'll have to. The rest is either American trash (with the exception of Big Bang Theory - the geek shall inherit the earth) or imported Aussie stuff. And you can only imagine what that's like. 

Oh how I miss the BBC. Especially last Sunday when the UK were being tret to the new Doctor Who. And we weren't. What a calamity. What a predicament. What to do? With only a few teaser trailers it was clearly some way off landing New Zealand side. Fortunately Auckland had the answer. The cinema. Yessiree for only $20 each we could sit in comfortable seats, drinks in hand, in near total darkness and watch the new episode unfold. How could we refuse?

So at 5pm last Sunday we joined the other trendsetters, you know go getters, and watched Malcolm Tucker....oops... Doctor Who take on half-machine half-human foes. No, not the Conservative Party but evil impostors who we're farming innocent humans for their own gain.....wait it could've been..... stop it!  Anyway, it was just like being at home except it cost us the better part of £20 for the pleasure and I got a few more funny stares in my homemade Ood costume. Ah well, at least it was dark for the walk home.

 

She'll Be Right

The French have a saying, well they would wouldn't they (probably accompanied by a Gaelic shrug) 'Vive La Difference'. Typical. Sheesh can't they just get over themselves. I mean what is the point. All cool and calm and then as soon as the heat rises.....Sorry where was I? Oh yes, the French. Or rather their saying. Live life to the full. Or something like that. Enjoy the differences. Indeed.

Since arriving in NZ I have noticed a whole plethora of differences. Some huge. Others small, almost negligible. Which is which. Who knows, or more importantly who cares. But they are there nonetheless. One such recent example is when a hapless traveller tried to get a tax number. One from NZ and the other the UK. I'll let you decide which is which....

Scenario 1

Interior - Post Office

Customer: Hello. I need to apply for a tax number. [Form handed through to the representative]

Representative: Hhmmpphh.

Customer: Is this the right form?

Representative: [silence]

Customer: Errr. Good.

Representative: Do you have a copy of your driving licence?

Customer: [Hands over originals of documents]

Representative: Yes, but where are the photocopies? The application form states clearly in paragraph 13 subsection 5 that photocopies are to be presented for authentication by an approved government employee.

Customer: Errrr

Representative: Speak or leave

Customer: Sorry.

Representative: Speak louder you globulous cretin.

Customer: Errr

Representative: Where is the photocopy you human piece of excrament. You are not worthy to wipe the arse of humanity. You make me sick. BLLLAARRGGHH!!!

Customer: I don't have it. I'm really sorry. Surely there must be something I can do. Please..... Please. I've been in a queue for hours. [whimpers]

Representative: Of course....... COME BACK WITH THE CORRECT PAPERWORK YOU UTTER ARSE!!!!

Scenario 2

Interior - Post Office

Customer: Hello. I need to apply for a tax number. [Form handed through to the representative]

Reprentative: Of course. How are you doing.

Customer: [slightly unnerved by the bonhomie] errr good thanks.

Representative: Let's take a look. Oh, say, do you have photocopies?

Customer: Goodness. No I forgot.

Representative: No worries, I'll just go and take some now.

Customer: Oh, great thanks.

Representative: [after a few minutes] Here you go. Right I'll just fill in the missing bits........ all done. I'll pop these in the post and you should get a tax number in a few days. Is there anything else? 

Customer: [a bit shocked] Errr nope ... cool. Thanks.....

Representative: No worries, she'll be right!