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.